Panda Wok and Woll

I am addicted to Asian food.  I am ashamed to say that I passed this addiction on to my daughters (The Foodie and Princess) while they were in the womb. As hard as I try, I can only go about a week without something with soy sauce on it.  Invariably, almost every weekend--especially when one of the girls are home--a low and strong craving builds until I have to pay a visit to one of my favorites like Asia Bistro or Green Papaya for some General Tso's Chicken with Hot and Sour soup or the like. Sometimes I am so anxious, I don't use the chopsticks.

After going this past Sunday afternoon without Asian food, I thought I would be distracted by the Super Bowl festivities at the Snobatorium with the silly hype about which brother the Harbaugh  parents loved best. I almost made it too.  Then, just before the half-time show and during the E-Trade Baby Commercial (which we all thought was one of the best but did not make the masses' top five) the following picture flashed on the screen for half a second:

Boom!

Well that put me over the edge. I could not sleep that evening without dreaming of egg rolls with duck sauce and waking with my hands trying to work chopsticks.  The next day, while heading out to the bypass, I saw the newly opened Panda Wok next to Nails by Ly (which are owned by the same person) near where our favorite Moody's Hardware used to be (3044 McGehee Road). (Take a trip to one of the big box hardware stores and realize what you are missing).  It is also across from the same sad strip mall  where Indian Palace and Del' Amalia had struggled so valiantly to survive--but failed.  With fond memories of those former Gump restaurants swirling in my head like fried won tons, I decided to give the Panda Wok a try. 

I passed on the Pu Pu Tray (Egg roll, crab Rangoon, fried shrimp, beef cho cho and BBQ Ribs), and went straight for the hot and sour soup, egg roll and the spicy Hong Kong chicken ( $5.75 at lunch).  Was quickly satisfied with the service, cleanliness and taste of the food.  They could have made it a little spicier for my taste because I am a hottie err...I like it hot.  They can make it as hot as you want I am sure.

I was enjoying my fare when on the news came a story about a party at the Kappa Sigma house at Duke where they celebrated (or ridiculed) Asians and new-English speaker's difficulties with pronouncing the letter "L": One email featured the puppet character of former Korean leader Kim Jong-Il from "Team America: World Police" and reads "Herro Nice Duke Peopre" in a misspelling intended to convey an east Asian accent.

Deck the halls with boughs of horrey.....

Some of the students interviewed were outraged while others thought there were more important things to protest.  In any event, those clueless Kappa Sigs have apologized to anyone who did not understand they meant no lasting harm by hosting their "International Affairs" party. But it certainly appears insensitive to make fun of the way new-Americans butcher the accents just like they made fun of me in Venice last September when I tried to say "Per favore" or "Grazie" with a U.S. Southern accent.

Anyway, I was enjoying my lunch and the warm feeling in my stomach as the soy and duck sauce kicked in, thinking about the Panda in the hot tub with the E-Trade Baby and the party at Duke and trying to make sense of it all when the waitress came to me with my check and asked:

"wrill dat be arw?"

I have now learned that hot and sour soup can clean out your sinuses.  However, I do not recommend it.

WokaWoka.

Panda Wok
3044 McGehee Road
Montgomery, AL. 36111
Tel (334) 649-4649.

[Ed. Note: Tuffy is our newest Gumphead and this is her first attempt to amuse us.  Please give her only sensitive comments]

 

Chick Magnet with Real Girlfriend Rates Chicken Salad Chick/Five Guys

The love of my life...

My fictitious internet girlfriend, who has cancer, urged me to try a relatively new restaurant on Zelda Road. When you visit the bathrooms at Chicken Salad Chick you will either enter the "Chicks" or the "Chick Magnets" doors.  Limited to those two choices I fall squarely into the "Chick Magnet" category.   With "Chick Magnet" as my literal qualification, let me tell you about my recent visit to this new lunch place next to Five Guys Burgers and Fries in the Z-Red district. You could not find two lunch spots more diametrically opposed than these neighbors.

My first observation upon entering the Chick was "Trix are for Kids" or more accurately "Chicks is for Chicks."  In other words, I was badly outnumbered.  The few girly men I saw there were with anemic looking earthy girls who I guessed had already sworn off red meat and were considering going completely vegetarian. It reminded me of some jokes I had heard a stand up comedian do about guys who pretend to like vegetarian dishes when they date vegetarians but who--after bedding them--grab a Five Guys Double Cheeseburger with a bag-full of fries on the way home saying: "Man I am starved.  Mmmph. Mmmph. I can't believe she bought that sh*t!" The comedian goes on to say that he is reluctant to tell the joke to a large crowd because almost invariably one guy will drop his head in shame and his skinny date will angrily ask: "You told me someone else threw those greasy bags in your backseat!" before stomping off in a huff with higher life form vegetarian greenhouse gases in her wake. ("Why I'd bet there are fewer greenhouse gases coming from the back of an SUV than from the tailpipe of a hippie!")

Dearest Catfish.

My Internet girlfriend, my soul-mate, says she likes Catfish or that she is a Catfish.  Ha ha. She is so humorous.  She is the funniest girl I have never met.

A lunch for men with internet girlfriend soul mates...

My second observation was that the chicken salad was that finely ground up kind that I do not like that you can dip with an ice-cream scoop and plop on a slice of nondescript sourdough bread before squishing the mound flat by the top slice. I must confess I am a "chunky" chicken salad fan.  And the price was not cheap. With a glass of "Minute Maid" lemonade and a small pasta salad the tab came to $10.10.  The food was certainly good, the restaurant and servers were cute and clean.  But I have had much better "chicken" salad from Noni's when she was open near Shashy's. I have also enjoyed the turkey salad with large chunks that Allpots brought me from Bushwood CC one time when I was confined to quarters in my ankle bracelet.  So, unless you are dating a girl who really likes Chicken Salad Chick and don't mind leaving hungry, I would suggest you go next door for a burger and fries at Five Guys.

A manly burger for guys with real girlfriends!

We sort of reviewed Five Guys out at East Chase some time ago. For that post click here.  Normally we try to stay within the Gump and rate only non-chains. (Former cons don't like the word 'chains'). But in this case we have made two exceptions: Both Five Guys and Chicken Salad Chick are apparently chains.  But at least they are now squarely in the Gump and it's only a short drive from downtown to Ann Street/Zelda Road. And, I note, Chicken Salad Chick was founded in Opelika and apparently owned by proper Southerners.

Sackful of Five Guys fries needs its own chair.

So when the gang tried the new Five Guys on Zelda Road during the week between Christmas and New Years we learned several things:  First, do not order the regular fries for more than one person.  They fill the sack with enough fries to feed four fat people.  Second, get large numbers of ketchup cupettes filled and gather reams of napkins while you are waiting.  Third, avoid the free peanuts during your wait because you won't have any room left to eat your burger and fries if you do.

Preparing the landing zone for the big burgers...INCOMING!

I would point out that we did witness first hand a lower echelon miracle of sorts (would that be called a minicale?) Just before the Notre Dame blowout during our trip to Five Guys we noticed that in the short time it took to take the bag to our table that our bag filled with a burger and fries and already been soaked through with grease stains in the likeness of Alabama Coach Nick Saban.  We have the picture to prove it.  Of course, because of the terms of my parole I could not place an actual bet on the game, if I had a bookie I would have loaded up on Bama after seeing that greasy sack Saban face.  He was even in full blown "Saban Rage" mode.  Also, if I had known that Alabama quarterback A.J. McCarren had a carney-like tattoo on his chest the size of a basketball that would have sealed the deal because everyone knows that Catholics are deathly afraid of the carnies.

You can see the rage of St. Nick burning through the receipt

But back to the food.  The burgers are good but pricey. The coma that ensues upon eating at Five Guys means that it really is a place you should visit no more than once a month unless you are skipping meals before a visit.  Caution: Do not operate heavy machinery after a Five Guy's meal. This is definitely man vs. food.  Not chick v. snack.

Which brings us full circle and wraps this post up neatly.  There are two restaurants next to each other in Z-Red that could not be more different to a Chick magnet with a real girlfriend I have actually met...in person.

Trust me, this is....

Despite the uncertainties arising from the Fiscal Cliff debate, I decided to treat myself and my Latin lover Rufio to a dinner at True in the happening No-Clo district of the Gump this past Friday where we enjoyed  great service (thanks Chris), reasonably priced and decent house wines by the glass, and a tasty--although slightly chewy--prime rib for me and a delicious grilled snapper on a bed of mushroom puree and Brussels sprouts for Rufie.  I know, Whiggin Blanquet, that mushrooms are not precious truffles, but Rufio purred with surprised delight at the flavor of the puree as if they were cooked with a fine truffle oil. Indeed, my nose, which has saved a few of the LITG members from suspicious smelling entrees, detected the hint of truffle coming from Rufio's plate on the other side of the table.

Of course the place--formerly known as Roux--is run by James Beard Award Nominee Chef & Owner Wesley True who brings his national talent to Montgomery. After working for John Currence at City Grocery, Marcus Samuelson at NYC's Aquavit, Wesley has brought TRUE from Mobile to Montgomery.

True has an adventurous cuisine and a gypsy heart, sort of like me.  Chicken and syrup on waffles, Elk burgers and lamb meatloaf are among the current dinner selections.  Interesting and fun food combinations to be sure.  It is no coincidence that man's best friend cannot talk, but at least we can blog and you can take this to the bark: True is an interesting dining experience.

I mean, other than a slight disappointment with a cut of meat not up to very good restaurant standards a/k/a "Butter Beast," Rufie and I had a terrific experience at a reasonable price i.e. $50 a pooch.  After the meal a nightcap at the dog-friendly Pine Bar water bowl next door put an enjoyable exclamation point on a fine evening for some humble hounds in the good ole Gump.

So verily I say: Try True and enjoy.

"Nobody knows the truffles I've seen...." or The Trouble with Truffles.

Truffles have twidges

The rumors of the death of our blog are exaggerated. I personally admit, however, to being distracted for months by my introduction, at an advanced age, to real fresh white truffles from Italy and the resulting obsession they have created.  I have been the victim of a delicious distraction from the important work which is blogging about lunch in the Gump. Why, most of my retorts to statements about the "fiscal cliff" are usually: "What does this have to do with truffles?" or "How will this affect the cost of truffles?" or "Can truffles be grown at the bottom of cliffs?" While it is somewhat of a blessing to be addicted to something so rare and expensive that a high-level "Statey" could never afford enough to ever need rehab, the realization that there are no restaurants in the Gump actually serving them does bring on the need for excessive amounts of Rye Whiskey and maudlin recollections of "American Pie." Such is a life of perpetual trade-offs.

Scallops, black garlic, "truffle" and mushroom risotto at La Jolla.

This post is not only about truffles, but about a dinner at La Jolla where they purport to serve "Pan-Seared New Bedford Scallops with Black Garlic, Truffle and Mushroom Risotto" for less than $30.  I was a little skeptical. After all, truffles are the most expensive food in the world.  They cost up to $3,600 a pound.  So, although a part of an over-large group of loud locals, I specifically asked the waiter whether the dish "really" involved truffles.  I was assured that it did and that the truffles cost $50 per oz. I decided to put my doubts aside, and order the scallops.

Now, had I not just returned from San. Gimignano in Tuscany, perhaps the meal would have fooled me. It was quite good and certainly worth the price. But, once you have tasted a dish cooked with fresh white truffles from Italy or France, you are unmanned and ruined.  Nothing else tastes like truffles.

"The Trouble with Truffles" which aired on 60-Minutes in January 2012, laid out the scandal which is the infiltration of Chinese and Oregon truffle knock-offs into American cuisine.  I would wager that the "truffles" used for my dish were not Italian or French white or black truffles but rather were the relatively tasteless variety from China or Oregon.

And don't get me started on truffle oils.  Although I have heard that oils from Urbani or Antica are genuine and a great way to introduce yourself to cooking with truffle flavor, many so-called  "natural" truffle oils are usually not made from real truffles but from chemical recombinations derived from one of the main components found in real truffles.  High price is also no guarantee of the use of real quality truffles.


Truffle hunting dog before a truffle hunt with an interesting band of truffladours

How can I write of truffles without paying homage to the talented beasts that find them?  Allpots used to bore me with his whiskey-infused memories of his pet truffle-hunting pig Mortimer.  Not any more.  Not since my senses were awakened. But I will tell you that the pigs are no longer the hunter of choice for serious truffle-hunting.  Why you ask? Well, the same reason one should never trust me to hunt them: The pigs eat them unless you stop them immediately when they locate a truffle.  Very intelligent reaction I say. Dogs, on the other hand, although less intelligent have great noses and can be trained not to bother the truffles. Indeed, there is a 'Truffle Hunting Dogs' website in the U.S. for dogs "worth their weight in gold."

Preparing a young Gumpund Shedder for a hunt.

You may also find it interesting to know that by far the best truffle hunters in the world are a breed which originated in our area.  Indeed, the noble Gumpund Shedder*--a breed of which our own Shadow Pup belongs--has shown terrific abilities to find truffles without damaging them.  Apparently, it has something to do with spending their young puppy weeks in the Humane Shelter that gives them a sensitive nose.

So now you know a little more about truffles than you knew before you stumbled upon this blog.  If you ever enjoy the real thing, you will savor true truffle joy not to mention that you can have fun with the word "truffle" because it sounds funny and rhymes with trouble.  Trouble indeed is what you will have if you enjoy truffles too much for, at the very least, you will risk plunging over the "fiscal cliff."

As for me, see you at the bottom of the cliff.....

Whiggin a/k/a "Whiggy B in the Velvet Undershorts"

*Shortened version of the full name: American Gump Pound Shedding Mutter.

Atypical Luncheon Conversation Between Gumpy Old Men at Roux (with apologies to Saki).

[Alas, they were too late. Roux is now True.  The silver lining is that True--and I dined there last evening--is hitting on all cylinders. I enjoyed my lamb loaf with sweet potatoes and I normally don't eat sweet potatoes. Ed. 10/20/2012]

The Archives Office clock reached eleven with the respectful unobtrusiveness of one whose mission in life is to be ignored until 4:59 p.m.  Without so much as a “Tah” to his assistant, our career management level Statey, one Whiggin Blanquet, rose from his calculations of his DROP payment at his faux-wood desk, grasped his walking stick and strode out the door to his near-by reserved parking spot. He quickly drove off toward his favorite lunch spot in Cloverdale—Roux—where he was to be treated to lunch and to a rare conversation with his foil/counterpart, one Chase N. Allpots, the decayed gentleman from Ireland.

“I’m starving,” Whiggin Blanquet announced, making an effort to sit down gracefully and read the menu at the same time.

“So I gathered,” said his Irish host, “from the fact that you were nearly punctual.  Perhaps I ought to have told you that I am now on an Atkins diet.  In your absence I’ve ordered two bowls of gumbo and rice without the rice and a truffle pasta salad without the truffles and pasta. I hope you don’t mind.”

Blanquet pretended afterwards that he did not go white above the collar line for a fraction of a second before he realized Allpots was trying to make a joke.  He was saved when he saw the waiter approaching with two cups of gumbo with rice piled above the rim and his favorite truffle pasta salad that he one day hoped would be named for his boyhood pet and beloved truffle-hunting piglet: Mortimer. (For a prior post mentioning dear Mortimer, click here.)

This little pig could hunt

Whiggin Blanquet breathed a sign of relief.

“All the same,” Blanquet said, “you ought not to joke about such things. There really are such Atkins people.  I’ve known people who’ve met them. To think of all the adorable things there are to eat at this restaurant and in the world and then to order and go through life munching tofu and being proud of it.”

“These Atkins people are like the Flagellants of the Middle Ages, who went about mortifying themselves,” Allpots sniffed.

“They had some excuse,” Blanquet said. “They did it to save their immortal souls, didn’t they? But as for these Atkins dieters, you needn’t tell me that a man who doesn’t love pasta and bread and truffles has got a soul, or a stomach either.  He’s simply got the instinct for being unhappy highly developed.”

Blanquet and Allpots relapsed for a few golden moments into tender intimacies with a succession of rapidly disappearing shrimp and truffles.

“I think shrimp and truffles are more beautiful than any religion,” Blanquet resumed presently. “They not only forgive our unkindness to them; they justify it, they incite us to go on being perfectly horrid to them.  Once they arrive at the lunch-table they seem to enter thoroughly into the spirit of the thing. There’s nothing in Christianity or Buddhism that quite matches the unselfishness of a shrimp or a truffle.  Do you like my new tie? I’m wearing it for the first time today.”

“It looks like a great many others that I have seen lately, only worse,” said Allpots.  “And you really should try to avoid marginalizing religions by comparing them to shrimp or truffles.”

“Touche,” said Whiggen Blanquet once again mindful that the skin-flint Allpots was actually treating him to lunch for a change.  “To what do I owe the honor of this fine occasion?”

Allpots became apparently serious and lowered his voice saying: “We may not agree on much—or even enjoy each other’s company for that matter—but we do agree on one thing: Roux for lunch.  And those of us with the sense to know True Banh Mi from a Taco Bell burrito must patronize our fine lunch spots to keep them here when we need a Shrimp Ceasar Po’boy or Tuna “Nicoise” Salad with a Pimm’s Cup.”

Dear me, Blanquet thought to himself, Allpots has found something worth supporting with his purse and the old boy had a point.

“Well then, “ said Blanquet finishing off the last bit of pasta, “I shall show my support for the cause by ordering one of those divine Shrimp Caesar Po’Boys and a Vodka martini.”

Allpots wiped the trace of gumbo and the beginnings of a smile from his lips, and slowly lowered his dexter eyelid.  Which, being interpreted, probably meant, “Not on my tab.”

(For info on Saki: http://www.online-literature.com/hh-munro/)