11N at New Saigon: Will You Be My Valentine?

Not too long ago, while out to dinner with my family, I was about to dig into my plate when one of my 3-year old sons grabbed my chopstick-wielding hand and exclaimed: "Papa!" I stopped--we all did, so serious did he sound-- and asked what he wanted, not sure if we were about to make a fast break for the potty or if I was headed into another irrelevant toddler rant about how the sun is a big ball of fire. Neither it turned out; instead he asked, "Papa, you're not going to take a picture?" 

From: pohtpof.tumblr.com/

"God, what I have I done!" Was my first thought as I laughed (and got out my camera to take a picture of course). Instead of saying grace, or thanks, or folding a napkin across his lap my son thinks that one needs to take a picture of food before it is eaten. At first it made me think of how silly and obnoxious it is for a diner to be constantly snapping photos (though I never use a flash) of every plate that is put before him. On the other side, food can be great and memorable, and we take pictures of monuments, churches, sunsets, and our kids, so why shouldn't we do the same with our food? The fact that there are whole websites dedicated to awkward family photos is proof enough that taking pictures of food is not the worst use for your camera. 

From: Awkward Family Photos

Besides, what my son was really doing was pointing out to me was that in front of me was one photo-worthy bowl of food, that for so many years I have been eating-- and as if taking it for granted-- I have never once taken its picture.

I am talking about the Bún Hanoi at New Saigon. Bún Hanoi, also known as 11N, and I have a long history. It used to be hidden on one of the all Vietnamese pages of the New Saigon menu and it was through some Vietnamese-American friends that I was introduced to it. One used to get funny looks and even groans of disapproval when ordering from the Vietnamese section of the New Saigon menu, and I'm not sure why 11N was ever on what we came to call the "secret menu page". It's not like it was a fetal duck egg or other delicacy that would turn the stomachs of most American diners just to read. No, it is quite the opposite. It is a noodle bowl full of mundane assorted pork parts, some grilled shrimp and a handful crispy egg rolls along with fresh veggies and herbs. It's like the Vietnamese noodle bowl combo platter. What meat-eating human being couldn't love a dish like 11N? The answer, to be clear, is none. None could not love 11N.

11N is a perfect meal of slither, crunch, chew, and spice. It is hearty but not heavy or overly filling. I don't remember exactly when 11N made it on to the English menu, although as New Saigon grew in popularity to its current status where its still-packed dining room hosts far more non-Vietnamese diners than Vietnamese diners on any given night, most of the menu got translated and shared with the masses. But for a long time now, even though everything else I have ever tried at New Saigon I have loved-- from the whole fried fish to the interesting curries and seafood platters-- I am almost always end up ordering my beloved 11N.

For someone who eats at different restaurants every week, New Saigon and its 11N has become an unusual routine in my life over the years. I don't write about every restaurant I eat at, and maybe I haven't written about New Saigon yet because I just feel so at home there-- such a personal connection that I either forget that I am even out to eat-- or on some level I just don't want to share. But it's not like New Saigon is a secret to anyone these days, and while the city is full of good Bún bowls, I ask you to try 11N at New Saigon and see if you don't fall in love as well. 

Food I Ate While in Mexico

As expected, some time has passed between this post and my last. In that time I traveled with my family to Mexico City for some two weeks, and sorting through the sheer quantity of quality food I consumed in order to filter out what I wanted to share on this blog has been daunting to say the least; and as I do when faced with anything daunting in my life, I shied away from tackling the task and hoped that it might just go away. But given that it is likely that I will carry the extra pounds I picked up on my latest trip to Mexico, so it is equally hard to shed the food from my memory and the compulsion (and yes, compulsion is really the right word) I have to write about the food I most love. So here, as it were, are some highlights.

The crags of Tepoztlan

Tacos de Cecina in the Mercado de Jiutepec, just outside of Cuernavaca, the city of the eternal spring (and Denver's Mexican sister city). The thinly sliced dried and salted beef is synonymous with the region and made for a delicious breakfast wrapped up in these large, freshly made corn tortillas alongside a cup of steaming cafe de olla. 

Itacates de chorizo y papa with grilled nopales in the Mercado de Tepotzlan. People in Mexico City say that this regional specialty is pretty much only found on the streets of this mountain tourist town just outside of Mexico City. It shouldn't taste any different from a sope, or a gordita, or any other fried masa dough combination. After all, it's pretty much the same thing only shaped in a triangle. But it does. And it is amazing. 

This was a sopa Azteca from the relatively new upscale Turtux in the San Angel neighborhood of Mexico City.  The kitchen is run by the welcoming Margarita Carrillo Arronte de Salinas, who came by our table with a warm smile and made us promise to save room for dessert. But she isn't just a sweet lady who can put a modern twist on a Mexican classic with flawless technique and still maintain the rich, deep flavors of a homemade meal at grandma's, she was the driving force behind getting Mexican Cuisine recognized on the UNESCO list of "Intangible Cultural Heritages", the first world cuisine to ever make that list, and still the only one (Japan is in the process of petitioning now). She also wrote the book on Tamales y Atoles, literally. 

There was more as you can imagine, but besides a few tacos al pastor here and there, these were the real standouts. Here's to another year of sharing the food I eat, and stayed tuned as I get back in gear with more on Denver. 

The Corner Office and The 12 Dollar Cuban

If you have ever read this blog before then you might be able to feel the cynicism oozing out of this post's title. You may even have some of it on your fingers if you accessed this post through one of those new-fangled touch-sensitive mobile telephone screens. If that was the case, I apologize. If you have spent any time reading just about anything I've written on food in Denver, you would know that I can't stand fanciness or gimmickry. And while I am decidedly neutral on food pricing, a menu offering a Cuban Sandwich for twelve of your hard-earned dollars is not just over-priced, but chances are something fancy is going on that doesn't need to be.

The Cuban, as I've said at least six times before, is one of the world's best sandwiches. Pork with pork and just the right amount of toppings all pressed together on a crusty white bread. Therefore, there is no need to doctor it up in any way or change even one component of what makes it great. If one were to do that, then I would only ask that he or she call it something other than a Cuban.

But I digress. It has been a while since my wife and I have been out for a meal alone, and this meal at The Corner Office was a hurried dash-of-a-dining-experience prior to making a show at the nearby Boettcher Concert Hall. There were many other appetizing bites on our menu but there it was, the last item on the menu tucked in the corner under my right thumb: "Pressed Cuban". And a little further over, the number "12".

The price didn't surprise me, as the rent at the Corner Office space can't be cheap, so why should I expect its food to be? No, the price seemed about right for eating a sandwich downtown on a Saturday night. I was a little pessimistic, however, that the Corner Office chef might try and fancy it up in some unusual and unnecessary way, given that the first section of the menu was called "Dishin It Out" instead of what it was trying to say: "entrees". Another section of the menu was entitled: "Livin' Light" which sounds even too silly for an Applebee's. But the description of the Cuban sounded about right, except for the Dijon Mustard instead of the good ol' bright yellow kind. I decided to go for it.

The first thing that struck me about my Cuban was the size. It was small, but again, I wasn't dining here because I thought my dining dollar would go far. The next thing that struck me was that my Cuban looked, well, alarmingly like a Cuban. It was quite good, even though the bread was slightly too-soft, fluffy and hot-dog-bun like. The roast pork was delectably soft and the pickle concentration was such that every bite allowed a crunchy contrast to the tasty pork. It was a good Cuban, and although small, enough calories to keep me warm on that frigid night and dancing to the sounds of the Colorado Symphony Orchestra (featuring Ozomatli, that is).

This is by no means a ringing endorsement of the Corner Office. The fries were diner-style and definitely not worth the price. My wife's mussels were only so-so due to a under-flavored broth that was supposed to be spicy. Additionally, if you don't have a reservation and eat in the front cocktail area, it helps if you are less than 5 ft tall or have little stumpy legs, as the rolling ottoman seating is barely more than a foot off the ground. Nevertheless, it was a respectable Cuban.

The woman eating next to me ordered a fantastic-looking ramen with an enormous, sexy hunk of fresh chicharron. Given that I was literally 3 inches from her, I could smell the rich broth and was practically drooling into her bowl. That might be enough to get me back into The Corner Office here soon.

Note: Looks like I missed November entirely as far as posting to this blog, and things might continue to be slow for the next little bit. Thanks again for (a) checking in and reading my blog and (b) making it all the way to the end of the post! Happy new year if I don't get back at this before then. 

Life's Little Pleasures: Handmade Noodles at Parker's Dancing Noodle

Being the father of two toddlers, my definition of pleasure has changed quite dramatically from my days as a bachelor in Capitol Hill or even my pre-kid married life where I could still stay up late, curse like a sailor and never once have to come in close contact the poop of another human being. As an example of my current pleasure-reference these days, last year on my birthday all I wanted was to be left alone for a few hours so I could read a book and sip a whiskey without disruption. You want more pitiful? Not too long ago I took a work-related trip without my family: I sat in the middle seat on a crammed Southwest flight, and those two hours were among the most relaxing and peaceful times I have had in recent memory.

It shouldn't surprise you then when I tell you that as a person who likes to eat food then write about it on the internet, one of my greatest pleasures of all comes from stumbling across a restaurant in some out-of-the-way location that I have never heard of--much less seen-- before. It happened a little while back, when my family and I, trying to avoid I-25 traffic coming back to Denver from Colorado Springs, stumbled our way upon the Dancing Noodle in Parker, CO.

The fact that I haven't heard of a new restaurant is nothing shocking, as I have always seemed to repel anything cool, trendy or hip.  Given that, I suppose that me and Parker, CO have a lot in common-- but Dancing Noodle on the other hand has been written up multiple times by Denver's own Westword, including a Best Thai Food award a few years back.

Dancing Noodle's Parker strip mall location, however, is the definition of out-of-the-way and suburban. I'd be surprised if the many of the Westword readers even know where to find Parker on a map (you can reference mine above), much less made the journey out to this suburban oasis.

However sterile and suburban it looks from the outside, inside Dancing Noodle is a refreshing hodgepodge of casual dining mixed with a genuine family feel. We were there on the early side of weekend dining--even for the extreme suburbs-- and walked in to an empty restaurant where we were greeted by a friendly man working on his laptop in the back of the restaurant. He was speaking fluent Thai to a woman whom I took to be his wife, and turned around to speak fluent English to their daughter who was working on her homework.

Our waiter was also incredibly friendly and attentive. He could have come straight out of the Leave it To Beaver Show, with a mop of blond hair and a big cheery smile, but he was able to answer all of our food-related questions quite well, showing a good working knowledge of the menu and cuisine. After I fumbled through our order using my best Thai pronunciation, he very politely repeated it back to me in a way that sounded much, much better. 

The first thing we ordered was this fried tofu. It was delicate and super soft, with a wonderful thin crispy layer all around each piece. The flavor was subtle but the dipping sauce packed a ton of flavor. I forget how much I really love good tofu. Good, plain and simple tofu: fried and delicious. 

My plate of Phat Se-Ew with its incredibly lovely handmade noodles would have been a great pleasure even back when my pleasure-threshold was much higher. The noodles were thick, wide and cooked to perfection. The sweet marinade balanced well with the beautiful char on each piece of broccoli and shrimp. It might just have been the best single plate of Thai food that I have ever had in this town. My only complaint is that I asked for it at the spiciest level and while it did indeed pack substantial heat, this was definitely a US suburban heat. Still, it was probably for the best as all the simple flavors really popped and those noodles... what I wouldn't do for a bowl of those noodles every night.  

My wife got a lovely filet in a rich red curry sauce. Though deep fried, the fish was delicate-- and though I forget what the fish was, it probably doesn't matter because according to this story, most restaurants and chefs don't know either. What does matter is that the fish tasted fresh and the curry was incredible. My wife ordered a level down from the spiciest, but hers seemed to pack more heat than mine, so maybe they got the two confused. I taunted her (lovingly) as she sweated through the last bites, her inner Mexican pride not letting her back down from this spice-challenge. Plus, it was really that good. 

We took dessert to go and shared it across the highway in what appeared to be downtown Parker. This ball of coconut ice cream was not enough for a family of four, especially because it was so delectably creamy and smooth; with a refreshing not-too-strong flavor of pure coconut. Like the rest of the meal, it was absolutely amazing. 

The only plates that were not outstanding were our kid's fried rice (it was fine, but how good can fried rice be compared handmade noodles and that coconut ice cream?) and our other dessert of mango sticky rice, which suffered from a not-that-sweet mango.

I really can't say enough good things about Dancing Noodle; and while my pleasure-threshold is certainly as low as it's ever been in my entire adult life, I'd like to think I still get out to eat enough so as to have some good perspective on food. Parker, CO might not be your first choice for dining out (or your second, or third, or fourth for that matter) -- no you might have never, ever in a million years thought that driving to Parker, CO to eat dinner would be worth your while. Well, in my first Parker experience, it most definitely was.

The Pied Piper of Piccolo's: the Ticorito and More

When you think of American food what comes to mind? Or maybe the better question is, what is American food? And I'm not talking about the larger America that would technically include our neighbors to the north and south, but rather the United States of America, of the Americas. 

Italian and Mexican cuisines are two cuisines deeply integrated into our American persona. Italian-American food is such a part of our "American culture" that we forget that Italian immigrants were once marginalized and hated just like newer immigrant groups are marginalized and hated now. And even though Mexicans were living in parts of the US long before those parts were even US territories, Mexican immigrants and Mexican-Americans are still going through the same struggles other immigrant groups have gone through over the centuries here in the US-- and around the world, for that matter. But Mexican food? I could wax for pages and pages about how integral Mexican influence is on food in our society but other people have done a much better job than I could have ever hoped, so you are safe from my arguments, however full of common sense they might be. Suffice to say: everyone loves Mexican food. 

Nowhere is this more clear than in a restaurant like Piccolo's, a bit of a unknown Denver institution that prides itself on not only featuring Italian and Mexican-American food--which is nothing unique--but blending the two together in one-and-only ways. 

Walking into Piccolo's understated corner stripmall storefront is like walking into a slice of middle America. A 9/11 "Never Forget" poster hangs besides family photos. On this Saturday night the dining room is mostly full of families and older couples while at the small bar a few locals watch the CSU football game. It is busy but easy to get a seat. The servers are mostly teenagers. Almost instantly a thin man with gray hair, a skinny tie, and a youthful ear-to-ear grin sidles up to our table to greet us. It's Vincent Canino, one of the three brothers who own and operate Piccolo's. His father, he explains, owned a restaurant in Denver in the 1950's called Tico Taco, so featuring Mexican-like food on the menu was a no brainer.

The menu at Piccolo's is largely typical Italian-American and Mexican-American, or better, Mexican-Colorado food. For the most part the Shrimp Scampi and Eggplant Parmigiano stay on one page and the burritos and enchiladas on another. Still there other some unique cultural clashes that stand out like the Jalapeno ravioli and garnachas with Italian dressing. Sounds gimmicky, I know, but keep reading and see if you don't want to eat what I did that night. 

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The Mex-Italian-American evening started off innocently enough with a bowl of dinner rolls resting on top of a bed of freshly fried tortilla chips. The salsa was unfortunately so tomato heavy and under-spiced that it might have actually just been a watery marinara sauce-- in either case it wasn't really worth putting on the nicely fried tortilla chips. But my toddler's loved it, so that's worth something to me.

As I perused the extensive menu, my eyes stopped on the first item in the "Mexican" section where I found a dish I couldn't resist: the Mexican Canoli. The Mexican Canoli is something few restaurants would dare to put on a menu even if they were insane enough to dream it up. It is comprised of a pair of jalapeno cheddar bratwurst freshly baked into a tubular bread dough, or "canoli".

The green chile was actually a quite good, part gravy-style and part stew-like, with large chunks of pork and a modest kick. Also inside was a strip of roasted jalapeno (below) which ran the length of the brat and provided another little kick along with a wonderful smoky flavor. All in all it was a great sandwich, or canoli, or bread burrito, or whatever the hell you want to call it. 

My wife ordered a Ticorito (not to be confused with the Tacorito, RIP), a shout to Vincent's father's long past days in the Denver taco business. The Ticorito is the pride and joy of Piccolo's, or at least it should be. It made my two full-sized sausage sandwiches look like a pair of those little appetizer hot dogs. I whimpered when I saw it placed in front of my petite wife, the sheer weight of the plate seemed to tip the whole table just slightly towards her. Over a pound of ground beef mixed with rice, beans and onions-- all smothered with chile of your choosing (red or green) and yellow cheese. It was behemoth, but my never-say-never wife, who at the time was training for a marathon or some other form of grueling test of physical endurance (opposites attract) attacked it with ferocity.

The beef in the Ticorito tasted almost like a lasagna filling, and the red chile was a little sweet--but also robust, smoky and somewhat spicy. It was, in short, a very good smothered burrito. And my wife mowed it down.

Many people seemed to come for the pizza, which my kids ate along with a kid's chicken taco the size of a small burrito. The pie? It was decent, though nothing special. 

There may never be a day when we as a collective society will ever learn from our own recent history. There will be a day, and I hope to live to see it, when Mexican-Americans and other, more recently marginalized groups will be as commonly accepted as the Irish, Italians, and the long list of other ethnic groups that have been outcast while they tried to survive in our country. Maybe one day we will live in a society that will even welcome ethnic changes in our country-- or better yet, one day the typical American will be so blended with different ethnicities and backgrounds that we won't even notice. Whatever the case, we can all agree to disagree over a plate of Mexican food.