This Dish Is Our New Favorite Word: Misguided

Arroz de Pato -- Aldea
Aldea

"I assume you have a life, but in case not, do you want to go to dinner tomorrow?" Ginger emails Vodka Thursday afternoon.  Thankfully, Vodka has no such thing, so she instantaneously answers "Yes," and we decide to head to Aldea for Frank Bruni's chosen Best Thing I Ever Ate BIRD IS THE WORD dish, the arroz de pato.

The Benefits of Having No Life

Now duck, so far, has not treated us very kindly on this mission, but we are hoping we can blame this track record on Buddakan and not on the poultry itself.  What is also not helping our case on this particular night, however, is that we have both, separately and inexplicably, been is foul moods for the majority of the week. 

Or in Our Case - Fowl Moods.  Heh Heh

Ginger is blaming her hostility on an overall lack of carbs, and Vodka, simply on the fact that we are crazy ("Well, that too," Ginger answers, "But also the bread.").  For this reason, when we belly up to the bar and the bartender holds a platter of four varieties of bread products in front of us, we finagle our way into trying one of each ("We're not really a 'one piece per person' place anyway," the bartender informs us.  Our kind of policy).

An Image of Gluttony

Said bread is served seconds after the arrival of the cheese plate we have ordered, but instead of pairing the two entities, we find ourselves carb-loading all four varieties into our mouths at rapid-fire pace, the cheese nearly forgotten. 

And Never in Our Lives Have We Forgotten About Cheese

One of the options, a cornbread soaked in bacon renderings, we believe holds the most potential for greatness, and so Vodka takes a deep, hearty bite.

And she instantly clamps her mouth shut.

Bacon Bread?  What Could Go Wrong?

"Is it good?" Ginger asks, not sure whether to interpret Vodka's face as horror or ecstasy.  Vodka shakes her head back and forth slowly.  "Well, no wonder it's unlimited," Ginger reasons, yet unfortunately, this is not the end of our bread drama of the evening.

Easy to Give Away Free Things When They're All Different Degrees of "Adequate"

While the three other varieties (a brioche, a baguette, and an olive roll) are all various states of "fine" (the baguette proves to be the most successful), as is the accompanying olive oil, we are at another stand-off over the walnut version that has come with the actual cheese. 

Aldea Seems to Be Suffering from a Case of "Too Much Bread in the Kitchen"

Taking her first bite, Vodka observes, "This has nuts in it."

This statement is followed immediately, in unison, with:

Ginger: "Yes, it's delicious."
Vodka: "I hate nuts."

Truth be told, with tastes like these, it's amazing we've made it through this many dishes without a fistfight.

With Tastes Like These, It's Also Amazing We're Friends In the First Place

Onto the cheese plate, which includes a blue cheese, a soft goat-like cheese, and a hard, cheddar-like cheese (clearly, we can't distinguish cheeses unless they're blue): all are tasty enough, though we are especially taken with the lone hard cheese on the platter (and Ginger enjoys the accompanying triangles of membrillo-like jam, though Vodka finds them useless).

With So Much Bread and Cheese to Be Had, Who Needs Jelly?

Similarly, our cocktails are satisfying, if nothing to write home (or in this case, to AA) about -- Ginger's tastes appropriately like ginger, and Vodka's, in a true "I've had a tough week" divergence from her usual vodka, like tequila.

Though We Do Enjoy the Metal Straw That Accompanies Vodka's Choice

Finally, we are served our Best Thing I Ever Ate reason for being here: the arroz de pato, featuring duck confit, chorizo, clementines, and olives.  Pretty enough, the dish looks like a cross between paella and pork fried rice, and because we love a carb, we are optimistic that this rice will prove appropriately pleasing.

It does not.

To Sum Things Up in a Nutshell and All

Vodka takes one forkful, and confirming that all the bread in the world has not yet raised her from her funk, states, with mild hostility, "I don't like it."  It seems Vodka's first bite has included a healthy dose of the yellow sauce that is dolloped around the plate, which we're assuming are the clementines but taste more like lemons.  This sauce seems excessively sweet for this savory dish.

Yellow Dollops of Sugary Not-Goodness

As we manage to eat around the "frosting," we find the duck itself to be extremely well-cooked (as in tender and juicy, not dry and chewy), and the rice, appealingly sticky with a tangy bite.  The chorizo, sliced super thinly, adds more spice than one would assume it would be capable of in such a form, which is more than we can say for the bits of crispy duck skin, which taste like, well, nothing.

Perhaps Mustard Would Have Made a Better Yellow Condiment Choice

"This whole lemon thing is misguided," Ginger states, tossing her fork with disdain.  It seems "misguided" has crept into her lexicon recently and taken up residence as her favorite word ever, and the term is now catching, as one thing then another, including Aldea's chef, becomes "misguided."

You see, earlier in the evening, Vodka had spotted said chef, George Mendes, lingering near the bar. 

"I think he was our waiter somewhere else," she whispers.  "Oh no, wait - he was on Top Chef or something."

"I like that you assumed he was our waiter, like everyone is always here to serve us," Ginger smirks. 

This Is the Kind of Logic That Occurs When One's Bloodstream Is Filled with Tequila

When we figure out that Mendes is actually the chef of this place, we begin to notice him, throughout our meal, perched in various points of the restaurant, texting on his phone.

"What is he doing?!  He should be somewhere making this dish better!" Ginger exclaims, and with that, we decide it is time to leave.

After One Cocktail Each and Everything

When we receive our bill, we learn that Aldea has recently started the policy of taking 20% off all food served at the bar, a concept that not only thrills us, but is also the first thing all week that neither of us can even dare to call "misguided."

Aldea's Arroz de Pato: 3 stars

Off the Map: We're Already "Those People"

Misty Knoll Flattened Lemon Chicken -- Oleana, Cambridge, MA
Oleana

There is nothing like walking in on a staff meeting to kick off your reputation as "those people" at any establishment.

Now, "those people," granted, is a subjective term.  We can't quite define what kind of people we're talking about, other than the ones that are in some way inflicting annoyance and/or confusion on those who surround them.

Vodka and Ginger fear that we are "those people" quite frequently, especially when we, oh, sit at bars by ourselves in the middle of the day, or bring unsanctioned pickles or egg nog into restaurants, or show up three hours early for our reservation.  Just for instance.

Anyway, after nearly burning her face off at Gourmet Dumpling House, Vodka and her friend make their way to Cambridge for their 5:30pm reservation at Oleana.

Let's Hope This Doesn't Scorch Off the Remainder of Vodka's Mouth

When we arrive at exactly 5:25pm, we walk into the middle of a restaurant staff meeting.  Rather than sending us to the bar, or even back outside, for our five minute wait, the manager not-so-patiently shoos us into a dark corner of the restaurant.  Mildly perplexed by our position, we field various busboys, waiters, and the manager himself for the next ten minutes as they try to scoot past us in our obviously inconvenient location.  In fact, when the manager comes by for the second time, we ask if we're supposed to be following him.  "No," he states, as if we are not here under legitimate, now five-minutes-late-reservation, circumstances.

Finally, after my friend takes the opportunity to hang her coat on the provided rack in our corner, the manager fetches us and looks only mildly bewildered when we announce that we would just like to sit at the bar.  After checking Vodka's first and last names against the reservation list (despite the fact that there are a grand total of zero additional guests trying to check in at 5:30pm), the manager shows us to the bar.

Where, Thankfully, Bread Baskets Are Still Provided

"I assume you're drinking," Vodka says to her friend, temporarily forgetting that Ginger is not the one present.

"I may hold off on this round," the friend proclaims, forcing Vodka into a bout of solo boozing.

Least. Acceptable. Answer. Ever.

"Do you have flavored vodka?" Vodka asks the already looking-at-us-like-we're-lunatics bartender (oh, just you wait, buddy).

"We're too close to a church to serve hard liquor," he answers.

"Huh?!"

"It's an old Cambridge rule," he explains.  "Only wine and beer."  Talk about your unfortunate town policy, and this coming from a girl who lives in a city where you can't get a drink before noon on Sunday.  Blasphemy!

Settling for a glass of chardonnay, this great display of scripture absurdity has apparently awakened my friend's thirst for alcohol, as she orders herself a glass of sangria (and offers, inexplicably, for the bartender to put it in the same glass as her now empty Diet Coke in order to "cut down on the dishwashing"). 

"They have sangria?!  Excuse me," Vodka calls across the bar to the vodka-less bartender.  "EXCUSE ME."  Slowly he turns.

"I need to change my drink order to sangria," Vodka states, catching him just as the first drop of chardonnay is about to hit the bottom of the wine glass.  He nods solemnly, and we burst into immature giggles at our assured revelation: We are definitely "those people."

And Now, Let's Turn to the Purpose of Our Visit

Prying apart our magnetic menus, we order one Misty Knoll flattened lemon chicken with za'atar and a Turkish cheese pancake to share.  The dish, which was chosen by Gabriella Gershenson on the BIRD IS THE WORD episode of Best Thing I Ever Ate, arrives minutes later, just in time for the bartender to hear by friend proclaim "I go to the bank for breakfast" (it seems they serve bagels), thus nailing the coffin shut on our reputation at the place.

Considering This is the Phone Said Friend Still Uses, The Bank Breakfasts Should Not Be Surprising

The chicken dish itself is pretty enough: a plump chicken breast coated in a black sesame seed-laden sauce, resting atop greens and a cheesy pancake.

Okay, It Looked Slightly Prettier in Person

The first taste reveals that Oleana wasn't kidding on the "lemon" description, as the lemon taste is so strong that it is overpowered only by the slightly burnt flavor of the top coating (which we assume is the "za'atar").

Sour Patch Chicken

The chicken itself is moist enough, though not overly so, and the "pancake" is more of a sweet-cheese-wrapped-in-phyllo-dough affair than the thick, more potatoey pancake which we were expecting.

This Chicken Is Looking More and More Unappealing as the Pictures Progress

Overall, the dish is good, if vaguely odd, and not something that we finish (and as our college dorm room flatware could attest, we are both members of the Clean Plate Club).

Poor Showing, Team

As we are getting ready to leave, our dear friend, the manager, stops by again to ask us to move bar stools in order to accommodate another party.  Vodka, who really doesn't feel like being bothered with such helpfulness, says that if we can just get our check, we'll be out of their hair in a matter of seconds.  We pay and free up the sought-after bar stools, only to go out with a bang on our position of being "those people."

As you might recall, Vodka's friend's coat is hanging on a corner rack in Oleana, the corner where the entire waitstaff, plus early reservation arrivers, seem to like to hang out.  As we make our way back to said corner, we discover that, though the restaurant is now full, my friend's coat remains the ONLY one present on the reject rack.

It Seems No One in Cambridge Uses Outerwear

Whipping out her camera, Vodka tries to explain to the four hovering busboys, "I need to take a picture of her coat because it looks sad."  As I'm about the snap the photo, one of them asks, "Do you know her?" 

"Yes," Vodka answers, unsure where the confusion at the situation lies, and she skedaddles off to the bathroom.

Her friend, who has been left standing in the corner in utter coatless awkwardness, finally states, "I'm going to get my coat now" and maneuvers her way through the busboys.

"That's your coat?!" the same busboy asks incredulously.

"Yes," my friend states.  "It's all starting to make sense now, isn't it?"

Though we have a sneaking suspicious that, like so much of Ginger's and my previous behavior that has been recounted on this blog, the whole thing still didn't make much sense at all.

Oleana's Misty Knoll Flattened Lemon Chicken: 3 stars

Once, Twice, Three Times at Buddakan

Whole Peking Duck -- Buddakan
Buddakan

And so completes our accidental tour of the North American Buddakan restaurants.

For two people who are not wildly fond of Buddakan, we seem to be spending an awful lot of time here.  First came the mysterious (and awful) non-Best Thing I Ever Ate doughnuts at the Atlantic City outpost.  Then, mere days ago, we acquired the correct dip sum doughnuts at the Philadelphia location.  And now, for purposes of consuming Bobby Flay's BIRD IS THE WORD chosen dish of the whole peking duck, we have made our way to the New York Buddakan.

This, for the record, is about three too many Buddakan experiences. 

And Our Doctors Would Say Too Many Doughnuts

Stumbling through the giant door located just north of Chelsea Market, it takes time for our eyes to adjust to the inevitable dreary (verging on midnight-black) lighting that inexplicably fills each and every Buddakan.  Sounding entirely too much like our mothers (or, in this case, grandmothers), we debate whether or not we will be better off sitting at the bar or at a table, the subtext being "Which will make us feel less like we're eating in a dark tunnel?"  We decide on the bar, at least until the hostess points us into the adjacent room -- the one we could barely see due to the aforementioned bleak lighting and were therefore trying to avoid -- when we change our minds and ask for a table.

Where;s Thomas Edison When You Need Him?

The hostess still points us to the dreaded "lounge area," which seems to have only one lightbulb functioning for the entire room, in order to wait for our table "to be ready."  Now, this charade seems ridiculous to us, as we are now forced to awkwardly stand around this "lounge," filled with people who clearly do not need night-vision goggles to survive in this place, and wait for our "seater."  Said seater arrives moments later, rechecks us in for our reservation (WHY, Buddakan?!), and proceeds to recite her directions to follow her as if reading from a script.  She leads us down the (thankfully better lighted) stairs, Ginger smirking all the way at her Shakespearean recitation of our instructions, and into a room featuring a table built for King Arthur and his knights.

We Wonder How King Arthur Felt About Lo Mein

"You sit at one end and I'll sit at the other," Ginger suggests, and the situation seems merrily ludicrous because we can finally see ourselves in more than shadows for the first time all evening.

Until we are lead to our actual, non-Beauty and the Beast-sized table, which is located, naturally, in a electricity-lacking corner.

Being that we are starving, we try to make the best of our twilight-decor location and get down to the business of ordering.  Ginger chooses the Fever drink, featuring tequila, lime jalapeno, and pomegranate, which she finds enjoyable but Vodka thinks is deathly spicy.  Vodka settles on the less biting choice of the Charm cocktail, featuring prosecco, passion fruit liqueur, and fresh berries. 

Because There's Nothing Like Alcohol-Laden Berries to Get One Through a Third Trip to Buddakan

When we choose the whole peking duck and minced pork lo mein as our entrees, our waiter suggests that we order an appetizer because the duck will take a while to prepare.  We decline and then discuss how this phrase ("Do you want something to start because that will take a while?") seems to be one of waitstaff's favorite things to say to us (We're looking at you, Barbuto).  This ploy could be rendered moot if all restaurants would simply provide their guests with their culinary version of a bread basket: give us something to nosh on and stop trying to pawn off your lame appetizers, you cheapskates.

Plus, the waiter's whole suggestion is proven to be a farce when both of our dishes arrive, literally, five minutes later.  Very sneaky, Buddakan.

Fast Food Duck

Unfortunately, our ability to start eating immediately is hindered by the fact that the Buddakan "seaters" insist on placing one party and then another at the tables adjoining ours, despite the fact that dozens of other open tables are visible.  We find this practice annoying, not just because the constant movement of these interlopers is hindering Vodka's picture documentation (to say nothing of the effects of the ill lighting), but because the people seated next to us are SO LOUD that they manage to increase the volume of the entire restaurant by entirely too many decibels. 

Poor Picture Quality Courtesy of Buddakan's Electricity Department

"What is their problem?  It's too dark in here, it's not too loud," Vodka complains about our neighbors, and we wonder how we always manage to get strapped with the diners who never learned how to use their indoor voices in elementary school.

Eventually, we dig into our plate of duck, which features three small dishes of scallions, cucumbers, and hoisin sauce beside it.

Peking Duckie, You're the One

The pancakes for our duck tacos are located in a small round basket, with a layer of filmy paper separating each.  This paper becomes a nuisance within seconds, as we pile it up in the middle of our table as if dining at The Hillbilly Cafe.

Next Time, Hold the Coffee Filters

Piling each pancake with the duck breast, crispy skin, and the accompaniments, we dive in.

And we chew silently for enough time to know that this dish is not the best thing we ever ate.

We Give It Three Quacks

Neither of us make a habit of eating Peking duck dishes, but we're aware enough to realize that this version is simply okay.  The duck itself, if tasted without the hoisin sauce, has absolutely no flavor.  It's barely even bland -- it's just not there at all.  The crispy skin of the duck is a slight improvement, though it, too, is helped greatly by smears of hoisin sauce.  The scallions do not taste remotely onion-like, and there are barely enough cucumber sticks for the amount of crunch we'd like to add to our duck creations.

Flock of Blah Duck Meat

Plus, the whole thing is a whopping $44.  For that price, you'd think they could have spared another cucumber.

Our minced pork lo mein is also on the mediocre side, though Ginger finds it more enjoyable if only because it tastes better than the monstrosity of a noodle dish that we had at the Atlantic City Buddakan.

And When Compared to "Gross," Most Things ARE an Improvement

The noodles themselves are so slippery that Vodka has to resort to lapping them into her mouth with her fork rather than the more festive chopsticks, and they feature so many red peppers that every other bite leaves her mouth scalding (Ginger, whose cocktail seems to have strengthened her palate, does not experience this death-by-pepper issue).

Noodles Playing the Slip N Slide

Just for kicks, we decide to order this Buddakan's featured doughnuts for dessert, which have been changed to the apple cider variety for the season.

The First Buddakan Doughnuts Featuring Holes

The doughnuts themselves are cakey -- almost too chewy -- though the creme fraiche ice cream which is provided with them is fairly delectable (most likely because its sauce features some sort of ingrained alcohol).

Here's a Tip, Buddakan: Start Infusing EVERYTHING with Alcohol

We request our check in order to get out of our final Buddakan experience as quickly as possible.  After all, if after three times, three separate tries, three different opportunities, Buddakan has still failed to win us over, we know there is no hope for the situation.  As we ease our way out of Buddakan's black shell of a building, Vodka expresses our final decision on Stephen Starr's Chinese trifecta: "No more Buddakan.  Ever."

Buddakan's Whole Peking Duck: 3 stars