Dead President's - No, this isn't a pop quiz.

Dead President's Pub & Restaurant is a small bar on Union Street in Wilmington with a cult following that rival's Rocky Horror. Back in November on ThanksgivingEve ChopStixx and I unknowingly were there on what would become a night of infamy: Dead President's Last Night. The following day we were shocked and horrified to find the doors locked with a note pointing to plumbing problems as the cause. Slowly rumors began to circulate that there was a good chance the bar would not be reopening. Were we heart broken? Does a bear shit in the woods?

Lucky for us we live in the modern world of Facebook. A grassroots moment started by John Dieleuterio, Jr popped up and quickly gained the attention of local media. That's when Brian Raughley, former bartender at Dead President's stepped in and took over. The bar reopened on December 18th.

This Sunday fueled by a the need for dinner and beer, Shirazsta and I headed down the block to our local watering hole. This is St. Patrick's day weekend and of course the place was lit up with green, shamrocks, and cuties potted faux green carnations. There was also the promise of a live band playing Irish music later on in the evening. DeadPrez has the typical bar fare. They do however have daily specials that are most often pretty bitchin'. This night we were treated to an Irish themed menu. With a nudge from the lovely barkeep Veronica I selected the Lamb and Stout Stew with a side of Mrs. Raughley's Irish bread.




Now I've obviously exposed myself as a lover of this bar. However I'm not blowing sunshine up your arse when I say this was delightful. The lamb retained its gamy taste but had a tingtang (yes, that is a culinary term) to it from the stout. The veges weren't mushy or over done and the carrots added a nice sweetness to the dish. The bread was outstanding. Mrs. Raughley has both of my thumbs way in the air for her recipe and I'd like to encourage that it be left on the menu. Or sold down the street to Black Lab Bakery so I can enjoy it more frequently. It was dark and spicy but surprisingly sweet. It tasted almost like lighter, sweeter version of gingerbread with raisins. It was a very enjoyable, although my only gripe is not realizing that many of the owner's family were there. Because they brought their children, Shirazsta and I cuss like sailors, and we didn't know their were children present until one of us dropped a loud "F" bomb as a youngin' walked by. D'oh >.<


Dead President's - Like Cheers but without Ted Dansen's Toupee.

Monk's Belgian Cafe - Beer me.

One fine early March afternoon ChopStixx and I discovered we were both off. What to do? Lunch, of course! Off to Philadelphia for the Best Lunch Ever: Part III. This time we invited along Roux-bbinson for the festivities. We first stopped by Ikea to replenish my wine glass supply and ogle the bizarre offerings at the Swedish all-assembly-required emporium. Such as the following:



I admit it: I bought the chocolates. They were only $1.50!
Edit: ...And there is a reason they were only $1.50. Yuck.



Then we were off to Monk's Beglian Cafe. I'd hoped to check out Zot but they've closed. Damn. Monk's is easily spotted with a black, red, and yellow facade calling out to you "Come, we have beer!". Once you step inside however you have to walk down a dark narrow hallway until you reach this door:




This intimidated me. Would we be cool enough to enter? I suppose so since the staff didn't chuck us out and instead seated us in the pews. No, really. The back of this supermodel skinny building is striking in its similarity to a church. After all the place is called Monk's. The pews we were seated in were just about as uncomfortable as the real deal are for me. It's impossible to get in and out without sliding the table to the side. This is especially cumbersome when you add in a (wobbly) table full of food and dining companions on the other side of the table you have to squish in order to get to the restrooms. The restrooms are also uncomfortably small. Belgium must be the land of very skinny dwarfs.


Each table is fitted with two small one sided menus. One lists what they have on tap and the other with special brewed offerings. They also have a brochure listing the rest of the beers available. I didn't count but they appeared to have about a hundred or so options. None of these options contain the word Miller, Bud, or come with a lime.



Unibroue Ephemere, Houblon Chouffe, and Chimay Cinq Cent


These were just a small sampling of the beers we tasted. I declare them Apply-Yum, Spicy-Yum, and WAY too hoppy for my sissy mouth.

I was absolutely famished by the time we ordered and ready to launch myself at every waiter who walked by with a half eaten plate of food. Roux-bbinson agreed to split a "small" pot of mussels. We went with the Thai Curry mussels.



From the site: Monk's Flemish Sour, fumè, Thai red curry, bais, garlic & coconut milk. Served with bread for sopping up the tasty juices, an order of their Pommes Frites and their spicy bourbon mayonnaise. $9.95. $9.95!!! THAT'S CRAZY!

Let me make it perfectly clear when I say their idea of "small" is huge. The first time I dined at Monk's and the brought out a huge pot of mussels I thought that someone had made a happy mistake. No, their small is easily a meal in and of itself. Unless you're a professional athlete, competitive eater, or just a bottomless pit (See: Roo-bbinson). The Thai Red curry was very good however I have to admit that I preferred the DeKonick mussels (caramelized leeks, apples, swiss cheese & deKonick antwerpen ale) from my previous visit.



Delicious tender little lovies.

For my meal choice I went with the Monk's burger with a side of Pommes Frites. Because really, is one order of deep fried starch ever really enough?


Monk's Burger with carmalized leeks and bleu cheese.

I wish they'd melted down the cheese a bit to make the burger more manageable, but that aside it was one big messy delight. Excellent beef cooked to a perfect medium rare, juicy not greasy. The bite of the bleu cheese contrasted with the sweetness of the leeks. Obviously I enjoyed because I got halfway through the burger before I remembered to take a photo. I'm not a burger girl. I haven't ordered a burger since the 90's, but this was excellent. I've been craving another. Honestly one of the best burgers I've ever had. Which can only mean one thing: I'm stealing the recipe and forcing my fave local bar to recreate it so I can be within walking distance of this meaty delight. Chopstixx also ordered the Monk burger and while she enjoyed, she was more enamored with the spicy bourbon mayonnaise that came with the fries.


Roux-bbinson went with the Chicken&Apple sausage with raspberry mustard.



I didn't try this. The concept of raspberry mustard made my stomach churn a bit. As did the concept of the raspberry beer he later tried. Beer shouldn't be blood red. I do not approve. However, to the rest of my experience with Monk's I absolutely do approve.






Monk's Belgian Cafe - Next to godliness.

Back with a bang ....and a bust. Part Two: Union City Grille - Is there a waiter in the house?

This weekend a small portion of my misfit friends gathered at Union City Grille to celebrate the birthday of my BoyBFF, DJ Gumbo. I made reservations for four at 7:30 and met DJ Gumbo at the bar after circling several times trying to find parking. The third in our party and my other BoyBFF, Shirazsta, arrived at 7:35 and we went to the hostess to be seated. I keep mentioning the time for a reason. The hostess asked us to wait a bit longer because our table wasn't ready. Strawberry Tartcake arrived, tarty, at 7:40. While I went to fetch her the boys were seated. We were given our menus, water and the waiter disappeared...for twenty minutes.

I understand that 7:30 on a Saturday night is a busy time. However if you're waiting tables during this time you should know how to handle the demands. When he finally returned with our bread (that's right, 20 minutes for bread) we immediately placed our orders. Then we waited. And waited. And waited. If the kitchen gets backed up and you don't have our food it's still polite to stop by the table, see if we'd like more bread and apologize for the delay. Oh, and perhaps see if we would like refills on our drinks. Other servers may take the approach of "stop by the table as infrequently as possible and let them slowly dehydrate as they wait for their food" but I'm pretty sure that my philosophy on waiting tables garners bigger tips.

At 8:40 DJ Gumbo was threatening to leave in five minutes if our food didn't appear. He still needed to eat and needed to leave no later than 9:15 to make it to the Manayunk Brew Pub in time to start his set at 10pm (Yes, he really is a DJ). I left the table in search of our waiter to locate our food or a manager to bitch at. I got as far as the kitchen door when our waiter emerged with our food. DJ Gumbo and Strawberry Tartcake both ordered steaks. DJ Gumbo said his was good but Strawberry Tartcake thought hers was "Meh". I tried hers and I'd have to agree, "meh". Shirazsta ordered the chicken cutlets. It was essentially chicken parmigiana. I didn't try it, he didn't comment, but it didn't look worthy of the $17 price tag.

I ordered the Flatbread ($10 lump crab, mushrooms, mozzarella and chives and a small side of Fettucine Pomodoro ($7 pasta hand made on site).





The flatbread was flat. So flat it was more like a cracker than a flatbread. The mozzarella was funky. That's the best word I can give you. I don't know if it was a poor quality cheese or if it had just sat around for too long, but it was something I'd expect to find topping a Domino's pizza. That's not a compliment. The chives didn't help. They showed up on the plate but weren't noticed on the palette. It isn't something I'd be willing to try again.





Now the Fettucine Pomodoro? Yeaaah. I don't know if anyone let the cooks in the back know, but salt is no longer traded pound for pound with gold. It's quite cheap and readily available. UCG is located in Wilmington's Little Italy district. Pomodoro, voted best upscale Italian Restaurant for two years running, is across the street. If you're going to taut your pasta in this area you'd better bring your "A" game.

After DJ Gumbo split we moved our empty water glasses and his empty beer bottle to his place. There they would sit for the remainder of our time at the restaurant. DJ Gumbo finished his beer before we received our bread. This means the empty container sat on the table for over an hour without being cleared away. Shirazsta made the mistake of ordering a soda which also sat empty on the table for nearly as long without an offer of a refill. This really irritated me because they charged $2.50 for the soda. $2.50? For a coke? Bitch please I can get a 44oz Big Gulp at 7-11 for less than that! I had to steal the salt and pepper shakers from another table as ours didn't have them. I can only assume that the proprietors of UCG hold the steak purist belief that A1 or Worcestershire sauce is sacrilegious as neither of my dining companions were offered either of these.



Half empty water glasses and empty beer bottle that sat on the table.



At the end of the meal when almost all other tables had cleared out our waiter was suddenly much more available asking if we'd need anything else, if we needed boxes, etc. I ordered an espresso martini and the tiramisu which I was told was made on premises. The tiramisu was good, but far from the best I've had. The main tenant of tiramisu is espresso soaked ladyfingers. Espresso is supposed to be very strong. The coffee in this dish was far from winning any strongman competitions. They also hadn't thoroughly soaked the fingers so it left the taste a bit flat. I believe it was served with what was supposed to be some sort of whipped cream but tasted like Cool-Whip, only waxier. The espresso martini was a twist on the menu variant created by our waiter. This was outstanding and makes me wonder if perhaps he was better suited to mixology than servology. To this, my hat is off to him. If I had come to hang out at the bar and listen to the live music while sipping on this beauty I'd have no complaints about my experience.






This was a dining experience bust. The waiter was much more attentive once we were the only table left but that didn't make up for over an hour of being forgotten. I don't mean to rag to hard on him because I understand the human factor of being a server. For all I know he could have had a shit day, difficult tables in the other dining room, or any number of things that caused him to be off his game. However the food itself was lackluster and that killed it for me. I may possibly try them again for lunch sometime but only if they up their game.



Union City Grille - I wouldn't cross a picket line for them.

Back with a bang ...and a bust - Part One: Bibou - What the french?

After a very long hiatus I return with two reviews for local eateries. The first is the highly hyped Bibou in the Italian Market district of Philadelphia. Bibou is a teeny tiny french BYOB operated by Pierre and Charlotte Calmels that is currently getting more foodie press time than a blonde heiress in a supermarket tabloid.

A year or two back I received a Zagat's guide as a gift. They have a list of the top 40 most popular restaurants in the front of the book and I've made it my personal goal to eat at at least the top five. As of right now my remaining two are Capital Grille and Le Be Fin. However since GQ rated Bibou on of the top 10 new restaurants in the country and Pierre's background as the former Executive Chef at Le Bec Fin I'm using Bibou as my proxy to scratch Le Bec Fin off my list. In all honesty I hope that by the time the next Zagat's guide comes out that LBF has been replaced by Bibou.


As a surprise treat for my sweetie, Antonio Braisederas, I made reservations for the Sunday night prix fixe menu. Four courses for $45, free parking next door, and no corkage fee, and the ability to taste several dishes at one price? That my friends is one bitchin' deal. Despite all of the acclaim that Bibou has received I was still antsy to see how the evening would go. Antonio Braisederas has a background working in very nice restaurants and is a bit of a snob because of it. I figured worst case scenario if he hated dinner I'd take him a few block down to the Neon Wasteland at the corner of Pat's/Geno's and get him a cheesesteak.

When we arrived at 7:30 the restaurant was packed. This isn't a great accomplishment because the dining room is, as I said, teeny tiny. However watching the waiters artfully dance between the tables without knocking into themselves or the patrons is quite impressive. We were seated by Charlotte Calmels who is exceedingly pleasant and quickly brought our menus by our waiter who would prove to be very attentive, polite, and efficient in his service. We easily made our selections and were brought out our first course of soup.



Creamy cauliflower soup, lamb merguez and saffron cauliflower florets

It was divine. Antonio Braisederas kept quiet until he'd had his first two spoonfuls before announcing he hated cauliflower, but this dish had changed his mind on the vegetable. This is far to rich to sit down to a bowl of on a cold day, but this just right portion was perfect for a chilly March evening. It seems like a small touch but the pinch of chives on the top of the soup were so fresh and bright they cut the richness of the soup perfectly. I'm not ashamed to say I used the fresh bread to sop the last bits of the soup out from the bottom.



Fresh bread with imported french butter. This was a very nice touch and far beyond your run of the mill butter-in-foil experience.

For my first course I chose Escargots.


From the webiste: Snail ragout, Fava beans and mushrooms, flavored with tarragon

I'll admit it: I chose this dish because of continuously seeing its image on the website and other blogs reviewing Bibou. The presentation is just so gosh darn CUTE. The firmness of the beans contrasted beautifully with the squishy (yes, squishy) juicy tenderness of the escargot. To give credit to this dish: I hate tarragon. HATE. I don't like the word, the smell, the taste, anything. I see tarragon and avoid it like an Al Qaeda meeting. However the other flavors and textures made me forget all about my arch nemesis tarragon and enjoy.


For my main dish I chose the braised lamb shank.



From the website: Braised lamb shank, quinoa and root vegetables, natural jus.

Oh holy mother. I started by peeling back a layer of crisp skin to the sound of my dining companion asking me, on the verge of screeching, "If you're not going to eat the skin give it to meeeee!". The waiter accidentally set down a steak knife in front of me at first before realizing it was Antonio Braisederas who had ordered the hanger steak. Pah. I needed no knife! All I needed was a fork to make the meat gleefully part from the bone. Antonio Braisederas and I lamented that these must have been the Terminator of Lambs. The shank was bloody huge. The quinoa was nutty and firm. The veges were just as lovely as the meat and I enjoyed every bit. I attempted to make every bite the right mixture of protein/quinoa/veges.

This is where our waiter comes into play. Because I have a small stomach capacity I was only able to eat a small bit of my main course and still maintain enough space for dessert. Our waiter took note of this and repeatedly asked if everything was okay, if I really liked the dish, and if I didn't he would happily bring me something else. I've only experienced this level of thoughtfulness a few times and sincerely appreciate it. Far too often the attitude is "You don't like it? Too bad." once you have ordered. This was not the case at Bibou and it made me very happy to see this level of attention paid to me by our server (and obviously this was backed by the chef). While waiting for dessert Chef Pierre Calmels came out to speak with each table and ask if we we had enjoyed our meal. Again, a small personal touch that goes far in my book.


Finally I went for the ultimate indulgence: Chocolate Mousse. Properly known as "Mousse Au Chocolat"





omg. No. Really. OMG. This was so dark, so rich, yet light and airy. It was beautiful. I loved every single bite. It was well worth getting raspberry seeds in my teeth. This was an excellent end to a wonderful meal. My final thoughts:

Bibou BYOB: You bring the booze, they'll bring the yum.

Burrito Bandido - Sweet Horchata, Burritogirl!

For about three years now I've been driving past Burrito Bandido (227 N. Maryland Ave, Wilmington DE) every few months and thinking to myself "I really need to try that place. I just KNOW they've got to have awesome food there". Alas, I've either not been hungry (shut up, it does happen) or I've been in a hurry (ie, running late as always). Well I have learned my lesson this time. I waited too long, and those little upstarts over at The Spark got the drop on me and reviewed them first. Jerks.

I also found this review which describes the area surrounding Burrito Bandido as being "questioning" and "discomforting". This dude obviously hasn't had the pleasure of driving down 4th St at 2am. Or 2pm. Really, 4th is pretty scur-dry any time of night or day. Seriously, I ran over a cup once while driving down 4th and thought I'd been shot at. I digress.

I found myself exiting Wilmington the other night, and found the opportunity to stop at Burrito Bandido at long last. As soon as I entered I was backhanding by the visual assault of bright orange, lime green, and mexi-kitsch. We all know I love kitsch. The first good sign was a Latin (I'll wager Mexican) couple eating dinner in the small dining area. When you go to an ethnic restaurant and there are no patrons of that ethnicity there, you just know you're about to eat crappy food. The menu includes steak, chorizo, lamb, pork, beef ...and tripe, tongue, or head. I went the safe route, and got a steak burrito. The waitress was very friendly, asking me if I had any questions about the menu.

Why yes, I do. Oh please, sweet little Mexican woman, tell me what I want to hear, tell me you have my beloved Horchata? THEY DO! I refuse to believe that any Mexican establishment can claim to be "authentic" and not serve Horchata. What makes this South Jersey Jew the foremost authority on the authenticity of a Mexican eatery?

1) I spent weeks in Phoenix, AZ as a teenager.
2) I said so.

If you have not had the pleasure of enjoying a glass of horchata, allow me to explain. Simply put: Horchata is a Mexican rice milk drink flavored with cinnamon. Sir Forksalot compares it to a drinkable rice pudding. I compare it to milky proof that god loves us and wants us to eat well. It's subtle sweetness and milky consistency make it possible to eat fire and not rip our tongues out.


.


I ordered the steak burrito ($6.50) and a horchata ($2.75). The horchata came in a huge quart sized bucket-to-go container. I got a cup so I could drink on the go. I got my order take-out. A dumb choice, in retrospect. I should have stayed and hung out there. Especially once I saw the size of the burrito. Let's just say that if this burrito were transformed into a living breathing man, that man would have a great career in porn. I ate it for dinner, breakfast, and lunch. The horchata was just as orgasmic as I had hoped. There were even bits of cinnamon clinging to the bottom of my cup when it was done, a testament to the flavor of the drink.





Yeah, it's a crappy photo. The Travel Channel hasn't come through with their financial backing to this blog yet. I'm waiting.

The burrito came with a green and a red sauce. The green tomatillo had an undercurrent of cool flavor to offset the spice. The red was just out to burn my face off. First bite impression: WOWZA! The steak has been marinated since last October, it's packed with flavor. Fresh crispy lettuce, perky sweet tomatoes, rice, and refried beans. I wish I'd had more refrieds and less rice, but I'm a pain in the ass that way. I really can't stress how much I enjoyed the flavor of the steak and appreciated the time they had taken to spice and marinate it rather than just grilling it up with bland salt&pepper. I can't wait for an excuse to go back and try some of their tortas.

Burrito Bandido - If you don't like it, you're a jackass bandit.

Johnnie's Dog House - Indeed.

After taking my furry children to the dog park, I took a spin on Rt 202 over to Johnnie's Dog House.



After a really mind blowing hot dog experience (yeah, I didn't think there was such a thing either) at Super Duper Weenie in Fairfeld, CT last summer (that's right, last summer, BEFORE that little upstart Guy Fieri went there) I've been hoping to find something of the same kin closer to home. Pulling up to the very retro chic Johnnie's Dog House I immediately got excited about what delights awaited me on the inside. The name is a little misleading, they do serve things other than dogs and fries. They also serve fish sandwiches, pulled pork, roast beef, and I was to find out later -a side order of despair. However I was in search of a yumm-o hot dog. Sir Forksalot at my side we headed into the surprisingly crowded building.




One of the patrons kindly recommended that we try the Coke, as it was bottled in Mexico where they have a slightly different flavor.



He was right, the flavor was subtly different. The retro kitsch of drinking out of a glass bottle mixed with the decor made you feel almost like you were transported back to the time of the imagery on the walls. The charm wore off by the time I ordered, however. I don't need a lot of interaction, but it's just plain polite to:

A) Make eye contact.
B) Say "Hello".
C) Say "Thank You".
D) Not sigh when I make a request on my order.

I could have forgiven this easily, but as soon as I was done ordering I took note that everyone behind the counters seemed like they weren't so much working as they were waiting for their death sentence to be handed down. Yeeesh. The first sign of trouble came when I saw them pulling out a food service bag of onion rings. I had some sort of childish hope that a place that lives off of nostalgia would be make their food from scratch. We got our orders to go since we three small whining dogs in the car. This would prove to be a mistake.

I ordered the New Yorker without mustard, but WITH sauerkraut and red onion sauce. This set me up for disappointment as the only time I had red onion sauce was at Super Duper Weenie, where it is made by hand.



I sure was disappointed in the red onion sauce. Mostly because - THERE WASN'T ANY! Instead of making my dog to my specifications, they left out the red onion sauce all together. By the time I got home and realized this, it was too late to go back and throw my weenie in their face. And believe me, I wanted to smack a ho' with my weenie I was so peeved. The dog was okay, but a bit bland. My initial anger at the lack of onion sauce never quite wore off. The onion rings were, as I suspected, quite terrible. The breading had a stale flavor to it and I'm not sure how you manage to make an onion ring completely void of onion flavor...but they did it.

Sir Forksalot got a Kielbasa with Sauerkraut.



Now I like Sauerkraut, but when it's the highlight of the sandwhich -it's a bad thing. I'm not sure where their Kielbasa is coming from, but it needs to go back. It was like cheap bologna. You know it's supposed to taste like something, but you're not sure what.

They fell way short from the mark. Johnnie's promises "The foods you crave" and they deliver it. Just without it, you know, tasting good.

Johnnie's Dog House - Not good enough for my mutts.

Michael's Jewish Deli - A Kick in the Knish!

When I made plans to see Batman: Dark Knight the IMAX experience at the King of Prussia Mall, I planned ahead and checked out a couple of websites like TripAdvisor.com and Chow.com for recommendations on where to eat. Since Sir Forksalot has never eaten in a Jewish Deli before, and Michael's Jewish Deli is renowned for their huge selection of beers, that's where we headed.

Our visit to Michael's started out on a down note. We failed to pre-order tickets, and a midweek midday showing of the movie was sold out. Defeated, we purchased tickets for Hellboy instead went in search of grub.

First of, Michaels doesn't have a huge selection of beers. They have a enormous selection of beers.



Four cases of single bottles of beers from all over the world. My only gripe is that I had a hard time choosing. They've got the standard Miller Lt, but also have everything else under the sun. After ten...okay, after fifteen minutes of staring with an open jaw at all of my options, I finally selected a bottle of Three Philosophers. Sir Forksalot was hankering for the one beer they didn't have: Killian's Irish Red. Instead he picked out a Hooker. Hooker Irish Red Ale that is.

We settled down in the dining area and salivated over the huge menu. I tried to explain to Sir Forksalot what a knish is. It's not really that difficult if you actually break it down (a potato filled pastry) but instead of using words to describe it, I began making "Yumm" noises and had to rely on the waitress to explain it to him. I ordered the New Yorker (yes, with cheese, I'm a bad Jew) with a side of Sauerkraut and a potato knish on the side to split with Sir Forksalot. Because he wanted me to cry, he went with a Jewish Hoagie. Pastrami is never supposed to be served with lettuce and tomato, ever.




My sandwich was huge and very filling, I took half home. Okay, actually I took half to the theater and finished it later in lieu of popcorn. My only gripe is the bread itself wasn't grilled. The meats were top knotch. They were served warm, juicy, and popping with flavor. One of the best sandwiches I've had hands down. The knish was really superb. It was fresh and the potato's were real, nothing artificial in the filling. Sir Forksalot and I had a knife fight to decide who got the last bite. He enjoyed his sandwhich, although he actually had the nerve to complain about there being too much meat. That's right, he complained about there being too much meat on a sandwich served in a Jewish Deli that is listed on the menu as containing four meats. He was most intrigued by the bologna, which he picked out from the sandwich and ate separately. The only real disappointment were the beers. Neither was particularly good. Mine was far too heavy for me, though Sir Forksalot enjoyed it.

We enjoyed our visit so much we returned the following week. That time we fandangoed our movie tickets. We stopped by Michael's and got our sandwiches to go, snagged two bottles of Hard Cider and enjoyed our meal while waiting for the movie to start. Definitely a better choice than the lame-o Cheesecake Factory.

Michaels Jewish Deli: Kickin' it semi Kosher.