Amateur Foodie: Cafe Medina, Vancouver

For some reason I gave up on breakfast in Vancouver. Most of the time when I'm here I don't have the time to get breakfast. There's usually a catering truck on set or something.
And the few times I've gone out for a breaky here it's been...standard at best.
Then I happened to hear about Cafe Medina. A little hole in the wall near the iffy section of Gastown. I'm glad I did.
I got there at about 5 to 9 and there were already some people waiting. Not many so I wasn't thinking much about it. I'm glad I got there when I did. Because by 9:15 there was a line out the door. If I had arrived to see that line I probably would have hustled elsewhere.
Like I said. Glad I stayed.
They brought me a coffee and it was like drinking silk. Just the right amount of thickness, the cream swirled, it didn't need any sweetener. My server, Chris, a french canadian local, recommended the Oeufs Cocotte. And when I suggested that I might also like some sausage, he dissuaded me, promising that the dish would be sufficient.
I should stop to say that Medina Cafe is known for it's waffles and they looked delicious. Spare, light, golden. But since Waffles are now so far off my diet I had to eschew them.
Then breakfast arrived.


The Oeufs Cocotte are eggs baked in a clay pot with a melange of Sockeye Salmon, Artichokes, Cream Cheese with a tomato pepperdew salad. A grilled focaccia is served on the side.
I can't recall a lighter dish that tasted so rich.
The line got longer as a single father and his daughter planted themselves at the window seats. a gaggle of 3 generations of women sat to my left. The server, who had asked my name earlier, came and asked me, "Is there anything I can get you, Allen?" And with that I asked for the check and wished that I was with someone so I could share this meal. The attention to detail from both the servers and the cooks was so spot on, homey and yet crowded, I found myself leaving a 30% tip. It's not like the meal was all that expensive, truly. Seemed like the least I could do.

I thought about that breakfast all day. Even after wandering around the city, going to the movies, hitting other food spots, I found myself promising me that I would make it back to Cafe Medina again before I head home.

So I did.
I had trudged there in the rain. It's a pretty miserable day here in Vancouver today. I wondered if there would be a crowd. Who would venture out in this?

It was packed.

"You're back! Welcome!" The other server whose name I never learned said. After asking me my name again, it was like I was home again.
"Would you like anything to drink?"
"Coffee, please."
"Cafe Americain, like yesterday?"
This place started to remind me of the best hotels. Where they know your name and make you feel at home.
Chris was going to give me a table of my own but I begged off.
"You're in the weeds. I'll sit at the bar."
I ordered the Fricasse as I sipped my coffee and listened to The Slate Political Gabfest on my iPhone.
When it arrived it was more beautiful than the meal the day before.
2 fried eggs on braised short ribs, roasted potatoes, carmelized onions, arugula and smoked applewood cheddar. It tasted even better than it looked.

Chris and I were talking a bit about the restaurant. He's been there since it opened. Painted the ceiling. He said that next door there is a restaurant called Chambar. It's the same owners. It was so successful that they opened Medina.
I might have to go there for dinner.
For sure I will go back to Medina tomorrow. In fact, I plan on going until I have tried everything on their menu.

Eating In: (Diabetic) Breakfast Burrito

It's been ages since I posted a recipe but, ever since I was diagnosed as T2 Diabetic I've had to re-evaluate my dining habits. Which led me to the lo-carb breakfast burrito. Before you run screaming, trust me, I've altered it enough that it does taste, truly, like it will kill you. Even if it won't.

Here's what you need:
1 Low-Carb Wheat Burrito Tortilla (31g with, like 21g fiber)
Egg Beaters
1.5 TBS Chopped Onion
1.5 TBS Green Pepper
1 strip Turkey Bacon
Cheese (optional, I like low-fat Monterey Jack)
Sun-dried tomato pesto (also optional, high in calories)
dash Cumin
dash Crushed Red Pepper flakes
Smart Balance spread
Sriracha (Red Asian Hot Sauce)

Take a teaspoon of smart balance and mix in a squirt of Sriracha. Set aside.
In a non-stick skillet (I prefer ScanPan, the greatest pan ever invented), saute the onion, green pepper & bacon.
When just about to your desired doneness add the dash of cumin and dash of crushed red pepper flakes.
When that is done, pour in your egg product and scramble.
Remove from heat.
Take your tortilla and spread hot butter all over one side.
Turn over and put in 1/2 your cheese.
Add Sun-dried tomato pesto.
Add your egg mixture and the rest of the cheese.
Cover with a squirt of Sriracha.
Roll up. It will be slippery.
Put the rolled up burrito BACK in the heated skillet. Turn every 2 minutes to evenly crisp.
Remove, let stand.
Cut in half.
Enjoy.

Calories: 500 (400 w/out pesto. 320 w/out cheese)
Carbs: 36 (32 w/out pesto)

If you were doing this with the REAL stuff.....REAL bacon, REAL eggs, REAL cheese, REAL Butter...

you will die.

Try it! It's delicious!

Amateur Foodie: Blu Jam Cafe for Dinner - West Hollywood

Mama Mexico in NYC.
Rose Angelis in Chicago.
The Frontier in Albuquerque.
The Jordan Pond House in Maine.
Even Pearl's in Sonoma.
These are just a few of the restaurants that litter the canvas of my gastronomical map. The sorts of places that maybe don't get the kind of recognition they deserve.
The kind of places that you tell people they have to try when they are in that town. Because the pineapple tequila at Mama Mexico is wacky greatness. Or the popovers at Jordan Pond House are the lightest and fluffiest in the world. Or the homemade ravioli stuffed with pears in an alfredo/pesto sauce at Rose Angelis is worth flying across the country for when they notify you by email that they are making it that weekend.
There's one that needs to be added to that ever growing list and I've blogged about it before here
But this sidewalk breaky cafe, so well known and reviewed for their early morning cuisine just blew us away.
Again.
Yes, I'm talking about Blu Jam on Melrose.
On Fridays, Chef Kamil Mejur has opened his restaurant for a one night a week, single themed experience. every Friday its something new.
But it's only on Fridays and we haven't been able to get to it, yet. And then we heard about the special Valentine's menu. Saturday night, which was also our anniversary (long story). So we made reservations. And, knowing that the no corkage fee for the night was going to mean downing a hefty bottle of Sonoma Merlot, we cabbed it over.
The trouble with Kamil's menu is that you can rest assured that everything will be good. This renders a choice whore like myself unable to decide on what to get.
So we tried the chef's tasting menu.
And, holy crap.
While we waited we, and everyone, were treated to a creamy and delectable olive tapenade that put to shame the tapenades we get excited about when we are in Wine Country.
Opening with a beautiful circle of Tuna Tartare in dressing and wrapped around avocado we knew we were in for something special.
It's worth noting at this point that Chef Kamil was also the Maitre D' for the night, his bus staff having called in sick. So, while he was running around, seating everyone and making sure we were all happy, he was also in the kitchen preparing upwards of 12 or 13 different entrees as well as the cornucopia for the greedy tasters such as ourselves.
After a while we were treated to a plate of marinated goat cheese in vinegar and cherry tomato, possibly the least attractive dish that also melted in our mouths and vanquished the earlier, much more dynamic, fish.
Then the "tower of vegetables", a perfect circle topped and bottomed with yellow beets. In between a perfect melange of roasted red bell peppers, feta cheese and avocado (a theme, perhaps?). I hate beets. I don't loathe them but I don't eat them. And yet, the way they were prepared the nuttiness of the root was drawn out and playfully danced in concert with the peppers and cheese.
The spoon that was placed on my table was a surprise. Not a soup spoon, I had no idea what to expect when the bowl of braised mussels in a cilantro tomato broth arrived. Beth is not too keen on mussels and I was expecting to down this myself. But one taste from her and she was a convert. This was the spiciest of the dishes of the evening and a great way to say farewell to the appetizers. The spices bounced off the back of my tongue and throat and quickly disappeared cleansing the palette while at the same time preparing me for bolder and richer flavors.
Which followed in the form of a perfectly crusted whitefish on a bed of whipped potatoes and spinach. This immediately took me back to my honeymoon when Beth and I had dinner at the exquisite Oceana and we talked about the Loup de Mer for months afterwards. I dare say this was better.
The steak that followed was almost a denouement on it's thatched bed of pomme frits and vegetable strips. Not that it wasn't perfectly seasoned and melted like butter. It just wasn't AS fantastic and amazing as the whitefish. I understand why it followed and I don't regret it at all. Nor do I think it was a mistake for it to be the capper of the entrees, it's just, well, damn, that fish was perfect.
Tres Laiche cake followed and the wet, almost amaretto-esque bath it created with every carving of our forks turned us into lip licking heathens hell bent on devouring every morsel.
Maybe I could have done without the cheese plate that ended our culinary journey. I don't know. I'm just not a big cheese as dessert fan. And the most pungent of them (by this time I was too drunk to remember the name) was, as the chef said, much much better when mixed with the cranberry chutney. And who doesn't love roasted walnuts with creamy feta? But, like I said, the cake was enough.
Kamil, in his jeans and conductor's cap and sneakers managed a few minutes with each of us and we talked wine. He is also an accomplished sommelier. When I expressed my love for a particular Grenache (Mathis Grenache, the best wine I have ever had) Kamil vanished and reappeared moments later with the remnants of a french Grenache blend from Domaine De la Pertuisane. Le Nain Violet would put up a good fight with the Mathis.
We offered Kamil a glass of our Gloria Ferrer Merlot and he politely declined. I think he felt sorry for us with our domestic grape water as he re-emerged as we were getting our bill with a bottle of Briccotondo as a gift for us. I think we will probably bring it BACK and drink it at our next dinner at Blu Jam,
Our new favorite dinner restaurant in Los Angeles. Sorry, Little Door.

Amateur Foodie: Toast - West Hollywood

We love Lulu's Cafe on Beverly. I think we started going there because of the the name (what's not to love?) but, after a lunch or two it has become a favorite spot of my wife and mine.
I always order the same thing, because invariably I am on some stupid diet or watching my carbs or something and I get the Paparazzi Salad. It's got the perfect balance of chicken and veggies, most notably Asparagus. I'm sure there's other good things on the menu but I never bite.
The owner of Lulu's mentioned to us that they own another restaurant down the street called "Toast". We have always wanted to eat there but the line is forbidding. The line is also a pain at Lulu's but it's closer to our house.

The other day I was actually looking for another place to eat after I found myself the victim of some scam (long story, father rolling in his grave sort of thing, I shan't be writing about it, too embarrassed). By happenstance I parked in front of the pretentiously named eatery.

After seating I looked up Toast on Yelp and decided to let a reviewer order for me: The Corner Wrap and Sweet Potato Fries. Seemed like it would hit the spot and I was on my way to the gym so I could work off those fries. It also helped that the waiter confirmed this to be one of the most popular dishes at the restaurant. Can't always trust those Yelpers, y'know....



Let's start with the Sweet Potato Fries. Yes. Nice. Crispy and delicate. As they melted in my mouth it occurred to me that it had NEVER occurred to me to make these things. And I should. I should eat them every day. While on the elliptical. And crying.
Now, the corner wrap is another story. It's not bad. It's not great. I like the avocado and I appreciate the masking tape that keeps the foodstuffs stuffed in there. Trouble is, the flatbread used for the wrap comes across, rather flimsily, as the sandwich is extricated from the paper.
There was a ranch-style dip but I didn't know if it was for the fries or the wrap and decided against asking since I was over my calorie-indulgent quota already and didn't need a cream sauce to add any more strides to my workout.
In sum:
It's a flavorful meal but it's not very practical and it made it impossible for me to really enjoy my multi-tasking. And isn't that what solo-lunching is all about? Eating while: researching agents, making calls, checking email and listening to Slate.com's political gabfest? Isn't it?
Okay, maybe not.
I'm gonna stick with the Paparazzi over at Lulu's. I like the name better anyways.

Actual soundtrack: Was there any? I can't remember
Suggested Soundtrack: I was listening to Natalie Portman's Shaved Head, but I think I just like the name. Spoon works.

Chowhound: Vito's Pizza - La Cienega (near Willoughby)

"You can't get good pizza in LA!", go the cries. I've heard them for 22 years. At first I was one of them. Then, truthfully, I forgot that this was even an issue (kind of the way it's easy to forget that LA has two baseball teams).
Over the years I have tried to find a good slice. Joe Peep's in the valley was a stop for a while back. But, that wasn't actually any good. It was just convenient to my apartment and it WASN'T Domino Hut.
20 years ago (and until their recent mass closings) Jacopo's was a standard bearer. A low rent Italian place whose food could best be described as hit or miss.
Yeah, for a while there it seemed like the only thing that passed for endemic pizza in LA was CPK, which is like the Red Lobster of Pizza Joints, except that the variety and flavorlessness exceeds the Lob's.
And Wolfgang Puck had his imprimatur, for better or worse (mostly weird, atchelly)
Then, about 8 years ago a pair of "NY-Style" joints came over the radar. One was the impossible-to-find-parking-at Frankie and Johnnie's on Sunset Blvd semi-across from the Hustler store. The pie was succulent and daring, varied and simple at the same time. Just what you want from Pizza. The beer was cold, the tv was muted and the pie always left you wanting...more, that is.
The other was (and is) a little place across from the now-defunct rock club, The Gig, on Melrose. Albano's reminds of a hole in the wall. It's cluttered, noisy and, some of the finest damn NY style pie I've had.
When we hosted a Pizza Party a few years ago, I made a special trip to the place to get the pies. Which, if you know the area I live in, is no mean feat.
Last week, LAist posted a piece about Vito's. and it has weighed on our minds ever since. I kept the page fresh on my Google Reader all week long.

I met Beth and Zoe at the joint after a long day of Phone Banking for Obama. It really is in a little nook in a strip mall. Even though it's in West Hollywood, there is parking, which is unheard of.
The handmade cardboard sign on the counter that calls for "no networking" made me curious and the waitress told us that its to prevent the proletariat from bothering the stars and producers. (proletariat is my word, stars was hers.)
It took about 15 minutes for us to get our pizza. Half cheese, half pep. (Hey, when you have an 18 month old, you can't afford to take chances on goat cheese and spinach!)
It's always been a treat to watch real pizza makers toss dough and , if you like that sorta thing, you are in for a real treat here.
The owner, a big Gandolfini of a man, throws the pizza while laughing and singing along with the Sinatras and standards and, although he never once made us feel at home, it just felt right being there. Like it was a neighborhood place whose warmth is spread through cheese and sauce. The staff is great. Unobtrusive, quick, friendly.
But, what about the pie?



Easily one of the top 3 pizzas I have ever had in this town. In fact, I rate it as high, if not higher, as many of the pizza joints in NY. I never really understood why everyone thought Ray's was the greatest. It's not. It's good, but it doesn't make me salivate to think about it. And, hell, I would rather be able to sit down any day. My memories of a lot of NY pizza places is standing at high tables, dripping oil on red formica and barely swallowing before heading off to destinations on the double R.
Vito's is everything I was expecting. Everything I want from pizza. It was fabulous.




Soundtrack: Standards, oldies
Suggested Soundtrack: The Ramones.

Chowhound: Harvey's Sandwiches - West L.A.

This election cycle has me jazzed, energized and hopeful. For the first time in my (seemingly longer by the day) life I find myself pouring my frustration and vitriol into actually volunteering for my candidate.
I, along with 1500 others, trudged to the opening of the Obama Headquarters in West L.A. on Motor about two weeks ago. Listened to some great speeches by Eric Garcetti and Mark Ridley-Thomas. And we heard from state officers for the campaign.
It was inspiring.
A few days later I found myself cherry picking time to volunteer. My days have been unusually free, what with the unemployment and choice of acting as an actual career and all.
At one point I got hungry and I left to get something to eat.
Near the office.
In West. L.A.

You know the area I'm talking about. It's just below Cheviot Hills, that sort of sister to Beverly Hills section south of Century City that no one ever knows about or talks about or goes to. It just exists, as though if it doesn't make any noise no one will bother it.
Motor is that street that we all cross at some point in your travels in the sprawl. Either you got confused on National, with it's turns and curves or you thought you were on Westwood and you just plain weren't or you decided to cut through town when you came out of that audition for The Unit at Fox and kept going south on...you guessed it...Motor.

The trouble with this area of town, besides the fact that it's either impossible to find or it's just down the street, is that there is, at first glance, no place to eat.
I'm sure there are some fast food joints on Venice had I really searched, but I couldn't. I didn't have the time (Had to get back to calling angry Republicans in Nevada, you know) and I needed to get something fast and easy.

That was when I found Harvey's Sandwiches, with it's big sign on Palms advertising it's sandwich menu. Pastrami being at the forefront.

I loves me a good Pastrami. Johnnie's Pastrami, both of them, though not related, are responsible for some o the best taste experiences I've ever had. As well as the worst food-coma-hangover since college.

So, it was easy to see why I might be enticed.

I was, at first, charmed by this courageous little hole in the wall. It reminded me of Galco, the transformed supermarket-now-soda pop shop in Glassell Park. Like it was supposed to be something else but function followed form and this was what they were stuck with.


Yes, the cooking area is blocked by venetian blinds. That's strange but I've seen worse.
Yes, the storage/cleaning area is clearly visible through an opened doorway right next to the dining area. Hey, I'm not eating IN there, so who cares, really?
Yes, the menu signage look like it was purchased from a company that takes your name and logo and puts it on garishly oversaturated photographs of food that could, from a certain angle, look like your cook whipped it up. Advertising is hard. I know.

But, then there was the food. Ambience be damned (and it is) let's get to that Pastrami Sandwich with fries!
Or, I should say, let's sink our teeth into that--

Waitaminnit, is Pastrami supposed to crunch?
If it is burnt to almost a tasteless jerky, then yes.
This was barely a sandwich. It was more like a tasteless, salted meat product, on a toasted stale bun, slathered with condiments next to a bed of Ore Ida potatoes, fryalated to cholesterol-inducing overdoneness. The kind of fry that, when you bite in, your mouth is greeted with a generous promise of salted potato which is then immedaitely replaced by a splash of oil, fat and grease.
It was terrible.
Thank GOD the menu informed me that there was NO MSG!



Whew! Had me worried there for a second. After all, the first thing I tell EVERY sandwich maker, from Pasadena to Venice is, "No MSG on that Turkey Footlong, fucker!"

This is a shout out to restaurateurs in the LA area: There is no good place to eat on Motor between Palms and Venice and probably further. Open something and put this ptomaine festival out of business.


Background music: Generic top 40 pop and R&B crap with a 13 inch television on, sound off, on top of a beverage vend.
Suggested background music: Fox News.

Chowhound: The Gumbo Pot - The Fairfax Farmers Market

I have been going to the Farmers market for many years now. For lunch. For drinks. For meat. For produce. For karaoke.
And yet, although I have seen it, read the menu, been enticed by the promise of Po' Boy sandwiches and Beignets I have never eaten food from The Gumbo Pot.
Turns out, it's for good reason.
Service? Slow and arrogant and not very helpful. Even though there was no one behind me (It was a slow time) the woman taking my order still looked behind me as though she had other orders to take. I admit, I didn't know what I wanted but that only resulted in me saying, "What's the most popular item you sell?"
It's the Ya-ya Gumbo. A watery, salty distillation of uninteresting flavors. With Rice.

I've often found that New Orleans cuisine seems to have been designed for the toothless, and this is right in line with that philosophy but that doesn't explain the Creole Mustard Potato Salad having almost no flavor save for the slightest hint of spice at the tail end of each bite.
The beignets? Eh. Over fried, I would say. I have had better Zappolis.
There are so many better places to eat at the Farmers Market. Well, one or two. The Gumbo Pot is not one of them.

No music. None recommended.

Chowhound: Blu Jam Cafe - West Hollywood

Chowhound is a new entry on Septenary. Since we tend to eat out a lot in LA, be it dinners out, food on the go or brunch/breakys/lunches while working, there's a lot to write about.
More than likely I will be co-listing stuff here that I also post on Yelp but many of you aren't Yelpers and you deserve to get the skinny on the delishisness.

Our Yelp Review:

Eat breakfast like a king, share lunch with your friends & give your dinner to your enemies." So said Camile the chef/owner of Blu Jam as we finished up our family breaky this morning. While my 18 month old daughter gobbled down a *HUGE* bowl of fruit (good fruit, too: blueberries, bananas and strawberries!) my wife powered down the Blu Jam French Toast


and I scarfed my Roma via Paris eggs and potatoes.



We love breakfast out. We have eaten and dozens of morning bistros, griddles and cafes. This one kicks the ass out of each of them.
I say go early, before the shops open and Melrose comes to life when Los Angeles has that sleepy feeling of a city recovering from a helluva night out. Then the parking is easy, there are plenty of seats and the atmosphere is perfect.
If BJC ever put out a cookbook I would be first in line to buy it.


Actual backing music: Frank Sinatra
Suggested background music: Okkervil River.