Eggs a la Fetus

     I have, at times, been called an adventurous eater. There just isn’t much that shocks me when it comes to food, and even if it does, chances are, I’m still gonna pop it in my mouth. If for no other reason, just so I can say, “Yea, I’ve tried that.” But every once in a great while, I come across something that, though I would never admit it to the people I’m eating with, kind of scares me. Recently, I had this kind of culinary experience, and as a result, I discovered just how incredibly twisted my palate really is. What could this dish be? Some type of organ meat? No. Testicles? Childs play. The fertilized, developed, and aborted fetus of a duck? Now you’re talking.

     Balut, as the Filipinos call it, is exactly as I described it; A partially developed duck fetus still in its shell. Meal includes: Egg yolk, egg white, duck meat, veins, bones, internal organs, eyeballs, feet, feathers, and a soft but very visible beak. Add salt and pepper, and you have yourself a treat! I had the privilege of discovering this strange looking dish at a friend’s house where I learned a few interesting things about balut. The favorite part of many who eat it is the mildly salty liquid that little daffy is floating in. Balut is considered an aphrodisiac by many.  And apparently if you don’t boil the eggs, and you keep them nice and warm, you’ll have yourself real live duck babies for your companionship and amusement. My friend assured me that she knew of the validity of that last fun fact from personal experience. This night however, we were hungry, and opted not to incubate any for future pets. When the eggs came out of the water, I was instructed to crack one end just enough to make peeling the shell back easier, drink the liquid inside, then remove the shell as I eat, and “try not to look at it.”

     I grabbed an egg, cracked it as I was told, and braced myself for what I was about to do. I took a swig of the liquid and let it sit on my tongue for a while so that I could really taste it. It was reminiscent of a watered down stock, very mild in flavor, and surprisingly, I enjoyed it. Then I began to take the shell off, and the first thing that I saw was a head with tiny feathers; its eyes covered by a thin membrane, and its beak wide open. I look a bite and the texture was shocking to the point that I had trouble believing it. I told myself over and over that the little birdie was going to be rubbery, or crunchy, or slimy, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. It had the texture of very tender meat, and the beak and bones were so soft it was like biting into a softshell crab, I didn’t even notice them. After I ate the head, the rest seemed easy. Aside from the one or two noticeable feathers, I think that anyone who tried balut with a blindfold on would think that they were eating an omelet with duck meat, and hey… who wouldn’t want that? 

Close...but No Cigar

For five years, I lived in Jacksonville, Florida. Although I was born in Texas and lived the majority of my life in the South, most of my coming of age, if you will, took place in the Sunshine State (and for those of you who want to be technical, I know that Florida is “in the South,” but I promise, it’s not “THE South” You’ll have to just take my word on that). While I lived in Florida, I discovered just how much I like to eat. My love of ethnic foods, fresh seafood, and the roots of what would later become my obsession with everything Michelin-Starred all began on this warm, humid peninsula. While Florida left its mark on my palate in numerous ways, one type of cuisine stands out above all others as quintessentially Floridian, and to this day I feel a great deal of passion and nostalgia towards it. I am, in case you haven’t already figured it out, referring to Cuban food.

Sadly, after my family and I moved away from Florida, there was no good Cuban food to be found (with the exception of Atlanta, Georgia of all places. If you’re ever there, go to Las Palmeras, they make the best Boliche I’ve ever had). After several years of searching for a decent place to get a Cuban sandwich and coffee, I moved to Orange County. During my internet research, I kept coming across a restaurant in Orange that claimed to serve “authentic Cuban cuisine,” Felix Continental Café. But when I looked over the menu, I immediately saw something that I considered to be a red flag with big block letters reading, “DON’T EAT HERE WILLIAM!” They offer not just Cuban food, but Spanish, and Caribbean specialties as well. In my experience, any restaurant that has more than one type of cuisine does so with the mentality that quantity trumps quality, and the end result is a diverse menu of mediocrity with sides of yuck, no thanks and vomit-in-my-mouth. On the other hand, I saw some things on the menu that screamed authentic. For instance, unlike many “Cuban” restaurants, Felix’s doesn’t have black beans with yellow rice on the menu (traditionally, black beans and yellow rice are served as two separate dishes). Instead, they have a choice of black beans, yellow rice or congri, a dish that mixes black beans and WHITE rice. Because of this and a few other details on the menu, I decided to give Felix’s a try.

     

My usual M.O. when trying a new Cuban restaurant is to get the Cuban sandwich with a side of mojo (a sauce made from garlic, olive oil and citrus juices), yuca frita, and maduros plantains. If a Cuban restaurant can’t do these things right, I won’t go back. When I got to Felix’s, I sat down and ordered my test meal. Despite its being very crowded, my food got to my table quickly and hot. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the mojo was home-made as opposed to the nasty grocery store version that tastes like cheap salad dressing, and the sandwich was made with real Cuban bread, which is similar to a baguette, but is softer and a little bigger. Flavor wise, it wasn’t the best I’ve ever had, but it definitely wasn’t the worst. The yuca was good, although I prefer it with some sliced onions and olive oil on top, but you could always request that so no big deal. The plantains were great, then again, it’s hard to mess those up…you cut and deep fry, that’s it. I ended my meal with one of my other tests that every Cuban restaurant should pass, Cuban coffee or “Café Cubano” This is where Felix’s lost me. A real Cuban coffee is a very special thing. One must first brew espresso, then mix a little bit of it with some sugar and whisk it until it foams, the sugar is then put into a demitasse cup, and the rest of the espresso is poured on top. If it is done correctly, the sugar/espresso combination should cause a froth called “espumita” to form on the top of the coffee. At Felix’s, I was given a shot of espresso with two sugar cubes on the side. This is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a Café Cubano. Any and all restaurants that call themselves Cuban should know better.

     

Felix Continental Café is not great Cuban food. It isn’t even really good Cuban food. In fact, it’s just ok. However, it’s by far the best Cuban food I’ve found in Orange County, and because of that, I’ve been back several times, and until I find something better, I will continue to go back for my Masitas de Puerco and Tres Leches fix. Some things about it are great, like the mojo, and others, not so much, like the Cuban coffee, but at the end of the day, it’s still Cuban food, and “just ok” beats nothing at all any day of the week.  For me, Felix’s is much like the Cuban food equivalent of a lifelong smokers nicotine patch. I want the real thing, I miss the real thing, but I can’t have the real thing, so I suck it up and eat there anyway. At the very least, it keeps the cravings at bay and the monkey, temporarily, off my back.  But if you decide to dine here, please, don’t think that it’s a good representation of what Cuban cuisine is all about. Somewhere over that proverbial rainbow, there’s the Cuban food I remember from my childhood. The smell of onions and garlic frying in olive oil wafts from the kitchen; you can hear the gentle whistle of a stovetop espresso press brewing that perfect cup of strong, sweet coffee; and with each bite you take comes a sense of utter contentment that can only accompany such archetypal comfort foods. It’s out there my friends; one has simply to find it. 

No Common Ramen

Since I moved to Orange County last year, I’ve become part of a small group of friends that share my obsession with the fine art of chewing and swallowing.  We often joke about how everything we do revolves, in one form or another, around stuffing our faces, but this “joke” is no exaggeration.  In fact, recently we were in a situation in which there was no food to be found, and we just sat there with blank looks on our faces, unable to fill the empty spaces with the gleeful sounds of our own gustation.  In the middle of that long, food-deprived silence, one of them exclaimed, “We’re terrible friends when we’re not eating.” (it's only a little true). The other thing I should mention about this group of friends is that they are all Asian. As the token white guy, I am often exposed to foods that I have never eaten, and in some cases, never even seen before. But to them, these victuals are as normal as “shrimp and grits” (a dish that none of them have tried by the way) is to me. With this drastic change in the cultural envelopment of my social life, it wasn’t long before I found myself in a state of gastronomic ecstasy and somewhat racially confused.  

Yesterday afternoon, we made plans to get some dinner. When I inquired as to where we were going, the answer I received less than thrilled me, “ramen.” Now, for those of you who are more enlightened than I to world of Japanese noodles, let me explain why I had this negative reaction. My only experience with any kind of ramen, up until last night, had been those thirty-cent packets of noodles and powdered broth with flavors like “cheesy chicken” and the ambiguously named “oriental.” Despite my hesitation, they assured me that I would not be disappointed, and we headed over to a small restaurant in Fountain Valley called Shen Sen Gumi.

The first thing that struck me about this place is that it’s tiny, and I mean TINY. It has maybe eight or so tables stuck so close to each other that if you were so inclined, you could easily pick at the food of your neighboring diner without having to so much as fully extend your arm. The second thing that struck me was that upon entering the threshold of this hole-in-the-wall, we were immediately bombarded with the sound of several Japanese men screaming at us in their native tongue. I assume they were welcoming us. At that moment, any remaining apprehensions that were still lingering in my mind vanished like the steam coming off of those numerous bowls of pork, broth and noodles that surrounded me on all sides; I knew I was in for a good meal.   

We all three ordered “number ones” – pork ramen, and we got a side of spicy miso (which I just realized I forgot to try). The broth was rich, intensely flavored, and had an almost buttery quality to it; the noodles were perfectly cooked (what I would call “al dente”, but I’m sure the Japanese have their own word for it); and the pork, oh the pork, there are no words.  I got one piece that was literally all fat (yes, that’s a good thing), and the second it hit my tongue, I felt it begin to slowly melt away in my mouth, and I came dangerously close to jumping into the kitchen and kissing every single cook that was working the line smack on the lips. Fortunately, I was able to compose myself before it came to that. I finished my first round of noodles, and the waiter came by and asked if we wanted a refill (which cost 95 cents if I remember correctly).  So I had some more, as well as a little bit of my friends leftovers. By that time I was beyond replete, verging on uncomfortably full, so I threw in the towel.

I can say now that I was wrong about ramen. It’s flavorful, complex, filling, and delicious, and I’ll jump at the chance to go to this restaurant again. However, there is one problem. This little outing did nothing to help my befuddled sense of racial identity. In fact, I’m beginning to understand, even relate to the words written by that ridiculous 80’s pop band, The Vapors. "I’m turning Japanese, I think I’m turning Japanese, I really think so…" 

Steeped In Excellence

One of the hardest kinds of food establishments to find in America today is a tea house.  What’s even harder to find than that is a GOOD tea house.  After all, America has been a coffee culture since it became a country.  But not too long ago, I stumbled upon a small tea house and bistro in Mission Viejo called Coffee, Tea, and Tulips, and after eating and drinking here many times, I (a hard core coffee drinker and caffeine addict) have come to the conclusion that if Americans were exposed to more tea houses of this quality, that our coffee centric tendencies could start to change.

I’ll start with the tea and its usual companions.  I’ve tried the Earl Grey with Lavender, Peach Blossom, Ginger Peachy Kean, Blue Eyes, Maté, and Midnight in Paris. The Earl Grey is on the more full bodied side with subtle but noticeable lavender undertones; both of the peach teas are refreshing and light; the Blue Eyes is fruity, zesty and slightly sweet, and is one of the most popular teas they offer; the Maté is shockingly good, most Maté I’ve had resembles what I imagine the inside of a hamster cage to taste like, but this was actually nice; Midnight in Paris is a black tea with a number of flavorings, primarily coconut. A session of tea drinking isn’t complete without scones, and Chef Michael (aka the Moody Chef) makes some of the best I’ve had anywhere. They are moist and light on the inside, very slightly crisp on the outside, and the perfect amount of sweet. He serves them with preserves and homemade clotted cream. That’s right, HOMEMADE CLOTTED CREAM, I know, it makes me happy too. This in and of itself is enough reason for you to turn off your computer and drive to Mission Viejo right now, but they don’t just make great tea and scones and call it quits, there’s food too… good food.

The food at Coffee, Tea, and Tulips is a fusion of Mediterranean, French, and Middle Eastern flavors.  I dined here last week and got a little sampling of the menu.  I started with some tea and a special scone made with lemon and basil and it was perhaps the best scone I have ever eaten.  Next, I had the turkey sandwich which has turkey (duh) avocado, bacon, sundried tomato, gorgonzola, and pesto. Then, I had a tomato salad with egg, olive tapenade, and an anchovy which was delicious and roasted vegetable bruschetta.  By this time I was beyond full so I had to throw in the towel, but everything I ate was of the highest quality, beautifully presented, and most importantly delicious.

The service at Coffee, Tea, and Tulips is impeccable. Michael and Lina are friendly, fun, and make sure that every customer has the best dining experience that they possibly can. Every time I go I end up staying long after the food is gone just hanging out and talking with them, usually over a couple of Turkish coffees ( which, by the way, are great if you’ve never had one).  Coffee, Tea, and Tulips is the perfect neighborhood bistro. Whether you want afternoon tea, lunch, or coffee and conversation, you can find what you’re looking for. Tell the Moody Chef William sent you.