Lunch yesterday at Pomperdale's New York Style Deli. "The New Yorker" - hot pastrami and corned beef on rye with Swiss cheese and Russian dressing. A crisp half sour pickle completed the basket.
I was one of the youngest people in the place. Leaving, I passed two retirees coming in.
"How are you today?" the cheerful young woman at the cash register asked, to which one of the men replied:
"I'm not sayin'."
I had my first chlodnik (cold borscht) of the season the other night (courtesy of the Russian supermarket in Hollywood) and the first sip instantly transported me to summer in Poland. The mix of sour cream and red beets, radishes and dill, invariably tricks my body into believing it's back in Warsaw, sitting on a stool at a table in an un-airconditioned kitchen on Dobosza Street.
As I savored the soup, it occurred to me that, for all their benefits, ethnic restaurants have ruined the transporting power of taste. Often now, we eat the food - pad Thai, bibimbap, ceviche - before we visit the country, so there is no gustatory revelation on arrival (other than of how much better it is when made with locally-grown ingredients) and thus no Proustian memory flood when we dine out back home. Risotto Milanese doesn't fill you with Milan if you first ate it in Brooklyn, which is a good argument for visiting countries that are off the culinary map.
Drove down to Taverna Opa last night and found a table outside on the deck away from the music. (Though we did get a visit from the belly dancer.) Our Macedonian waiter brought us grilled octopus, grilled calamari, a Greek salad, an eggplant dip, and lemon potatoes, which we ate while watching boats - including two sculls - ply the Intracoastal. The people at the table next to us were speaking Romanian. The people at the table behind them were speaking Russian. The three young men at the table in front of them were speaking Turkish. It was like sitting at a restaurant on the Black Sea.
After my talk in Boynton Beach on Monday I headed to City Hall, picked up Hania, and drove to Cuthill's Backyard for lunch.
They were still working on the roof over the craft beer bar. We took a seat at a high wooden table in the garden - it's all a garden - while fans scattered mists.
The fish of the day was mahi mahi; I ordered it in taco form. A few minutes later a plate of three fish tacos appeared in the window of the Airstream kitchen.
The large pieces of fish were bedded in cabbage and drizzled in sauce, but that was about it. This was a fish taco that was all about the fish.
The taco is enjoying its moment right now - in South Florida, at least, it's the new burger (even though the burger is still going strong). And I've had some excellent ones, at Taco Beach Shack in Hollywood, the new Casa Frida in Oakland Park, Taqueria Dona Raquel in Pompano Beach, the Miami Mex stand at Marlins Park. For simplicity, freshness, and taste, you can add Cuthill's fish tacos to the list.
Strolling down Hollywood Boulevard yesterday I stopped in front of Peruvian Seafood and read the list of specials offered from noon to 5 Monday through Friday. Among them was ceviche mixto for $7.
I walked in - there were no customers - and told the young man I would have the ceviche mixto with a glass of water. Then I took a seat outside on the sidewalk. After about 10 minutes he brought me the ceviche. It wasn't as good or as bountiful as the ceviche at El Tamarindo in Fort Lauderdale - in fact, the octopus was extremely chewy - but for $7 it was fine.
Finished, I asked for the check. It arrived in a black presentation holder (which seemed a little ambitious for such a modest establishment) and was for $17. The ceviche was listed as $13.95 with a $1 sales tax and a $2 gratuity included (a practice I associate with South Beach, not Hollywood). I asked the waiter about the surprising total, pointing to the sign with the specials.
"You didn't tell me you wanted the special," he said. "I gave you the regular ceviche."
It was then that I understood why he included the tip.
I'd just finished my take-out dinner from Anthony's - a "grandma's pizza" (tomato sauce sprinkled lightly with parmesan and basil) - when the PBS show "Check, Please" came on last night.
Celebrity chef Michelle Bernstein is the perfect host because she doesn't act like a celebrity. Her three guests (local non-celebrities) each pick a favorite restaurant which the others then visit and they meet in the studio to share their findings.
Last night I was delighted to see one of our favorites discussed: Gabose in Lauderhill. Gabose means "let's go" in Korean, and for years the restaurant has been our go-to place for bibimbap, the spicy meat and vegetable rice bowl. Not surprisingly, all three guests loved it.
The only male on the show last night chose Andiamo ("let's go" in Italian), the pizza place on Biscayne Boulevard. His favorite was the "godfather pizza".
"So," said Hania, "grandmother's pizza and godfather's pizza."
This place also got a unanimous thumbs up.
The only mixed review was for La Parrilla Liberty, an Argentinean restaurant in South Beach. Perhaps the owners should change the name to Vamos.