Off the Map: With a Side of French Toast, Please

Peanut Butter and Banana Stuffed French Toast - Cafe 222, San Diego, CA

Cafe 222

After a bumpy start involving an odd restaurant, a rogue oyster, and entirely too much sun, Vodka and her friend, Vesper, start day 2 of their San Diego jaunt at Bobby Flay's favorite place for a WAKE UP CALL, Cafe 222, home of the peanut butter and banana stuffed French toast.

Elvis Could Never!

We arrive approximately 90 seconds after the restaurant opens, because you can ship New Yorkers to California, but you can't make them believe that they'll have to wait in line if they are not the first on the scene when the doors open.

The Early Bird Gets the French Toast

Thankfully, only two parties have beaten us to our "late arrival," and we are seated inside the miniscule dining room. While the number of outdoor tables and chairs are deceptively robust, the same cannot be said for the innards of Cafe 222, which feature approximately six tables total.

And Also This Dainty Chandelier

Undeterred by the small surface area on which we have to work (read: eat), and after sheepishly inquiring if it's possible to get a "half order" of the chosen French toast, we choose the breakfast burrito (Vodka), the two by two by two (Vesper, holding her own with two eggs, two pancakes, and two slices of turkey bacon), and a "side of French toast to share."

Needless to Say, We're Not Here to Work on Our Beach Bodies

After a smirk from our very genial waiter, which should have given us a clue as to what we were in for, our meal, if we can even call it that, soon arrives.

Vodka, Saving Calories by Drinking Her Coffee Black

Only it's not so much a "meal" as a "buffet," more in line with what is offered at the finest Vegas breakfast establishments than at a small corner cafe.

Not the Type of Bar We're Used To

First things first, the French toast - which neither of us would commit to as a full meal because a) a girl needs ample protein in the morning, and the peanut butter wasn't going to cut it, and b) we don't particularly care for French toast - is, in a word, divine. It may very well be the best French toast Vodka has ever tasted, and again, not just because she doesn't generally order such things.

Bobby Flay, You Did Good With This One

Crisp on the crusts but soft in the middle, lathered with peanut butter and a thinly-sliced layer of bananas, the French toast is addictive. 

Stuffed to the Gills

We coat it with the provided perfectly-spreadable butter and dip it into an ample amount of maple syrup, and it serves as a sort of palate cleanser in between bites of our "real" breakfasts.

A Proper Serving of Butter

Both of our actual choices are similarly delectable, albeit absolutely enormous. 

A Burrito Suitable for Three Meals

After confirming that our hotel room is in possession of a working refrigerator, Vodka suggests carting our leftover wares back to our room, for which our waiter cheerily stocks us with approximately seven to-go boxes for packing purposes. 

The Bacon Is of the Turkey Variety So It's Practically Fat Free

This decision proves to be a fruitful one later this evening, when Vodka could be found mainlining cold burrito into her mouth after an evening where the cocktails overpopulated the dinner consumption by a margin of three to one. Even soggy, chilled, and decidedly worse for wear, the burrito remained delicious.

Leftovers Which Are More Appetizing Than They Look

Though it tasted even better with an accompanying slab of French toast.

Cafe 222's Peanut Butter and Banana Stuffed French Toast: 5 stars*

*Certifiable Best Thing We Ever Ate

Off the Map: Why Cleveland? Why Are You So Perfect?

Corned Beef Hash -- Big Al's Diner, Cleveland, OH

Big Al's Diner

Here's the difference between New York and Cleveland: none of our Lyft drivers in New York have ever, with complete sincerity, apologized for the town's pollution.

And Not for Nothing, the Air Looks Pretty Clean to Us

But in Cleveland, on our way to Big Al's Diner to eat Michael Symon's Best Thing I Ever Ate WAKE UP CALL dish, not only does our driver seemingly take responsibility for the city's fossil fuel emissions, but he also appears concerned about our destination, being that we're driving through some of Cleveland's less scenic neighborhoods to reach it. 

Don't Worry, Driver -- Michael Symon Wouldn't Steer Us Wrong

However, Big Al's itself is straight out of a sitcom diner, albeit one from the late 1950s. 

Would Not Look Out of Place on an Episode of The Honeymooners

After a brief waiting period outside, as the joint is already packed at 9:00am, we are led to a booth where we peruse the placemat which doubles as a menu. 

Please Ignore Vodka's Lipstick Stain

Along with Michael Symon's chosen corned beef hash, we choose the potato pancakes with sour cream and applesauce, because while already on a weekend food bender, why not go full throttle?

We Won't Be Eating Again for at Least Two Hours So....

While Vodka's coffee cup gets constantly refilled until she's at the point of jitteriness, we anticipate our breakfast's arrival, wondering if the nondescript nature of Big Al's establishment will lead to similarly humdrum food.

A Counter Built for Four

And then the corned beef hash arrives. And it is a thing of beauty.

Putting All Other Diner Dishes to Shame

A warm pile of beef, potatoes, and vegetables rests beneath two perfectly cooked over-easy eggs, framed on either side by four pieces of butter-soaked white bread toast. 

Symmetrical Perfection

After one bite, Vodka douses her half with salt and hot sauce before proceeding to scoop the creation into her mouth with the intensity of a freshly-cleaned Hoover, marveling at the fact that, at Big Al's, even the toast is somehow better than that of any other diner variety.

How? How Does Nothing Go Wrong Here?

When Vodka reluctantly switches plates with Mezcal, who has been enjoying, if not moaning over, the potato pancakes, she does so with a resigned, "I give up. Gonna move here." 

And Probably Gonna Gain 100 Pounds While At It

And while the potato pancakes are also tasty -- they're fried carbs, so what could really go wrong? -- they are nothing compared to the majesty of the corned beef hash, which somehow redefine the surprising perfection that is Cleveland, OH.

Nailed It

No apologies necessary.

Big Al's Diner's Corned Beef Hash: 5 stars*

*Certifiable Best Thing We Ever Ate

Off the Map: The Wheels on the Bus Go Drink, Drink, Drink

Pasta Mama -- Hugo's, Los Angeles, CA

Hugo's

There are few things classier than using a hop-on, hop-off double-decker tour bus to fulfill one's Los Angeles restaurant reservations.  

Oh No, We're Not From Here -- How Could You Tell?

Without the use of a car, we had decided months ago to utilize the bus's route to help us get from one side of town to the other in order to save a few dollars on Uber.  Unfortunately for us, asking the bus drivers for door-to-door service doesn't really seem to be an option, which is how we find ourselves trudging up the sidewalks of West Hollywood in order to get to Hugo's to taste Susan Feniger's Best Thing I Ever Ate WAKE UP CALL dish, the pasta mama.

Dear StarLine Tours, We Have a New Route for You to Try

Despite the fact that Susan recommends eating the dish for breakfast, we wander into the place in the late afternoon (after all, we feel we've consumed enough breakfasts today to last us a lifetime).  At this point, Vodka's phone is on the brink of death (as opposed to the actual death it will experience on the streets of Santa Monica the next day, but that's another tale), and after we check in, she asks the hostess if it would be possible to be seated near an outlet in order to charge it.

To which Vodka receives a resounding, "No."

Clearly, the Hostess Doesn't Read This Blog, or Else She'd Know How Rapidly "Can I See the Manager?" Flies Out of Vodka's Mouth

Never one to take rejection well, the second our waiter appears at our table, Vodka accosts him with the same question.  Being that he is the kindest person on the planet, he volunteers to take Vodka's phone and charger and plug it in at the waiters' station, out of sight of the nasty hostess (who it becomes clear early on that everyone in the restaurant is afraid of.  So much for our "People in LA are excessively nice" theory).  

So Hardy Har Har, Ms. Hostess

In the meantime, once our new BFF, the waiter, tells us that Hugo's happy hour is currently offering all cocktails for $5, we are overwhelmed with glee.  Vodka orders a cucumber martini, and Ginger a margarita, which cause us to be so pleased with our lives that we each soon order another.

The Drunk Version of Cookies and Milk

In the middle of our bargain drinking, our bowl of pasta mama arrives, which, from what we remember, is spaghetti noodles with eggs, garlic, parsley, and parmesan cheese.  

Good Luck Following That Descriptive Recipe We've Provided

Almost immediately, Ginger, still sporting a hive on her cheek, decides to proclaim, "I think I may have an egg allergy."  This latest theory does not prevent her from diving into the bowl, which, almost immediately, Vodka decides to douse with salt.  

At This Point, Ginger Is Surprised Vodka Doesn't Carry a Flask of Salt in Her Purse

Overall, the pasta is tasty enough, if slightly chunky in texture due to the scrambled eggs.  

Yes, Hugo's, Could You Please Blend This for Us?

We could see how it could be pleasing in the early morning hours, especially since everywhere else in town seems insistent on only serving waffles.  

Nothing Like Some Good Carb-Loading First Thing in the Morning

And while we would certainly return to Hugo's for the $5 cocktails and sweet-as-pie waitstaff, the pasta itself would not be enough to lure us back.    

And Certainly Not Their Lack of Usable Electrical Outlets

As we prepare to leave, we watch a woman in a full down coat strut into the restaurant, despite the 65-degree temperature outside.  And we can only assume that she, unlike us, did not arrive here on a double-decker tour bus.

Hugo's Pasta Mama: 3 stars

Off the Map: Back and Not Quite Better Than Ever

Ricotta Blueberry Pancakes -- BLD, Los Angeles, CA

BLD

To say we've been a little lax on the Best Thing I Ever Ate front lately would be an understatement.  In fact, it was not until perusing our own blog (granted, probably the most traffic the site has gotten in ages) that we realized that it has been nearly a year and a half since we last put the Food Network stars to the test regarding the foods they have deemed to be the best.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Drunker

In our defense, the program itself stopped producing episodes years ago, so forgive us for going similarly defunct.

The Day We Run Out of Places to Eat Will Be a Tragic One for America

However, now, unlike the show itself, we are back and not quite better than ever.  Having plowed through nearly everything on the Manhattan food list, we have whisked ourselves off to Los Angeles, CA, to taste as many of the dishes in the second-most-prevalent BTIEA city as possible.

You Can Find Our Handprints Fossilized in a Local Bar

In our time away, Ginger has acquired a lick of digestive issues, which have been blamed on everything to shrimp (which she has given up) to dairy (which she sometimes gives up) to wine (which she will never, ever give up).  These bouts of uncomfortableness have left her with a rampant paranoia about what she places in her mouth, if (thankfully) not an actual refusal to eat anything.  

With Age Does NOT Come Wisdom

Speaking of stupidity, among our many reasons for taking years to venture to Los Angeles is our absolute refusal (some would say "inability") to drive.  We are thus being hauled around the city by a rotating cast of Uber and Lyft drivers, all given with the unfortunate task of putting up with us.  

Terror in Four-Lane Highway Form

After a brief sojourn to Disneyland, the first stop on our tour of LA finds us at BLD, home of Aida Mollenkamp's preferred Best Thing I Ever Ate WAKE UP CALL dish, the ricotta blueberry pancakes.

No Pressure, LA, But We're a Highly Judgmental Species

It is at this locale that we discover our first surprise about LA: the people are disarmingly nice.  We are greeted by a pleasant gentlemen who is not only the host, but also appears to be the waiter, bartender, busboy, and most likely our future Uber driver as well.  We assume we are going to be scoffed at when we ask for a single order of the desired pancakes, but he doesn't so much as raise an eyebrow at the fact that we're not, at the very least, even ordering a side dish.  

Have We Found a Land Where Frugality Is Appreciated?

Instead, he fetches two smaller plates so we can properly divide the pancakes between us, along with our coffee (Vodka) and latte (Ginger -- made with almond mild, due to the aforementioned dairy issues).

Whoever Thought Ginger Would Turn Out to be the More High-Maintenance of the Two of Us?

A few minutes later, two of the largest pancakes we've ever seen appear before us, with a small tub of butter and a vat of real Vermont maple syrup beside them.  While Ginger is instantly impressed with the fact that they're serving "real" maple syrup alongside their pancakes, Vodka is unclear of the difference.  ("Aunt Jemima's is corn syrup."  "And what's this?"  "...Maple.")

Why Vodka Would Never Survive in the Wilderness

We stab into the sides of the cakes, hauling slices onto our respective plates and dousing them with the appropriately soft butter and hot syrup.  Ginger tastes first, and when Vodka asks for an assessment, she answers simply, "It's a good pancake."

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why we shall never write food reviews for the New York Times.

Also Our Inability to Effectively Cut a Pancake

The pancakes are in fact quite tasty -- fluffy and soft, they are less sweet than many we have tasted, with only the scattered blueberries serving as a burst of sugar (along with, of course, the maple syrup).  In truth, we probably would have been well-off ordering a side of bacon, since the dish seems to call for a touch of salt on the side, but overall, we have no complaints about the pancakes themselves.   Other than the fact that we find them a tad on the large side (even between the two of us, we aren't capable of finishing the dish, and heaven knows we don't exactly eat like birds), we would certainly recommend them to anyone who generally enjoys a less savory breakfast.

Honey I Shrunk the Plate

And with that, we are back on the sidewalks of LA doing the unthinkable: walking to our next location, despite the otherwise barren sidewalks.  After all, you know what they say about taking the girls out of New York....  

BLD's Ricotta Blueberry Pancakes: 4 stars

Off the Map: Honey, Of Course We Have Cinnamon Rolls

Cinnamon Rolls -- Ann Sather, Chicago, IL
Ann Sather

NATO is slowly ruining our lives.

Despite the fact that the conference does not begin for a full 24-hours AFTER we leave Chicago, the city has preemptively shut down the museums, the double-decker bus tours, and, well, almost everything.  Officers toting clubs and bullet-proof vests are stationed outside anywhere we wish to go, and we are slowly becoming disgruntled with the entire situation.

"Land of the Free" Means LET US TAKE A BUS TOUR

As we are on our way to Andersonville to taste Ted Allen's Best Thing I Ever Ate WAKE UP CALL dish, the cinnamon rolls from Ann Sather, Ginger becomes suddenly paranoid that, like the rest of the Chicago province, Ann Sather will be closed.  Therefore, she rings up the establishment, and the following gem of a conversation takes place:

"Hello?"
"Hi, are you open today?"
(with obvious diner noise in the background) "Yes...."
"Do you have cinnamon rolls?"
(pause) "Honey, OF COURSE we have cinnamon rolls."

If She Worked at Avec, She Would Have Followed Up This Comment with "Duh"

Ginger hangs up the phone and is greeted by Vodka's mocking laughter.  "You know they're pretty much known for their cinnamon rolls, right?  You essentially just called up Junior's and asked if they had cheesecakes."

"Why didn't you warn me?!" Ginger demands.

"I thought you were just making sure they were open.  I didn't realize you were planning on going into a whole line of questioning."

After All, How Would You Interpret the Phrase, "I'm Going to Call and See If They're Open"?

It is on this idiotic note that we enter Ann Sather's doors, no doubt with figurative "We're the dopes who asked if you served cinnamon rolls" plastered on our foreheads.

Feel Free to Hand Over the Whole Tray

We are escorted to our table and served by just about the only non-passive-aggressive waitress we have encountered so far in Chicago (the only other one being at Walker Brothers Pancake House -- clearly, the genuinely cordial people all work in diner-like establishments).

Meaning They're Probably from New Jersey Originally

As we peruse the menu, we notice that the famous cinnamon rolls are served as a side dish with any of Ann Sather's breakfast entrees.  Actually, they are served as one of two sides.  And even better (worse?), the serving size is two cinnamon rolls.

To Confirm, This Is the Serving Size of a SIDE DISH

So just to add that up, the average Ann Sather customer apparently consumes a full breakfast entree, a side dish, and TWO cinnamon rolls.  We need to move to Chicago stat.

Although Not Really, Because Half the Town Hates Us

In truth, we are somewhat horrified by this lack of portion control (Ginger may or may not have called it "inhumane"), so we ask our waitress what size platter we should order if we only plan on eating the cinnamon rolls.

"Well, that's two," she says, pointing to the next table over, where a family sits around heaping plates of pastry goodness.

Ann Sather: Where Arteries Go to Die

We decide to limit our gluttony and order one roll each, and they arrive hot and laden with white, sticky goo right out of the oven.  Instantly, we are in love.  Unlike their ugly stepsister, the sticky bun, these rolls feature nothing but sugar, dough, and cinnamon for miles without a pesky nut in sight.  Seeping our forks into the middle of the rolls, we gently pull away the brown sugar circumferences which we find inside.  Dipping the forkful into some of the sauce which has seeped over the corners, we taste.

And at last, we have found a 5 star Chicago dish.

At Last Our Love Has Come Along

The cinnamon rolls' dough is a perfect tender texture, the goo warm and pleasing without being overtly sweet, and the cinnamon undertones creep out of each consecutive bite.

Dear Ann Sather, Please Move to NYC

While some such desserts are so overpoweringly sweet that they make our teeth hurt before we are halfway through them, these cinnamon rolls are pretty much perfect.  Were we not against physical labor of all forms, we might have come up with a way to cart a boxful home with us for future consumption.

Is This the Type of Establishment Where Licking One's Plate Is Frowned Upon?

After we pay our massive $8 bill (once again, our desire to leave a good tip renders us incapable of doing math.  It is at such times that we are reminded that it is a miracle we get through life at all), we shuffle out of Ann Sather and onto our next Andersonville location.

And with those cinnamon rolls, Chicago has finally crept its way into 5 star Best Thing I Ever Ate territory.  And we didn't even need a cocktail first.

Ann Sather's Cinnamon Rolls: 5 stars*

*Certifiable Best Thing We Ever Ate