No matter how beautiful a place is when you're on the road, consistency becomes predictable, and predictability is not what one looks for during a journey – especially when the experiment involves local cuisine.
The gorgeous mountainsides are coated in mid afternoon mist; the winding back roads reflect the last of the day's sun in the freshly blacktopped asphalt. The fireflies in the large evergreens glow at night like perpetual blinking Christmas lights. The obligatory shot of whiskey at dinner calms the nerves after nearly crapping your pants a thousand times because your boyfriend likes to keep up with the local drivers down the tight winding hillside roads. Deep breath… but the annoyingly consistent part of a journey through the Midwest is the lack of affordable restaurants that provide a healthy, interesting adventure of their own. The Midwest isn’t exactly known for their good food; I mean, whoever heard of the amazing Amish dish in Mesopotamia, OH? It’s just a meal there, and the more consistent, the better.
But in Pittsburg, we found an oasis of culinary delights at the Three Rivers Arts Festival in Point State Park. You can count on the cities and college towns to have something else to eat, and if you happen to land on an arts festival, you score big time. Now, there wasn't anything new to sample; the usual carnival crap food was there as a rule, but the giant plate of tabouli and with a side of tzatziki and warmed pita bread coursed through my veins, clearing out the clogs forming in my arteries from the butter-intensive cuisine that's as much trouble as a Hollywood starlet who has just fired her manager.
If you haven’t been to Pittsburg and stay away because its most famous nickname isn’t too appealing (S***sburg), you’re really missing out on an interesting town. Once we were out of the woods, literally, and knowingly approaching the city, I wasn’t expecting anything impressive - so when we drove through the big tunnel separating the familiar with the fantastically dynamic downtown area, I saw a metropolis sitting in a bowl surrounded by a large river like a moat protecting a forgotten castle of long ago... what a great town.
Pittsburg is what I imagine Chicago must have looked like if it hadn’t been reinvented after the Great Fire. The buildings tell stories that can only be told in Manhattan of days that are fading into legends.
More later… maybe.
| Bizzaro World - we did NOT*** visit a White Castle anywhere on our trip, FYI... Just thought you might find this article entertaining. Tell me what you think. From MediaPost Daily: News Brief |
| White Castle Offers Candlelight Dining |
| Tuesday, Feb 12, 2008 5:00 AM ET |
| WHITE CASTLE RESTAURANTS ARE OFFERING reserved seating for candlelight dining on Thursday, Valentine's Day, from 5 to 8 p.m. "Not only can cravers dine with candlelight, but the tables will be adorned with decorations and customers will be presented with a special menu and will receive table side service," the company said in a release. White Castle was founded in 1921 in Wichita, Kansas. The company owns and operates over 400 units in 11 states. --Nina M. Lentini *** As Derek reminded me in the comments (ignorance of this incident was bliss) we DID visit a White Castle right outside of New York City in Newark, NJ. I don't know what got into us... |
Paint-by-Numbers Restaurant (and so can you!!)
A major goal of this roadtrip was to avoid fast-food and chain restaurants whenever possible. What was really disappointing was that most of the non-chain restaurants were just a replica of fast-food and chain restaurant menus.
We could predict correctly without even bothering to open the menu what we would find: some kind of quesadilla, hot wings, dips, chips and more fried crap for appetizers; the same, forgettable cheese covered iceberg salad offerings with the regular set of creamy dressings; you've-seen-em-a-thousand-times-sandwich/burger lunch options; and for dinner, the regular beef and chicken dishes with a potato and your choice of a badly neglected and probably overcooked vegetable; some crappy pastas... forget the fried fish… I'm depressed.
We were just about to lose hope and grab a sub sandwich from you-know-where, until our theory of staying close to university campuses came through for us again: Kashmir Indian Restaurant. We showed up a little late for the lunch buffet - not a samosa left - but we licked the chaffing dishes clean of any trace of vindaloo, paneer, and daal. There was not a kernel of basmati rice or a crumb of pakora left by the time we were done. Good stuff.
This little mom and pop place could use an extreme make-over, or at least a good scrub down, but what does it matter when the food is perfect?
In the beginning:
Indian food was a scary thing to be avoided throughout the first part of my life – there was not a single Indian restaurant (and still isn’t) anywhere close to where I grew up. My first encounter was visiting a friend’s house in the Westside of Chicago. She was apparently the only non-Indian in the building, and it was dinner time. Having never known anything about it – the aromas wafting through the hot staircase (that would now have my mouth watering) turned me off. That friend warned me that unless you grew up eating it it was likely to make you sick. I know it’s stupid, but conjure up your 12 year old spirit and say "Udupi"– that was the likely result.
FOOLS!
This place is the definition of a greasy spoon dive. The greasy, dusty fake flowers on the tables, the dingy walls, the out-of-date décor fed into my fears of a likely horrible outcome. A table is pointed out to you and before your beverages hit the table, bright red sizzling tandoori chicken is served to you on a cast iron plate with a basket of hot, fresh naan (or is it paratha - I get confused).
From the first bite, I was in love. It was a taste sensation. I was a believer, evangelizing this wonderful food that was rich, savory, spicy, fresh, filling, comforting, warming, cooling… I can go on and on. It was like I had never eaten before, and it’s arguable that I ever had until this moment. The world blew up for me, all of a sudden, I realized what the world had to offer. And so the adventure began.
J
The best samosa I've ever had is at a little incense saturated take-out place that also serves Soul Food on the South Side of Chicago:
I like a buffet, especially for Indian and it seems like the more casual the place, the better the food. So it's no surprise that my current, favorite local Southern Indian (vegetarian) fare would be located in a little grocery store:
I've only eaten at this location, which is really a grocery store with take-out. The ladies that work there are not really waitresses, because it’s not really a restaurant. However, they are much friendlier if you order it to-go. DON'T FORGET TO TIP!!!KARMA!!!
