Sandwich Revisited

Speaking of revelatory experiences, I just recently rediscovered 'the Chicago' from Franklin Corner Deli in Greenpoint, and it is every bit as magical as ever. Somehow it never gets old. It's like new every time. I just had it for lunch for the second third time this week.

It's by no means a 'destination' sandwich, but it's damn satisfying--for the money and the neighborhood, it's about as good as it gets. A perfect symphony of textures and flavors.

Just felt it was worth reiterating.

Dinner for one is awesome: Franny's - Prospect Heights, Brooklyn

I was in a funk yesterday. I don't know if it's because I haven't been smoking (I quit on New Year's, with just a small handfull of backsliding drags), or because I was also trying to not drink (because I am a glutton for punishment...for gluttony, and also the aforementioned backsliding), or because it was a full moon, or because of hormones. There are a million possible reasons.
In any case, I had planned to cook a lovely, optimistic "Goodbye Winter"-themed dinner for a few friends, something comforting, warm, stew-ish perhaps.
But then I got into a funk--maybe my body was shocked by the sudden leap in climate temperature--and had to go for a walk. And then I had to drink way too much coffee, not only because I have recently become addicted to drinking "black eye"s (coffee with 2 shots of espresso), but also as a preemptive move against the inevitable desire for alcohol that would come later while dining with friends, as well as to amp me up for cooking the wonderful feast (that was never to be). Big mistake. Somewhere, somehow hours got lost in meandering purposelessly around my neighborhood listening to Iron Maiden, and then in the chapter on herbs of the mint family in On Food and Cooking, and a directionless sort of panic set in. Panic to make the most of my day off, to make use of the beautiful day, make use of all of this synthetic energy? Who knows.

I canceled all my plans. I decided that I was in no condition to be amongst people in a social situation, and that I should just give into my craziness, surrender all my good intentions to the greater cause of sheer selfish gratification. And a terrific decision that turned out to be.

Because that is how I ended up at Franny's, with this gorgeous thing before me:

Pork Cheek and Beef Tongue Terrine

All for me, none to share. That is only half of the portion given, as I originally had not intended to photograph/blog it. The meal was supposed to be an entirely selfish endeavor, in every way. But this was too beautiful not to. Pork cheek AND beef tongue, pressed into one sinful orgy of arguably the world's finest meat parts, presented as a shimmering slice (two slices, actually) of heaven. With fresh horseradish shaved on top, and a sidekick of delicious crusty bread drizzled with olive oil. I don't think I even need to go into details, but I will. The tongue was so tender that the best way to describe it is "fluffy" (wishing for a more appetizing and meat-appropriate adjective here), while the cheek meat all but melted at the slightest poke of my fork, and all of it somehow still seeming light as a cloud as it wept (yes, wept) succulent rendered pork and beef fat--it was incredible. And if that sounds borderline erotic, well, I am happy to have provided a faithful and accurate depiction of my experience.
This, along with a hot, comforting bowl of cicerchie bean and kale soup, and a glass of Lambrusco, made for one of the most revelatory meals I've had in recent memory. For a lot of reasons.

1. I learned what cicerchie beans are [kind of] and that they are delicious.
2. The guy who walked in before me and inquired about the wait for a party of 2 was told, "at least an hour," whereas I--party of 1--was immediately offered a seat at the bar.
3. Without the need to be polite and try to carry on a conversation, or eat with a modicum of decorum (though I always do), I was able to devote 100% of my attention to the task of consuming, enjoying, and relishing--and none to the grating voice of the woman beside me, repeatedly jabbing her elbow into my left side, carrying on about her intense excitement about completing her acupuncture license training, or her (misguided) opinions of the same Lambrusco that I was enjoying at the moment. Once I started eating, it was like I was in the eye of a storm. All environmental intrusions vanished. Just me and the food. Until...
4. As I slowly, with some wistfulness, shoved the last porky-beefy-fat-smothered morsel of bread into my mouth, the vacuum surrounding me was punctured by the unmistakable and bracingly exhilirating intro to possibly the best feel-good song ever, and one of my favorite songs in the whole wide world:



Too perfect. I walked out of there feeling like I was actually glowing.

And with absolutely zero desire or need for a cigarette.

Lesson: if you want to eat a nice meal, at prime dining time on a weekend night when most good places are sure to be a shitshow nightmare, dining solo is a great way to do it anyway you want it.

(Sorry, had to.)

Yun Nan Flavour Snack Inc. - Sunset Park, Brooklyn

Perpetually catching up on posts. This happened...a while ago.

We made it back, and it was open!
Yun Nan Flavour Snack Inc.
No shutters!
This is the menu. Its modest simplicity belies the exquisiteness* of the actual food.

We let M take over the task of ordering for the four of us, which turned out to be a good move. He picked out the 2 items on the menu which he had had on previous visits, which were incidentally the 2 items on the menu with quirky misspellings or substituted marquis letters for the word 'sauce' (I assume they ran out of 'a's for the "Dumpling with hot and sour sduce." I also suspect the 'p' in 'crispy' is actually an inverted 'd.')

*'Exquisite' is probably not a word anyone would use to describe the food here - not even me. I just liked the way it sounded and contrasted with 'simplicity.' A better word would be 'drrrtylicious.' But such urban colloquial terms are not really my style, even though I just made that one up right now.
Hot 'Sause.'

M told me that the first time he went there, after he had placed his order, the owner[?] of the place asked his Chinese dining companion how he - a glaring, flaring, blaring gweilo - knew to order the two best things on the menu. Such is the mysterious wisdom of M.*
He got us 4 orders of #13 - Rice noodle with crispy meat 'sause,' and 2 orders of the previously mentioned #27 - Dumpling with hot and sour sauce. I'm usually not a fan of hot and sour, but I put my trust in him. And it was well rewarded.

*Chowhound.

Unidentifiable amoebic forms and noodles floating leisurely in a nebulous broth. How gorgeous is that? Intensified by a few plops of ripened (read: old, but better for it) chili oil from an ancient dollar-store ceramic cup: sweat-inducing bliss on a warm night.

What does "crispy meat sauce" mean? I, who have had the pleasure of experiencing this dish, still cannot say. There is no 'sauce' to speak of, but the crispy bits of 'meat' (left) were delicious. Kind of like deep fried beef jerky, but not any jerky you'd buy trapped in cellophane from a store. Richer. Untainted by processing and overseasoning. Pure, subtle meat flavor - and crispy. And those amoebic, tubular forms (right and bottom)? I think tripe - but unlike any tripe I've ever had. Exquisitely fatty and heart-rendingly tender*. Hands down my favorite part of the entire meal - I'd go back just for that. The rice noodles were also a pleasant surprise, as they were much more springy and substantial than I would ever expect from a rice noodle. This soup entails a lot more chewing than your average soup.

*Beer makes me spew maudlin descriptions like wat.
The dumplings also did not disappoint. The skin was just as thin as I like, but not overboiled to the point of turning limp. The broth, deeply imbued with meat and tangy chili flavor, was worthy of sipping on its own. The meat filling was plentfiul and had a nice bite. These, as well as the noodles, come out piping hot, which works out well because I think the flavors of both only get better after sitting in the broth for a few minutes.
Obligatory close up, in Blurry Susan Vision™.

The guy running the place, who I assumed to be the owner, was gregarious and I think very excited to have us, obvious non-locals who had journeyed out seeking his delicious 'flavour snacks,' in the place. He even remembered M from his few past visits long ago. He was extremely accommodating and pleasant - exuberant, even - despite the very tight space being slightly overtaken by the four of us, and always trying to make sure we were enjoying everything. We promised we'd be back soon, and I'm certain it'll be sooner than later.

BYOB to experience Maximum Exquisiteness.

Yun Nan Flavour Snack Inc.
774 49th St (between 7th Ave & 8th Ave)
Brooklyn, NY 11220
(718) 633-3090

Lucky Eight Restaurant Inc. - Sunset Park

The other day (actually about 3 weeks ago now) M and I decided to trek out to Sunset Park after work to Yun Nan Flavour Snack Inc. for some delicious meaty, soupy, noodly food stuffs. Luckily the rain had stopped by the end of our long journey on the N train, so we had a pleasantly dry walk for the 12 or so blocks to our destination. And then things went downhill.



Unlucky:
"Close today sorry." Yes, close.
I especially like how they first wrote, "Close one day" - a poignant statement emphasizing the fact that they were closed only for the ONE day we randomly elected to go there.

We wandered back down the street, and upon a friend's suggestion ended up at Lucky Eight Restaurant Inc. (What's with all the 'Inc.'s? Maybe Chinese people think corporations remind people of money, which makes them think of delicious food? Who knows.)

Mmm...incorporated...

We perused the very extensive picture menu, scanning for interesting names with enticing animal parts, and - after being told they were out of the suckling pig - ended up starting with Drunken Duck and Jellyfish.

Let me tell you, this duck was drunk as fuck. If it wasn't sliced on a plate for our consumption, it would've been puking and crying in a karaoke bar singing "I Will Survive," through vomit and tears.

One of the more interesting preparations of duck I've had. I don't know if I'd call it 'tasty.' Served cold, the duck was very tender, and obviously moist, as it was totally soused with what I suspect might have been baijiu (Chinese fire water). Wikipedia has this to say about baijiu: "There are a number of accounts in English which comment unfavorably on the taste of baijiu, comparing it with, for example paint thinner, rubbing alcohol or diesel fuel." I think that's about the impression I had when my dad fed me a tiny ceramic shot glass of it sometime in college. It'll put hair on your chest. This is coming from a girl who once pounded an entire bottle of straight soju in one go, just to prove a point (I don't remember what that point was, but I definitely drove it home...several times in early college). I actually think I could have gotten a buzz from just eating it, even if I hadn't been washing it down with a Tsingtao. Being that I do have an affinity for the taste (and effects) of alcohol, this was a worthwhile dish to try, if only for the novelty and the buzz. If, however, you are not fond of the taste of alcohol, I wouldn't recommend it. Because that is what it tastes like: duck and moonshine. The jellyfish tasted like slightly pickled jellyfish - gelatinous and tangy. I wouldn't be eager to order this again.

Oxtail with Chinese Herbs. Or, blobby bits in various shades of brown. Not the most attractive of dishes.

Oxtail is a great cut of meat, and I pretty much love it in any form or preparation (that I've had). It's fatty, usually very tender, with those lovely tendon-y, cartilage-y bits, and has great flavor. This dish was no exception in that capacity. The seasoning was surprisingly delicate, and not too salty, which I can appreciate. I was going to say it tasted 'herbacious,' but that is evident in the name. Fragrant, slightly sweet, slightly salty, with notes of ginger and ginseng. The ginseng, while very subtle here, was probably what turned me off a little. When I was growing up, my mother would often stew this horrendously noxious concoction of ginseng, red dates, and goodness knows what else, in a crockpot for days at a time, and then try to force me to drink it to 'make me grow tall.' I'm the tallest in my family (5' 5"! Woohoo!) next to my dad, so maybe I have her - and ginseng - to thank. In any case, despite the eventual benefits I may have reaped, that bitter, medicinal, dirt-like flavor of ginseng is something I am not quite mature enough to appreciate yet. However, traumatic associations aside, the meat was good, and the supple sheets of soy bean curd skin had a pleasant texture somewhat like very al dente pasta.

"The Pride of Lucky Eight"

So, we ordered this dish based on an extremely laudatory description from, among others, Peter Meehan in the Times in 2007. Here's his impression:

It comes to the table, sumptuously oily, in a heaping green tangle: some kind of reedy, oniony chives shot through with the white, the green and the bulb end of scallions all separate. Perfectly julienned stalks of Chinese celery add crunch. Rehydrated shiitake mushrooms add a meaty sweetness, slices of meaty abalone a little chew. Bits of baby squid create textural intrigue, and shreds of dried scallop add a depth that’s hard to pinpoint but easy to appreciate. It looks as if each element in the dish was individually browned, then thrown together to mask the kitchen’s precision. It is, without question, the finest stir-fried dish I’ve encountered...

My impression can be summed up in three letters: M.S.G.
That's not to say that Mr. Meehan's account is inaccurate - the dish did include all or most of the ingredients he listed. And the celery was in fact crunchy, the abalone chewy, the mushrooms mushroomy, the scallions scalliony, etc. But even with that impressive tableau of textural elements, I found the prevailing flavor, a thick blanket of M.S.G., to be distracting. In fact, I think that might be the answer to Meehan's beguiling "depth that’s hard to pinpoint but easy to appreciate." Sounds about right. It did also successfully "mask the kitchen's precision" (is that a good thing?). So well that it ends up tasting - to me - like about 80% of the generic Chinese [meat/seafood/misc.] stir-fry dishes I've had from restaurants that are miles from getting a review in the Times. Those Magical Savory Granules: I know them well. There was also a "seafood" flavor, but I put it in quotes because of the way M.S.G. has of syntheticizing (that's probably not a word) natural flavors. I'm not going to say it's inauthentic, because what the feck do I know. It's just not my bag.

All in all, not what M and I would call a victory. It was fine. I still somehow managed to eat beyond my stomach's capacity for comfortably full, teetering on sick (what can I say, I'm a pro, I do it for my reader[s?]). While there were many other intriguing things on the menu that I'd like to explore at some point, I don't think we'll be racing back to Lucky Eight anytime soon. Especially when Yun Nan Flavour Snack Inc.* is just down the street.

This entry has too many words.

*We finally did make it out there when it was open...and it was delicious. That post coming...eventually.

Lucky Eight Restaurant Inc.
5204 8th Ave (at 52nd St)
Brooklyn, 11220
(718) 851-8862

Five Leaves - Greenpoint (Brunch)

Rapidly falling more behind in posts - I eat more and faster than I can blog.
I did finally get a couple halfway decent pictures, but I only tried one of these 3 dishes, so this is primarily a pretty brunch picture post.

Five Leaves (after "Swan cigarette papers that tell you when there are just five left in a package") is the sort-of-Australian-influenced, hipster-quaint restaurant bar left as a legacy by the late Heath Ledger, who was a principle backer. Their Five Leaves Burger is possibly my favorite burger in New York, and I will post about it very, very soon. But for now, here's this:


Not bad, right? Pretty and brunchy.

This is the "Big Breakkie," which consists of 2 organic eggs any style, hash brown, toast, and 2 choices of sides. K said he enjoyed it, despite the fact that his eggs came out over-hard instead of over-easy. I think I asked him what his sides were, but immediately forgot, and they are obscured by the very generously buttered toast. Whatever it was, it looked tasty. But I was preoccupied with this:


This was possibly the best this-type-of-thing I've had in the city. I'm not usually into sweet breakfast/brunch foods (I tend to favor the fatty/greasy variety), but if I'm in the mood, I usually go for a fruit/yogurt/granola type thing. The fruit was all very fresh, and the yogurt was creamy and thick without being too heavy. I asked the waiter what kind of yogurt they used, and he simply said, "Greek." Thanks? This yogurt tasted a bit lighter and less tart than the Fage I usually get at the store, though maybe that's just what it was. I don't know. Maybe yogurt just always tastes better when it's served in a restaurant and costs $7.
But what really made this dish was the house made granola. I've found that there are at least two types of granola eaters (not that I generally sit around contemplating granola issues. Maybe I do). Any lovers of chocolate-coated coconut candy bars will tell you that sometimes one feels like a nut, and sometimes one does not. Same thing with granola. I, however, am invariably a member of the former category, and by that and all of my other granola criteria, this granola was awesome. An abundance of slivered almonds, pepitas, and pecans, toasted and coated liberally in honey and spices, made every bite as toothsome as a dessert, but ostensibly more healthy. And there were some oats and stuff, too.
I got a side of bacon, as well, because as I said, I do like my salt and grease in the morning. It was delicious, obvs. Smoky, salty, semi-thick cut...it's bacon. Bacon, bacon, everyone loves bacon, etc., etc., ad nauseam.
And yes, that is a pint of beer next to my fruit and yogurt parfait. Don't judge me.


M had the sage scrambled organic eggs, served with cheddar on a roll. I believe the roll is the same ciabatta-ish one that the burger is served on, which is excellent. He said it was fine, but more sage than he generally likes in the morning. Or something. I forget exactly what he said, but it intimated satisfaction tinged with indifference.

Also, that picture sucks. 2 out of 3 ain't bad.


Five Leaves
18 Bedford Ave (between Lorimer & Manhattan)
Greenpoint, Brooklyn 11222
718.383.5345

Franklin Corner Deli - Greenpoint

I am pretty far behind on posts right now - I have photo sets from 9 restaurants that have yet to be posted - so in the meantime here's another singular and exquisite sandwich:

The "Chicago" from Franklin Corner Deli in Greenpoint (Franklin and Huron)

Before I get to the pictures, I am just going to list the ingredients, as the photos are a little underwhelming without knowing what this hot-pressed, crusty parcel of magic entails:

-turkey
-lettuce
-tomato

...pretty standard, but then...

-thinly-sliced, breaded, fried eggplant
-provolone
-jalapenos
-black bean spread
-avocado (but I 86 the avocado, as the sandwich was introduced to me by M, who is semi-allergic, and it's rich enough without)

Now:

Critical Cross-Section shot:
Ask me why I love taking out-of-focus pictures of sandwiches, and I will tell you that I'm just a peculiar girl with peculiar predilections. But I will be lying, because the truth is it's totally on accident.
Fuzzy pictures aside, just trust me. This oblong of apparent banality will brighten the darkest corners of your sandwich loving soul. One bite might just taste like a really good turkey sandwich, then a little like an eggplant parm, and then later a burrito, and at times perverse and delightful combinations of the three. This is Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Frankensandwich. It does take a bit longer to make than your average deli sandwich, but the proportion of added deliciousness greatly outweighs the added time.
And just like the sandwich, though the establishment that dispenses it looks completely unremarkable from without, it holds another special and strange secret within.


Doubtlessly and by far the best endorsement of a deli ever in the history of anywhere.

I've heard the other sandwiches are also exceptionally good, but I haven't been able to get away from the Chicago yet. I can't tell you what heroic genius decided to call upon this ragtag crew of humble ingredients to join forces and become this mutant, oneiric supersandwich - nor why it's mysteriously called the "Chicago" - but I like to imagine that maybe it was the dream-master, himself.

Franklin Corner
210 Franklin St (at Huron)
Brooklyn, NY 11222
(718) 389-8524