Weekend of Food Debauchery Pt. II: Birthday Edition

 Morning of...

Jay's Coffee, Tea & Treats

 1414 Encinal Ave
Alameda, CA 94501

The best thing about Jay's could be the fact that they open at the near crack o'dawn (6 AM), which was when we (myself and the birthday girl) found ourselves here after an early morning gym run; muscles depleted, demanding glycogen in the form of a toasted bagel, protein in the form of a nicely microwaved egg, and fat in the form of a hydrogenated vegetable oil-powdered milk emulsification molded into a solid, white brick and sliced for human consumption...I mean American cheese. 

 If nothing else, it really hit the spot, tasting pretty much exactly as described, with the only "flare" being black pepper in the eggs and butter/margarine on the bagel, as rightfully expected from a coffeeshop breakfast sandwich.  It could have just been the post-run endorphins talking, or the fact my total bad/mediocre bagel abstinence program had run me into "need bagel please you bagel me now!" mode, but sitting there in the corner window seat, awash in the tepid morning light, it was perfect.  

 Ok, really?  I walked right into that one, it really was delicious.

Money shot: the inside of the accompanying strawberry croissant.  That's a completely untouched pic, by the way.  I'm pretty sure strawberry croissants in France don't look anything like this.  In fact, I'm pretty sure they look like this.  That being said, after accepting that this was really just a Pop-Tart posing as a croissant, it was easier to enjoy the cloying sweetness of the berry-flavored jelly encased in its cold, flaccid pastry shell.  Really.  A great way to start a birthday.

Fast-forward: 12 hours later.  For the record, there's nothing worse than working on your best friend's birthday.  Okay maybe working on your own birthday.  If there's one "life lesson" to take away here, it's if you can, take an hour off.  Just one hour that's yours to have on days like these.  You're not superhuman, and it's your damn birthday.

Evening of (the birthday dinner)...

El Caballo Mexican Wraps

1108 Lincoln Avenue
Alameda, CA 94501

El Caballo is a unique little spot in Alameda.  I'll just say this: it took a lot of coordination with one of the owners, Oscar, to get seven of us in there an hour and a half before closing.  He's great.  He's got this million-dollar smile and a mayoral quality; a real schmooze, you get the sense that he could talk you into trying anything, food-related or not.  But his generosity and willingness to accommodate a bunch of high-energy girls on a Friday night was unmatched, and won't soon be forgotten.

 Is that salt on my chips?  Yep, these are the best chips in Alameda.  Hands down.  Don't care what you have to say about La Penca.  Really don't.  In the freebie corn chip battle, salt beats any endless supply because in the end it's about flavor, and these are exponentially corny.

 The restaurant's cooks are all female, which is so awesome to see.  And their backgrounds have even made an impression on the menu as one of the week's featured specials was Salvadoran pupusas with curtido made to order and served with the traditional spicy tomato sauce.  Not only was it fresh, it was delicious.  And the first I've ever seen of the yellow variety in the Bay, which is more indicative of Panama.

Chicken tamal

Fish tacos with marinated, then grilled red snapper, whole beans, lettuce, pico de gallo, guacamole and a spicy chipotle aioli.  This was definitely more of a nod to the California-style fish taco than the Baja  original.  That being said it was lightyears better than I thought it would be as I have been conditioned to be immediately skeptical of anything with "chipotle aioli" mentioned in the description.

Enchiladas estilo casera - enchiladas made with corn tortillas that have been flash-fried and then submerged in a chile-spiked tomato sauce, filled with cheese and smothered in enchilada sauce.  As good as these were the first time, I don't think they were quite what the birthday girl was looking for.  The flavor and consistency of the sauce on top of everything was more akin to a mole than that of an enchilada sauce, and though folded the right way, it became difficult to discern the type of melty cheese that was so delicately encased inside.

The end to this monster of a meal was a piece of tres leches cake for the birthday girl and an assortment of gelatinas for everyone else.  This was where Oscar's hospitality really came into play as he was generous enough to allow me to bring in seven gelatinas and a piece of cake (all still in their plastic containers), refrigerate them, hold them, plate them, and sneak them out to us on cue so that we could keep birthday girl in the dark about the whole thing.  

And thanks to Oscar and the crew down at El Caballo, would you believe it actually worked?

Otaez Takes a Hit

Otaez Vs. La Penca Azul- Round I

-Beverages-

$4 "Beer of the month" - Pyramid Hefeweizen

($5 La Penca Azul Pale Ale)

Winner: Otaez

Can't comment on the Piña Colada as I didn't try it, but cute as hell.

-Atmosphere-

Mostly families towards the front, with the rowdy over-40 club just within earshot over at the bar.  

(La Penca Azul:  Sorry, WHAT?!!)

Winner: La Penca.  At Otaez it's just too easy to think you're going to run into your former gym teacher, or worse, that the woman cackling loudly at the bar is your mom.

 -Veggie Burrito- 
Less about the value, more about the burrito itself.  Strikes 1, 2 and 3: spinach tortilla not mentioned in description on menu, apparently hot pico de gallo counts as a "vegetable" here, cold unmelted cheese.

(La Penca: grilled vegetables in a flour tortilla with a *gag* whole wheat option marked clearly on the menu)

Winner: La Penca - but only by about a mile.

-Grilled chicken taco-

 Looks beautiful, but no comment.

-Cheese enchilada Mexicana-  

Strikes one and two: completely lifeless raw cabbage and Jack cheese instead of traditional Oaxaca or even Panera would have been nice.  Homeruns: incredibly garlicky red sauce drenching a beautifully flash fried corn tortilla, porky delicious refried beans.

(La Penca: flacid, soggy tortilla blanched in watery red sauce and filled with the same standard Jack).

Winner: Otaez.  Dining companion can be quoted as saying, "Best goddamn enchilada I've had in this country."

-Chips and salsa-

Chips: the chips definitely didn't have the same "just fried" temperature and texture as the chips from La Penca, but I'm counting the smaller portions and less frequent refills as a point for the joint.  

Salsa: while Otaez' is definitely thinner, what it lacks in body it more than makes up for in spice level and flavor.  The smoky background obviously comes from charred vegetables, I also think that it's made in smaller batches because there was just the slightest bit of inconsistency between the bowls that we got, which I loved.  Great citruisy highlights, very top heavy in terms of heat.

(La Penca: deep red, almost maroon-colored salsa made of charred onions and tomatoes, with a smooth chipotle background.  Thick, chunky and bottomless.)

Winner:  La Penca, can't get this stuff down fast enough.

La Penca wins this round 3/5.

It's all revelative...

On Saturday, a revelation.  After what felt like an endless quest for decent Mexican food in the East Bay.  After going out of our way (i.e. out from under the rock that is Alameda) late on a Thursday afternoon just for the chance to find something even vaguely familiar (from the Latin familiaris “of the household”).  Just trying to find something, anything that reminded her of home.  Having dead-ended here at Fruitvale's Cinco de Mayo festival:

 

[Pupusas, griddle fried corn patties filled with cheese, and curtido, the Salvadoran oregano-scented take on saur kraut]

[Argentine arepas, griddled pre-cooked corn cakes speckled with whole corn]

[Tamales de pollo from Tamales Doña Tere on Fruitvale Ave., steamed corn masa filled with chicken and wrapped in corn husks]

To think of all the time we wasted thinking the answer was somewhere out there, anywhere but here.  And then Saturday, a revelation.  Incredible homestyle Mexican right under our fucking noses, not two blocks from where we currently reside.  Here, in Alameda, the epicenter of over-Americanized ethnic foodspots, we discovered Mexican food that wasn't just some watered down, over-salted version of the real thing (I'm lookin' at you La Penca Azul).


We came to El Caballo Wraps to "try" the "street tacos", honestly thinking that this was going to be just another throw away meal that would again leave the bitter aftertaste of raw, unfiltered disappointment in our mouths.  What we got, instead, were the most picture perfect tacos callejeros (which didn't even make it into the photo reel because we scarfed them down so fast).  One de lengua, my go-to taco filling, and another de carne asada, Isaura's go-to and a great barometer for Mexican restaurants.  (If the carne asada is grey or looks it's been anything other than charred or crisped on the flattop - i.e. stewed or boiled, get the hell out outta dodge, son).  The lengua was fatty, crispy and beefy as all get-out, again exactly as it should always be, but isn't.  The asada was noticably grilled, as the term asada suggests, but the fact of the matter is that not every place comes through on this promise, which made this carne standout. But even at this stunning start, we longed to leave.  It was a Saturday night and we wanted to be out, to feel the hum of the city beneath our feet.  But it was cold and rainy anyway, so we decided to stay.  After regaling Oscar, the owner, with tales of our quest for comida casera, of our relief to have found something so sacred, he smiled widely, placing a hand to his heart, offering the most humble gracias.

He then offered us two free samples.  The first this gorgeous, glowing ember-colored tortilla soup.

And this super-fresh tomatillo-chile verde hybrid that I've never even seen before, topped with real crema Mexicana (like sour cream, only better), and queso cotija, a crumbly sheep's milk cheese, also known as feta's drier, saltier cousin.

Minds were officially blown, however, when the entrees arrived.

Rice and beans are also good barometers for Mexican restaurants as they are a mainstay, and both appeared in the grilled chicken burrito.  Both tasted like time.  Like someone had taken the time to brown the rice before adding house-made chicken stock (can't confirm that yet but sure as hell tasted like it).  Like someone had taken the time to caramelize the onions before cooking the beans slowly, over the course of the day.

Finally, the torta to end all tortas.  This one?  De asada.  Chipotle aioli, tomato, avocado, on Mexican telera.  'Nuff said.

Yojimbo and Diner Demands

There are certain restaurants to which you travel because there’s something about the place, maybe it’s the people, maybe it’s the food, maybe some mysterious combination of the two that makes every meal memorable.  Yojimbo is, without a doubt, one of these places.  What used to be just another old beach house on Alameda’s Park Street has been converted into a matchbox-sized restaurant with the attitude and ambiance of a close friend’s home.  It’s places like Yojimbo that make hopeless romantics lose it.  The walls are littered with black ink renderings of Japanese and American pop culture icons; Clint Eastwood, Kung-Fu Panda and Totoro to name a few, all painted by one of Yojimbo’s two young chef-owners (who also happen to be brothers).  It’s tiny enough that if there were a bar it could easily be mistaken for an izakaya (the after-hours Japanese bar-and-snack shack hybrid), but it’s also tiny enough that the very thought of trying to find space for such a scheme is pretty much laughable.  It’s so cozy that it’s only out of the kindness of our hearts that we finally end up leaving because when you’re occupying one of only ten other tables, letting the hours fade into the night, it’s easy to see how you’re gluttonous ass is sucking the funds out of the place just by being there, cute as you are.

Coming from humble means, when my 24^th birthday rolled around this April, Yojimbo was my celebratory meal of choice.  A lack of financial brawn would keep me out of Yellowtail, my alltime favorite sushi spot (so far), but I knew that with enough batty-eyed persuasion I could convince the chefs at Yojimbo to put together a stellar birthday menu.  And this is what they designed:

Traditional Japanese-style marinated vegetables, or, futomaki, with inari (deep-fried tofu skin) and pickled daikon.

Tempura roll topped with shiro maguro (white tuna), lemon and black tobiko (flying fish roe).

Salmon and avocado topped with unagi (BBQ eel) and wakame (seaweed salad).

The meal was incredible.  The chef who prepared the rolls was extremely humbled by our request; he kept asking, "My style, sushi...my style...?" to make certain we were all on the same page.  The two young women who tag team the dining room as servers were courteous and helpful as always, my water glass is never half empty for a breath past thirty seconds.

So considering just how much I love Yojimbo, you might be able to understand my disappointment when one of my dining companions informed me that they had witnessed the chefs using store-bought instant ramen noodles and foil-wrapped instant soup packets to make their now very popular, very large bowls of “spicy ramen”.  Hard as I try to forgive this choice of prepared ingredients (of which there are considerably more worthy candidates for this application), I can't forgive the chefs for taking an instant noodle-spice packet combo that costs .32 cents at Walmart and elevating it by doing nothing more than adding the word "spicy" to the dish's description on the menu.  Let's leave out the fact that these guys are charging $7 to $8 a pop for these things!  I'd be completely forgiving if they were charging a mere $1.50 for the providing all of the quality boiling water and expertise it takes to make the dish, but they’re not, and it’s killing me a little inside.  No doubt this is what Curtis Stone was referring to when he accused chef Hugh Acheson of “cooking down to your guests” on the last nauseating episode of Top Chef Masters.  (Go here for Eater.com’s Eddie Huang’s unmistakably misogynist take on the show).

As customers, don’t we reserve the right to demand more of the restaurants we love?  Does it not suggest something terrible about who we are and what we value when items like “spicy ramen” show up on menus?  I say this with the understanding that this is not Japan.  And no matter how much we’d like to have a genuinely Japanese experience at a sushi spot some 5,478 miles from the food’s country of origin, it just ain’t happenin’.  What is possible, though, is an appreciation of these wonderful, incredibly unique restaurants for exactly what they are: a well-intentioned love letter to Japan from a tiny suburban island on the coast of California.  I encourage you to continue your patronage to Yojimbo, and to start if you haven’t yet begun, but starve the menu of orders for mediocre ramen.  If we can destroy the market for it, we can destroy the need to make it, and together as eaters and chefs, create something better, which is always, in the end, the goal, no?