Disappointing Dim Sum c/o Ocean Harbor

Earlier this month I sent out the call for interested dim sum participants, of which there were a few. You can't really do dim sum without a critical mass of at least two, but really an ideal number is closer to four or six. With the help of BC's more extended social Philly network we got to four. Leave it to me to plan a dim sum outing on the Chinese Lunar New Year. Lines are always an issue with dim sum if you go much past 11, but on a holiday? Pissssssh, the worst. Of course I didn't actually understand it was a holiday until I was walking to Chinatown from Market Street and firecrackers were being lit all over the place. But thwarted I was not going to be. BC had arrived just a bit before I had, and already had a number in hand. Thus began the epic standing in the crushingly full lobby/stairs area waiting for our number to be called. We were joined by BC's friends S. and A. Eventually we got to the top of the stairs and our number was called. I'm not going to lie that I was pretty much entirely non-plussed and totally annoyed that we were then seated at the table immediately at the top of the stairs where a good 50+ people were all waiting for their numbers to be called. This crowd of humanity spilled up to the stairs and into the aisle between our table and another set of tables. Not only did this mean that people were constantly bumping my chair and generally breathing down my neck, but it also resulted in a complete barricade between the carts and our table. None of the cart ladies bothered to push through and we were simply sitting there sipping tea and craning to see what was going on. I get it, it's a holiday, space is at capacity. But seriously, why even have a table if the patrons are going to struggle and grump to get any service? Sigh. Between an arched eyebrow to the manager on C.'s part and my literally getting up and going to carts to get additional snacks and point out our unserviced table, we did ok, but I didn't see a number of my favorite treats. No shrimp dumplings. No sesame balls.

Not as large a variety of dumplings on display. My suspicion is that they were grabbed by folks seated right by the kitchen in the slightly less densely populated areas of the space. If I had been in such a spot I would certainly be pleased with myself.

Chinese broccoli was decent.

I know that this crowded madness was a result of the holiday, but this is the third time I abandoned my generally favored Joy Tsin Lau to give Ocean Harbor a shot and I was simply not impressed. Dim sum is always a pretty cutthroat process - you really gotta work to get those dumplings, or more tea, or a glass of water - and generally that's part of its charm. But this was not charming, holiday or no. That said, I was glad to get a little taste of dim sum after quite a lull. And it was good to see BC and meet some of her buds.

Middling Bisque and Rockfish c/o Claw's

I should preface this whole thing, perhaps, by first laying out some of my basic thoughts about what a dining experience should be. I believe that when I go out to eat I usually have expectations, but that those expectations must function on a sliding scale determined by price point, past experience, excitement over menu options, word of mouth, more formal reviews and a basic awareness of my own preferences and attitudes. So when I go to Applebees and order a burger (I'm not actually sure I've ever been to Applebee's and eaten anything but that's not the point) I would expect that I would enjoy it, but that it wouldn't be particularly special or lovingly prepared. It would be chain-restaurant designed food prepared by a mainly indifferent kitchen staff and delivered by competent if not overly friendly front of house servers. Whereas if I went to an establishment where the entrees' average price was closer to $30 than $14, well I'd expect that every bite of that meal would be above average if not stupendously delicious and brain wowing. I'd expect servers to be knowledgeable and friendly (though at that price range, maybe I'd actually expect them to be slightly haughty) and to care about the food they were serving. I'd hope that the back of house staff were as passionate about the ingredients in their food as I try to be. In the end a surprisingly tasty $10 burger and genuine server at Applebees could get a better overall response from me than a $75 tasting menu where the server was rude/condescending and the food didn't live up to the hype or price tag. Usually I come into a meal with a good overall understanding of what to expect. And sometimes those expectations are surpassed so entirely that a favorite restaurant is born, or a often lusted after restaurant proves to be a let down. My point being, I generally have the ability to have reasonable expectations as far as what I'm going to get from a meal and it's very rare that they're so out of whack with reality that I get a little annoyed or feel the need to write at length about the faults or flaws in a dining experience.

This brings us to Claw's Seafood Restaurant. Unless I'm just making things up, this is at least partially owned and operated by the same folks as Fin's. When I decided to return to Rehoboth for my last dinner in Delaware I decided I'd either return to Fin's or try Claw's. I planned on determining the restaurant by taking a look at both of their fish boards (I had a hankering for rockfish) upon my arrival in town. As I passed Fin's, I saw no mention of rockfish on their chalkboard outside, so I made my way closer to the beach and Claw's, where rockfish was, in fact, an option. Because I was accustomed to Fin's no reservation policy and the fact it was an early Saturday evening, I knew that I'd probably have to wait some amount of time before being seated; this expectation was met. I sat on a bench just behind the hostess stand (reading Storm of Swords) and contentedly waited about 10 or 15 minutes in the shade before  my funny coaster buzzer doo-dad began vibrating. I was quickly escorted inside by a teenage girl and seated at a two-top. As I said, my expectations about the busy-ness of the place were met. As was the general make-up of the serving staff: looks like local kids back from college for the summer, average age not much more than 22 I wouldn't think. The remainder of my expectations were not quite as well met. I expected above average food and friendly service. I expected the rockfish to be as transcendentally simple but delicious as it had been at Fin's last summer. I didn't expect to become best friends with my server, but I did expect a little personalized attention and enthusiasm.

A young dude came over, looking a little harried. He didn't make much eye contact, and when I tried to sort of ask him about beers or whether I'd be happier with the rockfish or the lobster special (1/14 lb lobster for $16.99), he had no patience or interest in helping me along or providing me any opinion of his own. I don't expect a server to become my friend or magically know my tastes and preferences, but this guy's attitude was one of 'I literally will only take your order and don't really care much about any of this.' And that sets a kind of shitty tone for a meal, especially when you're dining alone. Dining alone is fine. It's something I do with some regularity. And as long as I have a book, notebook and paper, glass of beer or wine, and some tasty morsels to look forward to, I'm cool. I don't need to have 20 minute conversations with serving staff to somehow bolster myself through the meal that I'm eating solo. But seriously, spend an extra minute with me and engage. This is actually just true regardless of the number of folks in a party. Just a little eye contact and willingness to pause a moment and consider a question. That's really all I ask (and a promptly delivered check). And on the whole this guy didn't do it. Was he actively rude? No. Did he leave me stranded without beverage or meal for any inordinately long amount of time? No. But did he in any way improve the meal or dining experience? No.

This brings us to the red pepper and crab bisque special soup of the day. I liked the sound of it, but didn't feel like the waiter was going to give me any real guidance, so I ordered it without asking more about it. Perhaps the  success of this meal really was hinged upon this bisque, and not the rather hands-off, inattentive service. Perhaps my expectation of what a bisque should be is incorrect. I was always under the impression that bisque shouldn't have the consistency of a movie theater's pump nacho cheese. But maybe I really am just a philistine in foodie's clothing. This stuff was thick in a way that just confused me. It lacked any sort of ability to move or swirl. Was this a matter of a corn starch-mad back of house? It was the sort of thing that I could take a spoon, dip it in, turn the spoon upside down and a good portion of that spoonful would not slip easily back into the bowl, but would instead sort of hang there, coating the spoon until it ungracefully plopped back into the bowl like a rock in a bucket. Now I won't complain too much, I made the choice to order  the dish and I have a very hard time actually expressing dislike of a food to a server or chef. So I didn't say anything. I didn't push it away after two bites. I took more bites, wondering if the taste at least would grow on me even as the texture and consistency made me a little queasy. And I won't lie, I basically ate the whole bowl in this fashion, trying to figure out if I was just missing something, or if this dish as as mediocre/poorly executed as I had thought on the first bite. Here are the positives I can say for this 'bisque': it was not terribly skimpy on including  pieces of crab and a few shrimp in the bowl ... and it didn't need salt.

For the main meal I ordered rockfish, which came with the choice of sauce and two sides. I chose the "Key West Ber Blanc," which I'm not wholly convinced is a real thing. For sides I went with the mac n' cheese and steamed broccoli. Paradoxically the mac n' cheese's sauce/cheese ratio could have been thicker. It's like all the thickness went to the bisque. The broccoli was perfectly steamed - still vibrant green, not overcooked grean. The rockfish was cooked just fine and was good with just the juice of a lemon, though it wasn't quite as memorable or amazing as the rockfish I enjoyed last August at Fin's.Though I wonder if I didn't enjoy it as much because I was already a little bummed by the service and bisque.

So, on the whole, this last meal left me feeling a little disappointed. The atmosphere of Claw's was lively, families and young folk alike digging into crabs, fish and what have you. Service wasn't overly friendly, but it was quick and efficient, which I know makes sense for a busy Saturday evening. But the bisque and the brusqueness, nonetheless, tainted the overall experience. I wouldn't go back, honestly. Fin's has pretty much the same menu, but with a larger oyster selection, a slightly better configured dining and bar space, and servers who bother to look you in the eye. I don't know, maybe Fin's was also serving the bisque at their place, and I would have been just as let down. We'll never know now, that's for sure.

Last Dinner in the Bahamas

My last dinner in the Bahamas was at the hotel/inn. I ended up sitting with the British couple in the other sea facing second floor room, which was nice. They liked snorkeling and he was a long-time professional photographer in a small town in England. The overall clientele was made up of a lot of British people, most over the age of 60. But that's a demographic that is totally in my wheelhouse. The meal itself wasn't amazing, but it wasn't awful either. The starter was an underwhelming crab cake. It didn't have much crispness to its outside, and the inside was mushy, not crabby. I would have preferred a grouper cake.
We had the option of either a linguini with shrimp or steak. I went with the seafood/pasta option, which wasn't really anything special either. The pasta was so slick with butter or oil. The shrimp were decent but not delectable. I don't know, it just wasn't all that special.
The last course was tirimisu, which was frozen. I didn't really bother eating it.
While the meal didn't blow me away, sitting on the front porch and talking to older strangers in Nassau, Bahamas was certainly a new experience for me to have.

High School Heavy Brunch c/o Fork

Last weekend was chock full of activity. Saturday evening I went on a date with a nice enough fellow, then met up with LW and two of her buds in Center City before going forward to McCrossen's for late night drinks. The next morning I lay-in a bit during the morning hours, before walking to Fork to meet up with BC, BM and, eventually, LB, LS, C. and M. The two B.s were already there when I got there, but we couldn't sit at our table until our entire party was present, so we took up seats at the bar while we waited. I liked the look of the bloody mary, so I ordered one and it lived up to my expectations. Fair amount of horse radish. Altogether tasty.
When everyone arrived we got seated. It was C.'s birthday, so we wished her a happy one. I tried their two poached eggs with Lancaster double-smoked ham bechamel, spinach, chives and sourdough toast. I was all ready to love it, but I really didn't. The smoky, hammy-ness of the sauce, which I assumed I would love, actually turned out to be a turn off. The eggs were nicely cooked, but the sauce so overwhelmed everything that this was a case of me most definitely not cleaning my plate.
While the food as a little disappointing to me (LB also noted that her omelette had a strange look to it - the bite I had didn't exactly wow me either), the company was top notch. This is a lively group of women, all of whom with the exception of M., were in my graduating class of high school. So there was much catching up for some of us, in addition to simple shootings of the shit. I sometimes get overwhelmed by such groups, but in this instance whenever I couldn't quite follow the two to three different strings of conversation, I simply sat back and enjoyed the fact that 17 (I was about to say nearly 20, but that made me feel uncomfortably old) years ago we were all starting out at the same school together, little tiny versions of ourselves tightly furled in the bodies of teenageers. What? What I'm saying is that there is a comfort to faces staying around through the years, growing and changing, appearing and disappearing, but always resurfacing and familiar. LB was in the corner and had an even tougher time keeping track of the different conversations.
I don't remember what was so funny, but it was.
Then I insisted on a few group shots outside before we splintered and went our separate ways.

Had I thought, for even a second, about how I would want to take such photographs I may have dressed up just a bit more. Whatevs.

Lady Dinner c/o Osteria

Last week or the week before that I met up with L., C. and B.C. for dinner at Osteria. The lot of us all went to the same high school. I see L. regularly, but I hadn't seen C. in a few years and the last time I saw B. was in Brooklyn during a Sonic Youth show I wasn't paying attention to. But B. has recently moved to Philly, so dinner was planned. I started with the pork trotter rillette with pickled vegetables, mustard and polenta crostini as a starter. I liked it well enough, but the rillette, while extremely creamy/rich, didn't actually have that much going on as far as flavor and I was a little sad by the small amount of 'pickled vegetables' present. The mustard was nice.
For my main dish I was drawn to the robiola 'postage stamps' with trumpet mushrooms and thyme. Here is the thing. This restaurant and its chef both have really great reputations. Like, James Beard quality reputations. And yet I was really not all that impressed with this dish. The ratio of mushroom to pasta was low, and while it was certainly cheesy, the dish wasn't a mind blower and for $16 I expected either a larger portion or an eye opening experience with either bite. Neither was the case. The rillettes were similarly underwhelming.
B. and L. each ordered one of the pizzas, which I think is probably the best way to approach this restaurant if you're on a budget and want to get the most for your moola. C. ordered the chicken liver rigatoni, and I had a bite of that - good but again not quite as sublime as I might have expected because of the rep and the price tag.
Though I'm not singing the restaurant's praises, I did have a great evening with the 'gals' and was glad to catch up with B. and C. I'm hoping L. will eventually email me the photos we later took outside the restaurant. Or I think I hope it. I was wearing a cute outfit.

You Win Some, You Lose Lamb

So when I was in Brooklyn visiting L. and Fat T., L. and I went to Costco, and I bought a rack of lamb. My thought was I would make a delicious rack of lamb for no occasion. This deliciousness was predicated on the one other time I have ever made a rack of lamb. Then I got home and work started getting busy but I knew I had to cook this lamb. So I put together a mint garlic pesto rub kind of thing and did a few other things and then there was searing and broiling and roasting and potatoes and mint and rosemary and mushrooms. Truth be told, it didn't turn out exactly how I would have liked. Basically I was so afraid of overcooking it, I ended up undercooking it. Not in terms of, like, food poisoning. But Maybe just a little too pink. L. came by and tried it but I think she was scared.

Lunch c/o Broken English

Last weekend I made my way to Brooklyn for some fun, food and music. What's a word that starts with 'f' that means 'music'? Philharmonic? Hm. Moving on. I got to L.'s around noon and after assisting her in sitting on her stoop and hoping people would buy the stuff she had along the sidewalk for a bit, we mobilized for a meal. We didn't have a destination in mind, though L. suggested oysters, which you know will always go over pretty well with me. We passed one or two places before seeing the Broken English sidewalk sign that said they had oysters. After a quick look at their menu, we decided that this would do nicely for us. I started with a mimosa.
Then we split a dozen oysters, the variety of which is beyond me at the moment. Maybe L. will leave a comment and tell you ... but maybe not. The oysters came with mignonette and then a salsa kind of sauce, no regular ketchup/horseradish pairing, but that was okay.
They were shucked decently. Just a few pieces of shell in one oyster...though another was a little mangled, which made me sad. I don't know why I like them to be whole before sliding them down my gullet; it's not like they're going to stay pristine once they meet my stomach's juices. Whatever.
For the main part of my meal I went with the uova in tegame con speck e funghi (Baked eggs with wild mushrooms and speck served over polenta). At first I was quite pleased. I liked the creaminess of the polenta, the earthiness of the mushrooms and the fact that the eggs' yolks were still a little runny. But once I hit about the middle of the dish I was a little less pleased. A fair amount of the egg's albumen was still in its clear form, which really just turns me off. I know I just slurped down oysters, which aren't always considered the prettiest of bites, but the fact is that eggs that still have clear albumen freak me out. I understood that if I just mixed the whole thing up a little more, that maybe the heat of the polenta would cook the whites a bit more, but ugh.
At one point our server must have seen me an L. have some sort of conversation about my aversion and came over to make sure everything was just fine. And I, in standard cc form (that being: when something is wrong I tend to act like it's not) said no and smiled. I don't know why I did this. I could have easily said 'well the egg whites aren't cooked all the way through and I don't like it, could you please put the dish back in the oven for another five minutes?' But for whatever reason I didn't do this and simply stopped eating the dish. I think partially this behavior stems from a stubborn place in my brain: if you didn't do it right the first time, what's the point in making you try again? The worst is when you ask for something done again and then it comes back and you're still unhappy, then you end up seeming high maintenance. And if there's one thing I don't want to appear to be (even if I am, which is up for debate), it's being high maintenance.
L. had eggs benedict I think. And I believe she was happy with them. Not blown away or raving, not not unhappy or off put. I had a second mimosa, both of which were nice and sparkly.

We Can't be Beautiful All the Time

I had thought that missing my plane was going to be the big bummer of my return flight to Philly, and it was in the sense that everything that came after it was a result of that missed flight...but when I got to Charlotte I expected to be on another plane within the hour - around 10:30 or so. I made my way to the gate to find that the flight's departure time had been delayed significantly. The new scheduled time? 12:53 in the morning. What followed were four hours of severe tiredness and an overpriced martini. Also a good conversation with M. Eventually, around 12:20 (I guess I could be thankful that it wasn't even more delayed but screw that), we were allowed to board. The woman in charge of the gate started calling out zones, but then was just like 'all zones, y'all get on that plane.' And that's just what we all did.
I was tired, what can I say.
I got to the airport around 2:30 or so and didn't even bother to see if the R1 train was still running. Grabbed a cab and hightailed it to sleepy town, which was very easy...and the infernal birds in my neighborhood, which routinely start chirping from about 3:30 to 7, couldn't even make me stir the next morning.

Giant Beer and Chicken Fingers c/o Tennessee Tavern

After lunch Dad and I squeezed one more episode into our viewing lives before driving to Monteagle. The plan was that I would be picked up by Groome shuttles and that I would get to the airport in time for my flight. They were about 15 minutes late, and I missed my flight by about 15 minutes. It was great. I was booked onto a different flight that would be leaving in about two hours' time so I went to the Tennesee Tavern, ordered a giant beer and chicken fingers.
The beer was a Sam Adams Summer Ale I believe. The chicken didn't stand out and I didn't really need it...and yet, I ate it.

Iced Tea and Sandwich c/o Julia's Fine Foods

After catching up with the ladies, I caught a ride with D. and K. back to the homestead. Shortly thereafter Dad and I went to Julia's Fine Foods for lunch. It seems very strange that they have iced tea, but not sweet tea. But I won't bemoan that point.
I decided to go with the Cuban panini and was rather taken aback by the lack of panini-ness of it. It was, perhaps, toasted...but not pressed and grilled in what I consider the accepted fashion of a proper panini. Too much bread and not enough meltiness. I like the idea of Julia's and the options are definitely a bit more interesting than most food establishments around Sewanee could offer. So I'm all for them succeeding, and remember enjoying their true-blue paninis a good deal whenever it was that I had them. Go to this place because I don't want it to go under, but perhaps try to choose more wisely than I did.
Thanks to Dad for the meal, regardless of my gripes.

Gay-Locked Traffic and Eggs Chesapeake c/o Philadelphia and Gigi

Months back I purchased a Groupon for Gigi Restaurant and Lounge's brunch. I'd never gone, but their menu looked decent and the price was right. Months passed, and finally I asked J. if she might like to join me for some kidless brunch, she said yes. So two Sundays back J. picked me up in her car and we began wending our way from my neighborhood to Gigi's 3rd and Market address. We hit so much traffic, you wouldn't believe it. At first I thought it was just one street, and a result of a bus accident (I saw two buses in the distance and made the leap), but once that set of gridlock should have dispersed, we were even more immersed in non-moving traffic in an area notoriously difficult for finding parking spaces. We had been in the car, I kid you not, for an hour. In ideal traffic conditions it would have taken us 20 minutes, max, to get to this part of town. In the end I came to the realization (with a little help from my phone) that the reason so many streets were closed off and cars were simply inching was because it was Philadelphia's Gay Pride Festival/Parade day. I love the gays, but damn them. In the end we 'secreted' a parking space (by that I do not mean a parking space came through our pores as much as I began chanting when we saw one open up a few car lengths in front of us ... and no one took it), and finally arrived at our destination. The parade was over at this point, but festive celebrants wearing everything from many-ballooned orange hats to skimpy blue underwear promenaded past us and our outdoor table. So, the air was festive ... but the staff was harried. First we were given dinner menus. Then we finally ordered bloody marys to be told they had run out ... before seeing another server walking by us with bloody marys. So we inquired again about the bloody marys and now they had more. The bloody marys were awful. Really, really awful. Thin tomato juice, the only additional spice seemingly tabasco. Perhaps they didn't have time to make a real batch so they improvised, but seriously ... they were really bad.
J. and I both ordered the eggs Chesapeake, which came on English muffins and crab imperial with a bearnaise sauce on top. The crab element wasn't overly full of filling, and the eggs were generally cooked well - though I don't really like it when there is still clearness to the egg white, even a little.
J. ordered a coffee, which didn't come and didn't come and didn't come. Then it did. She said the coffee was not so great.
So, my conclusion: the food itself was good and the menu had promise. The service was not so good, but perhaps that was a result of the parade crowds (though yelp would suggest otherwise). And stay away from the bloody marys.

Omelet c/o Sabrina's

Just to keep the theme of the blog a little bit alive, here's a food post. At some point not last week but the week before, my old friend G. and I went to breakfast at Sabrina's. I went with a spinach, cheese and pico de gallo omelet with homefries and wheat toast.

It was definitely above average. Eggs were fluffy, pico de gallo fresh and flavorful. I probably could have omitted the spinach without incident. I went with the wheat toast while G. went with the white, which late into the meal he realized had a little bit of mold on it. They comped his meal, as they should have, but I paid for mine.

Cherry and Peach Cobbler Attempt

On my drive north I stopped at a pretty fancy farm stand and bought a bunch of peaches and a bucket of cherries...and pickled green tomatoes. I had hoped the green tomatoes would be all vinegary and spicy, but they are sweet and will stay in my refrigerator forever because I do not like them. In any case, after meeting up with my old friend G. at the gallery we soon returned to my home where I consigned him to a life of pitting cherries. Well, not a life as much as 20 minutes or so. I had in mind making the same cobbler that C. had made so successfully just a few days before. But I can't say that was an entirely successful venture. I used vanilla soy milk instead of real milk, which may or may not have contributed to the soupiness. Or how the peaches cooked down? Who knows. The fact is that even if it didn't really have a bready/doughy component, it was still pretty delicious. Thanks to G. for his labor.

The Seeds of Change

Once we returned to the Ts' homestead, I decided to take the old dog walk, or at least part of it, to stretch my legs after all that sitting. I also wanted to check out all the things I remember from childhood in the woods and make sure it remained as I wanted it to be. As I left, Dad had some nice light surrounding him.
This used to be grass.
Deer in the background.
There was a giant puddle on the bridge. I ran and jumped over it because there was not a way around it that didn't involve inches-deep mud.
But it really was a wide puddle, and I wasn't all that successful in not getting my feet grimed.
In November when I took this walk, this view would have looked like this. The angle isn't exactly the same, but I think you can tell that there's a pretty huge difference between the two, angles aside. It was rather traumatic. The path we usually took to get to the field has been overgrown a bit, and the break in the fence is no more. The entire former field has a huge fence around it. Made me sad.


And a whole lot of trees and honeysuckle are no more.
This was a big tree.
This is how I feel about changes and surprises that are negative and not fun at all.