Off the Map: A Bowl of Soup a Day Keeps the Vampires Away

Garlic Soup -- Bayona, New Orleans, LA

Bayona

If there is one thing Vodka and Whiskey Sour failed to predict in their many iterations of their New Orleans itinerary, it is how UTTERLY FREEZING they would be after a historical boat ride up and down the Mississippi.

Where's That Stifling NOLA Humidity We Keep Hearing About?

Luckily for Bayona, theirs is the next stop on our eating tour, and we are here to consume Simon Majumbar's favorite garlic soup from the WITH GARLIC episode of Best Thing I Ever Ate. 

Please Tell Us You Have Heat

While soup is not generally something Vodka craves, being that her body temperature is lower than it has been throughout the entire New York City winter, it is a welcome vehicle for warmth.

Thank Goodness We're Not Eating Ceviche Right Now

Because we haven't eaten in a solid two hours, along with the soup, we order the veal cutlet, the shrimp and grits, and two ample cocktails: the Bayona martini for Vodka and the Driving Glove for Whiskey Sour.

The Most Surefire Way to Increase One's Body Temperature

Our frozen fingertips are pleased that the soup lands in front of us almost immediately, and it does a swell job of thawing our insides. 

It Tasted Better Than It Looked, Okay?

While garlic soup does not sound like something that would necessarily be pleasing, this variety is shockingly pleasant. In the most surefire sign of our culinary pleasure, we begin sighing contentedly after the first spoonful. 

Our Vocal Cords Tend to Reveal Our True Feelings on Any Culinary Matter

Sprinkled with a solid helping of crunchy garlic, the soup has much more nuance of flavor than we had been anticipating. (Though it also causes us to exhale straight garlic for the rest of the day.) 

Shocking That the Entire Place Does Not Reek of Garlic Breath

Both of our entrees are also quite tasty (read: warm), but the thing we find most lovely about Bayona is, despite the chaotic surroundings happening directly outside, it is a welcome, quiet refuge from the French Quarter shenanigans.

Whiskey Sour's First Shrimp Head Experience

Vodka's Politically Incorrect Meat

Scenic Patio Which We're Too Cold to Make Use Of

Still relishing the novelty of New Orleans's open container policies, Vodka asks for a second Bayona martini to go, and we stumble back into the chaos warmer, drunker, and thus significantly more in line with the riffraff surrounding us.

The French Quarter's Version of "Water"

Bayona's Garlic Soup: 4 stars

Is a Martini at 11am Inappropriate?

Garlic Shrimp -- Schiller's Liquor Bar

Schiller's Liquor Bar

We don't like to go to the Lower East Side.

To Be Fair, It's Not So Fond of Us Either

Our animosity toward the Lower East Side stems from its propensity for narrow sidewalks, non-hosed down streets, and an overflow of hipsters. It is no accident that even though there are two 5 star Best Thing I Ever Ate dishes on the Lower East Side (the French Onion Soup dumplings and grapefruit margarita), neither of us has returned once to have them again.

In other words, you're welcome, Schiller's Liquor Bar, that we have agreed to grace your establishment with our presence at all.

Oh, the Moral Sacrifices We Make for Best Thing I Ever Ate Purposes

Schiller's is the home of Tyler Florence's, he of widely-variable-San-Francisco-taste, Best Thing I Ever Ate WITH GARLIC dish, the garlic shrimp.  We arrive at Schiller's a full hour before our reservation time (in our defense, we tried to call ahead to alert them, but people on the Lower East Side do not seem to believe in ANSWERING THE PHONE).  

They're Too Busy "Not Having a Computer," But More on That Later

We are seated in the middle of the room without incident, and we get down to ordering.  And by "ordering," we mean "drinking."  It's nearly 11am already, after all.

The Term "It's Not Even Noon Somewhere" Was Born on the Lower East Side. We Better Do It Justice

"They have a wet ginger martini," Ginger states.  "Though maybe I should get something more appropriate for the hour."

"I'm getting an Old Man Martini," Vodka tells her.  And thus it is settled: martinis all around.

Old Man Martini = Stellar Name, By the Way

Along with the martinis, we order a side of French fries and a plate of the garlic shrimp (and thus make our waitress think that we are decidedly more hungover than we are).  Said waitress asks if we would like bread to mop up the garlic sauce from the shrimp, and who are we to deny ourselves any carbs?

Cut to: the bread arrives, and it is pretty much one serving of some questionable-looking loaf.

Well, THIS Will Never Do

"This is really all the bread they could spare?!" Ginger mumbles to Vodka as we take our first sips of the martinis, which are, in a word, sour.  And not that great.  But they contain alcohol, so, you know, down the hatch.

It's Not Even Mid-Morning Somewhere

"Could They Not Have Found a Less Hideous Section of the Peel?!"

Before we can drown our frustrations too deeply in second-rate booze, our food arrives.  Well, more specifically, a heaping cone of French fries (good portion) and a steaming dish of teeny, tiny, minuscule shrimp (bad portion) arrive.

Objects in Picture Are Larger Than They Actually Appeared

Naturally, we count said shrimp, just to prove a point.  And there are eleven of them.  Do you know how much this garlic shrimp dish costs?  $13.  By our calculations, that works out to $1.18 per (minuscule) shrimp.

Does this place think they're Le Bernardin?  We all know how well that place lives on in our memory (ahem).

Did They Ship This Shrimp In from the Pacific?!

The shrimp themselves are... garlicky?  Slightly.  Lemony?  OVERWHELMINGLY.  If anything, either someone made a heavy-handed mistake with the lemon in the kitchen, or this dish would more properly be called LEMON shrimp.  

That Yellow You See Is Not Butter. It Is Lemon

The garlic is playing second-fiddle here in a big way, and between this and the cocktails, Schiller's certainly seems to be fond of catering toward customers' sour tastebuds.

Have You Ever Heard of Salt? We Like Salt

While $13 buys you a few measly shrimp, what it does NOT buy you is any sort of plate on which to rest these crustaceans before placing them in your mouth.  Same goes for the bread and the French fries -- NO PLATES.  We are inconvenienced by this fact, if not enough to actually do anything about it (ie ask for plates).

We Prefer to Stew In Our Own Displeasure

The French fries are tasty, if nondescript, and if we ever came to Schiller's again (unlikely), we'd plan on ordering a burger, if only to get more bang for our buck.

Also, Because We Like to Eat French Fries

Our check arrives ("$46 for this nonsense!"), and Vodka, checking her phone, discovers that we have never been checked in for our OpenTable reservation.  One our way out, she inquires about this with the host:

"Could you check us in for our reservation on OpenTable?  I'll be penalized if you don't."

"We don't have OpenTable."

"But that's how I made the reservation."

"Right, but I can't check you in."

"Then how will they know if I showed up?"

"I tell them if you DIDN'T show up and we get $1 back if you don't."

"But we showed up."

"Right."

"So can you check us in?"

"I don't have a computer."

Who's On First, Lower East Side-Style

Ginger, who is somehow understanding this guy's rationale more than Vodka, all but shoves Vodka out the door.  But between the puckering cocktails, lemony shrimp, and irrational reservation policies, Vodka looks like the undisputed sourpuss of the Lower East Side.

Schiller's Liquor Bar's Garlic Shrimp: 3 stars

Off the Map: There Is No Good Way to Have a Plague

Plague Bringer Burger -- Kuma's Corner, Chicago, IL
Kuma's Corner

Shocking as it may be, we do not make a habit of frequenting biker bars.

Now, calling Kuma's Corner in Chicago a "biker bar" might be a bit of a stretch, but we have no better name for a place which features a smattering of motorcycles out front, a seemingly strict "employees must be covered in tattoos" rule, and cartooned nudity masquerading as "art" on the walls.

In essence, this is not really our kind of place.

They Don't Make a Motorcycle with TWO Sidecars and NO Bike, Do They?

Nevertheless, we haul ourselves up to the bar and get down to ordering the first cocktails of our Chicago adventure.  Unfortunately, all Kuma's Corner seems interested in serving is beer.

We Would Find This Tap More Amusing Had It Featured Absolut and Grey Goose Bottles

"Do you have wine?" we ask the not-exactly-genial bartender.

"Red and white," she answers.

Asking for elaboration on what exactly the "white" or "red" varieties taste like (enlightening as her initial description is...), we receive little more than a grunt.

Her Answer Is Essentially "It's Not Beer"

We take this as a cue to shut up and suffer through the mystery white variety, along with one plague bringer burger, as recommended by Adam Gertler on the WITH GARLIC episode of Best Thing I Ever Ate.

Thankfully, With All This Garlic, Nobody In This Place Is Showing Any Interest In Kissing Us

Glancing around the restaurant, we are shocked to find almost all of the tables packed, considering it is only 11:45am on a weekday and we just left the nearly-empty Urban Belly.  Presumably, Kuma's Corner's clientele does not work for a living.

I Don't Wanna Work, I Just Wanna Chew on Some Meat All Day

Instead, what they do is crave massive, Honey-I-Shrunk-My-Mouth-size burgers, a sentiment to which Ginger can generally relate.

"The only thing I ever really crave is a hamburger," she admits.  "Well, and anything with sugar on it."  Which, when you think about it, does not narrow down the variety much at all. 

In contrast, Vodka's craving is much more specific.  "I crave pasta.  And I pretty much eat it daily, so it works out."

With food cravings like this, it is astounding that we have not yet been targeted by Jenny Craig.

Though the Same Can Be Said for Anyone Capable of Finishing This Thing

Our wine, which tastes suspiciously like a "house" variety, eventually arrives, followed by our plague bringer burger and fries.   The burger, just to look at, is completely overwhelming: a thick beef patty smothered in pepper jack cheese and sandwiched between a pretzel roll, lettuce, tomato, roasted garlic mayo, jalapenos, hot sauce, and tortilla strips.  In theory, we should love this thing.

In practice, we essentially hate it.

Well, Except for the Ketchup

Now, this plague bringer burger is a real conundrum.  Every component of it sounds delicious.

What Could Possibly Go Wrong with a Burger Featuring a Pretzel Bun AND Tortilla Strips?!

Therefore, when we finally manage to wrap our jaws around the entirety of it in order to take a bite, we can't tell at first if it is the best thing or the worst thing we have ever eaten.

As we finish our second bite, our decision is fairly clear.

Ding Ding Ding, We Don't Have a Winner!

In total, we each like exactly one thing about this burger: Ginger is taken with the pretzel bun (which Vodka finds uselessly devoid of salt), and Vodka with the tortilla strips.

We'll Just Take a Bowl of These Strips and Some Guacamole, Thanks in Advance

Every other feature of the burger, we despise, separately but equally.  The meat itself is so unevenly cooked that it is virtually inedible -- some parts gray and dry, and others nearly alive.  Even had it been grilled properly, the texture is much more like that of a meatball than of a burger patty, and the juicy greasiness is sorely lacking.

Funky Looking Meat, Much?

However, what this burger lacks in grease, it makes up for in pure, unadulterated torture.  The roasted garlic mayo -- the part of the burger we had been most excited about -- tastes as if a full head of raw garlic has been stuffed into the bun.

Take Off At Least Half These Ingredients, and We'll Talk

The pepper jack cheese and hot sauce add a completely unnecessary level of heat -- unnecessary because the raw jalapenos are enough to kill one's tastebuds in a single bite.

"I am truly breathing fire," Ginger admits.

"Eat the mediocre fries," Vodka suggests.  "They help take away the sting."

"No.  I have enough reflux from this thing as it is," Ginger states.  Indeed, by the third bites of our burgers, our lips sting, our breath reeks, and our hands are smothered in plague.

The Aftermath of the Burger Torture Chamber

"They could've spared a wet nap," Vodka complains, rubbing her hands on one paper napkin and then another.  "I hate any dish that I can't eat like a human."  In truth, there is no possible way to consume this burger without making a complete mess of one's appearance (let alone one's internal organs).  This fact renders Kuma's Corner generous portions a moot point, as we believe it would be impossible for anyone to finish this thing without a stain on her clothes and a hole in her esophagus.

This Disaster Should Come With Its Own Government Warning

"Ugh, that was awful," Ginger bemoans as we traipse back through Logan Square.  "That burger really was a plague.  Not in a good way.  Cause there's no good way to have a plague."

The Culprit Behind the Great Epidemic of 2012

Unless, of course, one's goal is to create a plague that will wipe out people's tastebuds and arteries in one fell swoop.  In that case, Kuma's Corner is winning by a tattoo.
 
Kuma's Corner Plague Bringer Burger: 1 star

Where Harry Met Sally and We Met Knoblewurst

Knoblewurst – Katz’s Deli
Katz's Deli

It has recently been established that we have a future in competitive eating.

The morning after nearly dying of massive food intake, we are each consuming food in our respective kitchens at rapid-fire pace.  One would never know that we had eaten half of downtown Manhattan the afternoon before.

Our Prey

And this is when we realize our flaw from our first day o’ eating: you need to pace yourself, and the only way to pace yourself is to eat constantly from the moment you wake up.  Lesson learned.

The following week, we embark on our second adventure in eating all of the Best Thing I Ever Ate dishes in Manhattan.  A snowstorm had hit the city a few days before, and unfortunately for us, Mayor Bloomberg has decided that downtown sidewalks don’t really have to be cleared because NYC is apparently a driving town (…).  This lack of sidewalk clearance is relevant only because it hindered our ability to get to our eating destinations as quickly as we would have preferred, and also because it nearly killed us.

Bloomberg's Idea of a Good Time

After trudging over mountainous snowbanks, forging through puddles, and sliding down an overarching rink of sidewalk ice, we make it to Katz’s Deli ready to abandon our tour and go protest outside Gracie Mansion.

Now, Katz’s Deli is what one calls a “New York Institution,” so naturally, neither of us, being New York Institution losers, had ever been there.  We were instantly confused.  In a process that still remains mildly unclear, upon entering Katz’s, you are given a ticket that you are to keep with you until you leave.  You pay at the door on your way out, or at least, this is what we manage to discern in the midst of our frazzledness.

Katz’s becomes unwittingly crowded and overwhelming quickly (as Vodka discovered at a later date when she arrived mid-day on a Sunday).  However, at 9:00am on this Saturday, crickets.  The place is nearly empty.

We walk up to the counter and confidently ask for a knoblewurst sandwich on rye.  The man behind the counter looks bemused.  Without saying anything, he slaps two pieces of red, juicy sliced sausage down on the counter in front of us.

“Try it,” he says.  Apparently, we don’t look like the knoblewurst types.

We do.  It is the Best Thing We Have Ever Eaten.

We nod and grunt incoherently at the man behind the counter, confirming that we didn’t order knoblewurst by mistake.  Wanting to make the most of our first trip to Katz’s Deli, we choose the seat “Where Harry Met Sally,” as the dangling sign above our heads indicates, for our breakfast of the best thing WITH GARLIC that Michael Psilakis has ever eaten.

We'll Have What She's Having... If It's Knoblewurst

Our sandwich is a three-inch tall stack of sliced sausage in between two mustard-slathered pieces of rye bread, with a side of complimentary pickles.  We dutifully split the sandwich and dig in.

We are in love.

Our Soul Mate

The knoblewurst is cooked so that portions of the “skin” are downright crunchy, while the middle remains moist and juicy.  As someone who has been forcefed kielbasi by her Polish mother and grandmother for most of her life, Vodka is one with garlic sausages, and this is one of the best.

Not Kielbasi, but It Will Do

Jamming the entire half sandwich in our mouths, we fear that we have just done ourselves in and failed the rest of our day before it even began.  Grabbing those wayward tickets, we head towards the door to pay for the greatest knoblewurst sandwich ever, before going back outside onto the ice rink that Mayor Bloomberg considers Manhattan.

Katz’s Deli Knoblewurst: 5 stars*

*Certifiable Best Thing We Ever Ate