Nov 13, 2007

Etiquette For the Uncultured

Published in the217.com for Buzz Weekly on 11/15/2007

Because my daddy is a truck driver and I was raised with an aluminum spoon in my mouth, I will be the first to admit that succeeding Ms. Manners has never been my destiny. After all, engaging in lowbrow activities ranging from begging to eating condiments for survival has never been beneath me (consider it an endearing product of spending a good portion of your life in abject poverty). However, as I get older and have to start pretending more often that I have class to avoid surviving off of condiments, etiquette does become a bit of an issue.

This realization became crystal clear just a few weeks ago when I had a bit of a dining faux pas while wining and dining (perhaps wining more than dining) with a curator and some visiting artists from the Springer Cultural Center at Escobar’s, an upscale Spanish restaurant in Champaign. I suppose by “a bit” of a faux pas, I mean I suffered a major embarrassment. However, much like C-list celebrity Mystery of VH1’s charming self-help show, “The Pickup Artist,” I hope to share a few pearls of wisdom so that you can still be the queen or king of your social pecking order when Lindsay Lohan-esque traumarama moments kick in.

You see, there was this piece of steak sitting just a reach away from me on the plate of a person I was dining with. After glass or three, I became more and more enamored with the idea of taking this juicy little left over. I rationalized that it would be shameful to let this finely prepared meat go to waste, which I figured was a good enough reason to elegantly stab the isolated meat and shove it in my mouth like a proper lady. Long story short, I didn’t fully chew the steak, began choking and then let out the most horrible sound as I violently threw up the undigested carcass into my napkin.

Of course, when you throw up a partially chewed piece of steak at a table at a fancy restaurant, quick thinking is in order. So, how do you go about it? The most effective method I’ve found is to simply laugh it off—but with finesse. During a time when keeping it real is the status quo, most people crave awkward moments because it’s a reflection of humility—and let’s not forget hilarity! If you’re like me and your life is constantly in shambles, this should come easily. My route is to profusely apologize and draw excessive attention to the awkward incident at hand until no one wants to talk about it—an irritation that is most likely a result of blatant disgust from having to consistently remember the atrocious sounds of regurgitated food at the dinner table.

However, this method doesn’t necessarily work for everyone. Let’s say you happen to be a burly and hardened man. Allow for an extra moment of silence while everyone contemplates what has just happened and then just let yourself go! Your vulnerability from suffering a soul crushing social anxiety will be an unexpected, but a welcomed change of pace. For the decrepit, there is no need to apologize at all! You served your country well throughout the years, most likely with an agonizing 9-5 or with service during one of the great wars. I say choke that steak right back onto the plate and pass some gas while you are at it! It’s your right as an American!

On the other hand, if you happen to be a sophisticated lady, let’s face it: you’re pretty much screwed, as your reputation will be undeniably tarnished. Then again, you probably have enough inherent manners and class that this type of humiliation would never happen to you. But if you happen to be reading this article, chances are that you have about as much or even less etiquette than I do. Ultimately, you probably don’t care too much for the opinions of those you are dining with as they will never sleep with you, let alone buy you a drink. So let your creativity and half digested food run free!

Read the article here.

Nov 10, 2007

Quiche For the Inept and Lazy

published in the217.com for Buzz Weekly on 11/7/2007

Yesterday, I finally made quiche. For those of you who don't know what a quiche is, it's basically a delicious savory egg pie. If you don't like egg, pie or delicious things, you probably won't like quiche. Being that I like all three of these things and also since I have only been talking about it for something like six months now, I finally decided that yesterday was the day that I was going to blow off all the work I needed to do and take 15 minutes to throw a quiche together. If you're lazy like me, but have just enough motivation to procrastinate, you can make quiche too.


How to make quiche:
1. Steal as some of your roommate's eggs and hope they don't notice. In this case, I stole four.


2. Break open some of those eggs and toss them in a bowl. Throw whatever milk product you have lying around. I chose soy milk because it's all I have since milk costs something absurd like $4 a gallon now. Now whip it up like you're going to make a delicious Sunday morning scramble and place aside. 


3. I hope you had defrosted some spinach and a pie shell. You have pie shells, right? If not, you really can't make a quiche. 


4. Did you remember to pre-heat your oven to 400F? I bet you didn't. Better do that now if you haven't already. 



5. Chop up some cheese you have lying around. Traditionally, a good Swiss or Edam is preferred, but I only had muenster in the fridge, so that's what's goin' in the shell. Layer that on the bottom of your thawed shell. By the way, you should do that 15 minutes or so after taking it out of the freezer. 


6. Hey look at that, we have some tomatoes. Slice those suckers up and stick them in! Turkey bacon?! Don't you hide away in the back of that fridge edging ever-so-close to the expiration date! You step right on up! Microwave 2 slices and slice them with your only clean, dulling knife. Stick it in on top of the cheese-tomato layer. 



7. Add your spinach to your egg mixture and fill the rest of your pie shell with it. You'll probably have to spread it at this point since it will be kind of lumpy. Then, stick it in the oven.


8. Ten minutes later, you'll be talking to your friend about your delicious quiche, wondering if you should have put garlic in it. He'll tell you, "Yes, you should have. Garlic makes everything better." You'll agree and pull your quiche out to stick in some garlic, burning your hand in the process and then put it back in. 


9. Now, preoccupy yourself with a meaningless task such as reading a Wikipedia article or three, mopping your floors or staring at your ceiling for a while until you suddenly remember you have a quiche baking. This should be maybe 30 minutes later.

10. Pull it out and take a small slice. You might be horrified or delighted with your attempt to make quiche.

In my case, I was pleasantly surprised, but didn't feel temptation to cut another slice as I had already filled up on hummus and pita while I waited for it to bake. Afterwards, I felt good about my efforts and also felt like a domestic champ, ready to display my home-ec skills to potential suitors. Are they lining up at the door yet? No? I'll check after I mop my floors.

Read article here.

Why Can't I Drink A Beer On The Quad?

Published in Buzz Weekly on 5/31/07

After several agonizing months of trekking miles through the cold, bleak winter, global warming decided to work in my favor during the equally agonizing week of finals. Pushing our despair to less fortunate places (I'm guessing ... Mississippi?), the Midwest declared, "NO MORE!" The clouds parted; the sun shone and I was finally able to catch up on a minor tan amid the throes of countless shirtless frisbee throwers and bikini bathers (I was not one of them though. I dislike competition/I'm too fat to wear a bikini).

As I lay on my blanket, disguised by some pretentious book in hopes that no one would notice that I was actually people-watching, I feel something is missing. Such an enjoyable afternoon deserves something cold and refreshing. Iced coffee? Nah. Water? Eh. Juice? Buh! Buh ... Buheer? ... Beer ... BEER! I need a BEER! That's what I need!

A deliciously cheap and malty beer would definitely satisfy me! I'll just go ... oh wait. I can't. I can't drink on the Quad because of some fascist "rules" that are trying to protect our morality.

Listen, I consider myself a responsible drinker. Okay, so maybe when I was 19 I told everyone at the gay karaoke bar that I loved them and that they were the nicest folks around. And I guess there was that time that I passed out wedged in a doorway, or on a stairway or in the middle of the floor. Who hasn't done that? I was young, impressionable and inexperienced with boozin' because that too was illegal. But now, at the ripe age of 22, I've had my fair share of spirits and feel confident that I can handle myself (I think we all know who is able to figure out which bus route to take home at the end of the night. Yeah, that's me). So why can't I open a cold one on a hot day, politely rocking out with earbuds in, as I patiently wait for a glimpse of the singing rollerblade dude?

When I first came to this University I had expectations of drinking. Not just from all of those college movies, but from the 12 bars that line Green Street, the John Belushi "College" poster that greeted me from Austin's Sportswear and the tables of beerpong set up among the five billion fraternities that the University of Illinois can credit for the largest Greek system in the nation. Why can the guy that calls me "sweetheart" and "babe" leave his red plastic flippy cups in front of his University-supported housing unit, but I can't drink a beer on the Quad? (By the way, I would fucking recycle that can too).

In Campustown it is a rarity to see children. Occasionally some school buses might show up for a play at Krannert or your professor's wife might decide to show up with their son to class to "surprise him" during the final class just as he's about to reveal something essential about your impending exam ­- but do we have parades? "Children X-ing" signs? The only "parade" is that of the drunken students going between bars during Unofficial St. Patrick's Day. A can of beer on the Quad is immoral, but an official unofficial holiday designed to allow students to get plastered while they're still on campus is in "good fun." This isn't hurting children or the community. You know whom this is hurting? Me.

Sure, I could take the subtler route of putting a brown paper bag over my 40 or tossing some Jack in my Coke bottle, but why should I? I already had to wait to turn 21 in order to harness 90% of my adult rights (I still gotta wait two more years to rent a car); why do I have to wait the extra hour to go home and drink a beer or pay $2 more to awkwardly sit alone in a dark, dingy bar?

The issue I have isn't just the blatant infringement on my rights as an American - No, actually that's exactly what I have a problem with. What is freedom if not to experience the joys of life on a hot summer's day? When I replaced my "No Fear" sticker with a yellow ribbon magnet on the back of my Hummer, I thought that stood for something. I am being deprived of enjoying a public space with an essential American pastime: drinking. What about the local liquor store that won't make the extra $6 because America doesn't want me to support capitalism? That's right, I said it. Drinking restrictions hurt capitalism, and no one likes a fascist.

Pane Caldo Write-Up

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Glimmering, refined and one of Chicago's most treasured historical neighborhoods, there is definitely a reason why it is called the Gold Coast. As one of the finest areas in Chicago, it is also home to some of the best dining in the city as well.

Take Pane Caldo, for instance. Comfortable, yet elegant, Pane Caldo's cozy interior is decorated with warm shades of amber and blue complemented with romantic touches such as white linen and fresh flowers (note: consider reserving a window seat facing Walden St. for a more intimate evening).

Read more http://www.stylechicago.com/Favorites.asp?ParentID=531&ID=9439">here.

Bin 36 Write-Up

Copy for StyleChicago.com

Sommeliers can finally say, "tcin tcin" to a restaurant that knows wine. As both a restaurant and wine merchant, Bin 36 provides knowledgeable service along with an ambitious menu of contemporary American fare.

Read more here: http://www.stylechicago.com/Favorites.asp?ParentID=527&ID=3259

Nov 6, 2007

Dancing for Dollars

article for Advanced Reporting Class at University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana

Propping her half-naked body up against a table and wrapping her legs around the neck of a man on a Monday night, Brandy usually only has one thing on her mind: her three children.

“Sometimes you think about what groceries you need to get for the week or what bills you have to pay,” she said. “Other times you keep telling yourself to keep faking it in hopes that it will seem believable and they’ll pay more.”

Brandy, a 28-year-old dancer who prefers to be referred to by her stage name, is a topless dancer at The Silver Bullet Bar. With long blonde hair and a tan, chiseled body, she has worked for the strip club industry for the past three and a half years. However, her ultimate goal is to finish nursing school.

“The majority of us have a quota when we come in here with bills and things we have to pay,” Silver Bullet dancer Colleen Cook said. “That’s what makes it easier for us to come in and do it.”

With ages ranging between 18 and mid-forties, the dancers come to work for many reasons, but most said they hope to transition to something better. Cook, a 31-year-old dancer whose stage name is “Nadia,” has been working at the Silver Bullet on and off for the past ten years. As a mother of three girls, Cook said she enjoys working at the club because it provides her with more flexibility during the day. However, Cook said working at the club takes an emotional toll under the pressure of having to play different roles that cater to a variety of customers.

“I’m older, but a lot want the younger types. Others like having a conversation and don’t mind you showing your intelligence or your real self. Some people pay just to talk,” Cook said. “They want a counselor. They want you to sympathize and listen to their problems.”

Craig McFadden, a supervisor at SuperValu Warehouse, said he frequents The Silver Bullet 2-3 times per year, unless he is in a relationship because he considers it an infidelity. McFadden said he usually prefers to engage in small talk and tries to be as much as a gentleman as he can be with the women.

“You do try to touch, but it’s not like your girlfriend,” McFadden said. “I mean, it’s sort of a mutual thing because they need the money and well, I need…you know…”

The Silver Bullet owner, Ed Salfelder, said that this type of relationship is what makes his business successful.

“I think you will find that the dancers are just normal people needing to make money,” Salfelder said.

Located at 1401 E. Washington Street in Urbana, The Silver Bullet is open evenings on Monday through Saturday. Salfelder opened the bar in 1985 and now runs it with his wife, Tonya.

He said that the women who dance at his store are independent contractors. Making their own hours, dancers pay $20 to work at The Silver Bullet, but take home the rest. According to Salfelder, dancers usually take home $200 to $300 on most nights, but can make between $500 and $1000 in one hour for a private party. McFadden said that on an average night at The Silver Bullet, he will usually spend anywhere from $40-100.

“This is a place for them to make money. It’s fast money, but they’re well protected,” Salfelder said.

As one of only two strip clubs in Champaign-Urbana, Salfelder prides himself on what he calls a “clean business.” Abiding by the city codes restricting adult businesses to 200 feet from a residential neighbor and 1000 feet from a church or hospital, he said the problem has never experienced any controversy from the community.

Salfelder, whose father is a retired Champaign City police officer, said his club has strict rules about prostitution and drugs that he enforces having observed problems at competing institution, Malibu Club.

“You have to make sure not to let prostitution occur around your business,” Salfelder said. “The girls usually tell us when something isn’t right. If they don’t, it’s bad for their business too because they’re losing clients.”

Creating a safer environment for the women, most everyone agreed that there were rarely disrespectful customers. Jim Jones, a bouncer and doorman for the bar, said that in the three and a half years he has worked at The Silver Bullet, he has only had to lay his hands on seven customers.

“No one wants to call for bail money saying they screwed up at the strip bar,” Jones said. “Ed runs a very clean bar.”

Nonetheless, many of the dancers, such as 21-year-old Amanda Smith, try not to get too close to customers.

“It’s not really safe to give out your full name,” Smith said. “I’m very reserved. If you touch me wrong, I’m going to slap you across the face.”

Smith wears the same outfit every night because it is only one she has left: a red tube top and pair of matching pants. She said her father burned the rest of her outfits. Her parents currently think she is working as a waitress and said that she has no intention of letting them know she’s working at The Silver Bullet again.

“The money is much more substantial than waitressing. A lot more,” Smith said. “It’s kind of a, ‘don’t ask, don’t tell,’ sort of thing.”

Before working at The Silver Bullet, Smith was enrolled in the Marine Corps before being discharged for anxiety problems. She said she has been working at the bar on and off for the past two years because of a suggestion from her abusive ex-fiancé. Though their relationship ended two months ago, Smith said she started again as a way to get back on her feet financially in hopes of finishing her degree in radiological technology.

“Some men respect that you’re here to work, other men look at you like you’re trash,” Smith said. “What I do doesn’t define me. I’m as classy as I can be.”

Though naked in flesh, the dancers at The Silver Bullet hide the complex reasons that bring them to work. Taking a break from soliciting customers and chatting over a cigarette, the women who work at the club said they treat their job like any other profession.

“A lot of people think we’re wild women that want to take our clothes off, but we all have goals,” Cook said. “All the girls that work here are good girls.”

Al Fresco Dining in Chicago

Copy for http://www.stylechicago.com/Category.asp?ID=10417">StyleChicago.com

Now that summer is just round the corner, Chicagoans can finally peel off the extra layers and enjoy warm breezes and fun in the sun along the lakeshore. Along with pleasant weather comes the much-anticipated revival of alfresco dining.

Here are some tips on how to plan the perfect alfresco dinner:

Read more http://www.stylechicago.com/Category.asp?ID=10417">here.

Chef's Table Dining

Copy for http://www.stylechicago.com/Category.asp?ID=10804">StyleChicago.com

Many chefs, eager to share their culinary passion with enthusiastic patrons, have begun to offer exclusive interactive dining options or monthly chef's table programs. These programs allow patrons to relax and learn while dining on their personalized meals with the restaurant's executive chef.

As always, StyleChicago.com is looking for ways to make your search for Chicago's finest as easy as possible. For your convenience, we've done the research for you to find some of Chicago's top chef's table programs.

Read more http://www.stylechicago.com/Category.asp?ID=10804">here.

Expectations Met At Sushi County

Published in Buzz Weekly

Overcast skies and excessive paperwork left me with a void that needed to be filled--a void in my stomach that could easily be satisfied with food. Expanding my cultural boundaries eastward for the week, I decided to head west: to Champaign’s Sushi County. Despite an obviously poor choice in the restaurant’s naming process, I was motivated by an intense yearning for cheap Japanese food in walking distance.

This week I was joined by Sevinc Turkkan, a Comparative Literature graduate student who currently works as a teaching assistant in Allen Hall. I had received a couple of friendly e-mails from her expressing interest in accompanying me for the column. Surprised and delighted, she seemed to have qualities that would make for a great date: intelligent, worldly, an adventurous spirit for pseudo-exotic cuisine, and lacked stingy wallet syndrome, unlike my last e-mail inquiry.

I arrived a few minutes early and grabbed a photo copied menu at the front counter to read over as I waited. The interior of Sushi County had a noticeably authentic appearance of quaint halogen lighting, cozy, gray Formica tables and empty walls to match. It quickly occurred to me that this restaurant was more probably more popular for its convenient, take away service than a date restaurant. Ordering is walkup/checklist style complete with a very bored cashier, staring vacantly into space. Items on the menu are either a la carte or box style, ranging from $3.25 to $8.95.

Within moments, the restaurant began filling up with people, including the much anticipated Sevinc. A petite woman with long, curly brown hair and a big smile, she cordially introduced herself with the enthusiasm of an old friend. I immediately picked up on a charming accent, which she attributed to years as a citizen to the world. Born in Budapest, and raised in Turkey, Sevinc has inhabited several countries, and experienced the romanticized vision I barely touch in my dreams. I quickly glanced out the window at a prosaic-looking Green Street and sighed. Extraordinary experiences such as hers could produce an air of pretension, but Sevinc was very genuine. She seemed pretty non-judgmental about the bland decor surrounding us and shared my interest in deciding on an entree.

Unable to decide amongst the tantalizing options on the menu, we settled with the economically-friendly County Combo A: a maki combination platter consisting of 6 California rolls, 6 tuna rolls, and 6 spicy salmon rolls for only $7.95. The 18 pieces of sushi would be more than enough to share between two people, and would only cost each one of us a quarter more than the a la carte menu. As we paid for our items, we learned that miso soup was a complementary item for any entree purchased, and tea was only a quarter. So that was why the restaurant was so busy with college students!

The miso soup was self serve from a crock pot on the counter and the tea was self serve from a broken water cooler just beside it. Considering it lacked any actual chunks of miso, the soup wasn’t anything to complain about. After all, it was a free item. Combined with an engaging conversation about literature and my deficient immune system, the soup lasted until our entree arrived. Presented on a classy Styrofoam plate, we picked up our sushi from the front counter and divided the pieces amongst ourselves. Immediately, I noticed that the pieces were not very tight, making it difficult to grasp with my chopsticks. The sushi was pretty uninspiring, though the ginger and wasabi weren’t half bad. It wasn’t the best sushi I had ever eaten, but it wasn’t the worst either. Overall, it was filling and just what I would have expected from a place called Sushi County.

After thinking it through a bit, it occurred to me that the restaurant’s corny name was not a poor choice, but rather a fitting title for the atmosphere and quality of sushi served there. Sushi County is a great addition to the campus town restaurants because it offers cheap, mediocre sushi to poor, undemanding college students. Though dining with an interesting companion makes the experience a bit better, but I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone looking for a romantic date restaurant. My expectations were met: I ate at a filling sushi dinner for an extremely generous price and met an interesting local as well. Sevinc’s expectations for the restaurant were the same as mine, so neither one of us felt disappointed. As a fellow poor college student, I will say that I am no different from others who are willing to sacrifice flair for price and you will most likely find me dining at Sushi County again when I need a mild cultural dining experience.

Comfort Food

Published in Buzz Weekly on 4/14/05

In order to prepare myself for the final basketball game last week, I did what any self-respecting fan would have done: I ate mass quantities of food. Because I loaded up on cheese, bread and ice cream the game before, I decided to skip the junk food this time and eat a real dinner. Having heard much about Red Herring’s Monday night all-you-can-eat vegetarian buffet, I invited along math major, Ethan Bakshy for a little food exploration. Originally, I had intended on dining with someone else that Monday, but due to an unfortunate stingy-wallet problem, the date canceled. So, I figured I’d ask Ethan if I could move his date up a week. I was grateful that he was able to come on such short notice and was not an obnoxiously cheap, vegan grad student. Interestingly enough, Ethan loves animals--especially eating them. But he was fine with eating at a cheap, vegetarian buffet.

When I met Ethan, he was sitting alone on the curb outside the Red Herring, casually smoking a cigarette. We headed down the backstairs into the basement doorway, where we had to stand for a few minutes because the line to be served was that long. I was in no real rush to get through except for my overwhelming curiosity and a little bit of hunger. The atmosphere was pretty communal and semi-hippyish with brightly colored walls decorated with art from local artists, as well as long tables to allow for social interaction amongst strangers, which was appropriate since the Red Herring is associated with the Unitarian-Universalist Campus Center. We made our way to the front, where we were greeted by two Hare Krishnas serving several mouth-watering dishes. For only $5, we had unlimited access to 5 dishes and a delicious mango milk. The serving portions were very generous and the servers were very informative about explaining the various dishes. Also, I was delighted to learn that they were more than willing to share their recipes. But first I would need to see if it was worth it.

The menu for the week included kichani, zucchini pakora, tomato chutney and chips, cream of potato soup, and pumpkin cake. I started with the cream of potato soup, which had been seasoned with dill. I appreciated the light consistency of the soup and addition of fresh dill, countering the traditionally starchy feeling eating potatoes produces. I moved on to the kichani: a rice dish with lentils, fresh vegetables and spices. I was impressed by the unique flavors that were clearly an influence of home cooking. Very filling but definitely not heavy. It combined particularly well with the other items. The tomato chutney was a sweet medium for the vegetable chips it was served with, as well as the zucchini pakora. Pakora is a delicately pan-fried vegetable in a spiced chickpea batter. Though I am usually wary of fried foods, I thought the pakora’s fried flavor was not overbearing. Needing to cleanse my palate and take a breather at this moment, Ethan courteously offered to grab me a cup of water and mango milk. When he returned, we made some small talk about the big game and our impressions of the restaurant. Like myself, Ethan appreciates a good meal and seemed to be satisfied with his.

We ended the meal on a sweet note with the pumpkin cake. A delicious combination of pumpkin, cloves, raisins, cinnamon and nutmeg, the cake was moist and spicy. Generally, I associate pumpkin spices to be served in autumn with a cup of coffee, but this dessert was an ideal complement for the zesty meal we had just consumed. I felt full, but content. Granted, I felt a bit worse later during the game, but at least it wasn’t due to the meal. I barely even snacked, except for a little bit afterwards when I was trying to comfort myself. Thankfully, I can relive my moment of happiness now that I have the recipes in my possession and I can try them out myself. I look forward to checking out the other menu items offered for the remainder of the school year and perfecting my cooking technique as well. I was also pleased that I ended up dining with Ethan instead of some picky miser and that he enjoyed himself as well. Savory and nourishing, I thought the Red Herring vegetarian buffet was a feel-good meal at a inexpensive price. If you too happen to suffer from stingy-wallet syndrome, loosen it up and indulge $5 for delicious dining at the Red Herring.

Casual Dining At a Fine Dining Price

Published in Buzz Weekly on 4/21/05

Having spent all week ill and unsatisfied, I decided to leave my sickbed in search of casual dining and conversation at the Bread Company; my date for the evening: Lou Morton. You may recall seeing Lou featured in the artist’s corner of the Buzz not too long ago. A humble, young industrial designer, Lou has a charmingly boyish smile only a person with a shy demeanor can have. It’s just my luck that he is involved with someone else. Nonetheless, I figured I would have a good time, just so long that I kept in mind he was off limits like most of the men I encounter.

The Bread Company has a general interior of miscellaneous European knick-knacks. I enjoyed the restaurant’s use of recycled French water bottles as candleholders. Frequent candlelit dinners have provided a colorful waterfall of dripping wax, contributing to the romantic decor. It was highly appropriate for my intensely platonic date. The crowd was a bit older, probably due to the classy atmosphere and pricey menu. I saw someone dining alone across the restaurant, drinking wine to cure his loneliness. I would have joined him, but I had a date for a change, and decided to revert my attention back to him so that we could order.

We decided to split the meat and cheese platter as an appetizer. For $6.50, you can choose from a assortment of international meats and cheeses. I realized a few days later, of course, that you can purchase a quarter pound of fine cheese from any connoisseur for half that price, but I suppose people pay for their laziness. We decided to go with Sopprasata, a dry sausage, and Tintern, a cheddar blend of shallots and herbs. It arrived shortly on a plate garnished with baby greens, a sliced strawberry and a few pieces of bread. Sopprasata is extremely salty meat. Salt has a natural tendency to enhance flavors, and this meat was particularly bold. It also tends to dehydrate, causing us to flag down our waitress a few times due to the fact the water pitcher and glasses were too small to satiate our thirst. The cheese was also pretty tasty. Creamy and flavorful, the shallots and herbs give the cheddar a little bite. It was a good contrast to the salty meat, and went particularly well with the sweet bread it was served with. Though delicious, I felt the Bread Company should have offered more of a variety, or at least combination suggestions for the platter.

For a main course, my stomach was leaning towards the salmon special, but my wallet was leaning towards the $6.50 1/2 soup and sandwich combo. Lou agreed. Most of the sandwiches seemed pretty generic, except the cream cheese olive nut sandwich, so I settled with that and a bowl of Italian Wedding soup. Our waitress looked genuinely surprised when I inquired about the sandwich and seemed unable to find a good description of an item served daily there. She did suggest that I try a sandwich with a few slices of salami, so I decided to go on her recommendation. For the sake of variety, Lou went with a tuna sandwich and the mushroom-vegetable soup--another item our waitress was equally unknowledgeable about.

We waited momentarily, shooting the breeze about the restaurant, spring break highlights and his girlfriend. I ate a few more pieces of cheese when he inquired about my dating status. Fortunately, I didn’t have to search long for an excuse because our dinner arrived shortly. The presentation was pretty flattering and our plates looked nearly identical: a miniature cauldron-like bowl hugged by an open-faced, half sandwich. The Italian Wedding soup reminded me of a thicker version of the recipe served at Espresso Royale, with the same noodles and meatballs. The sandwich was a bit of a challenge. I became desperate trying to keep the sandwich together, contents spilling everywhere. Lou noticed I had food on my face, and I felt mildly embarrassed. Both the spread and the bread were appetizing, though the salami and vegetables seemed ordinary. I was surprised that the chef didn’t incorporate baby greens or fine salami for the sandwich, as the menu seemed to boast their selection of gourmet meats and cheeses. Lou commented that the entree was, “Good for the price.” Personally, I thought an evening at Panera or Espresso Royale would have been more delicious and interesting, but he was right in attesting the price was comparable.

The candle on our table burned out just as our appetites did. Overall, I was pretty unimpressed with the Bread Company. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t exceptional either. Staff was kind and semi-attentive, but generally unknowledgeable. Though we ordered an inexpensive entree, it was still a representation of the Bread Company’s menu--specialty or not. Feel free to shell out a few extra bucks, but don’t be surprised if it’s not the best thing you’ve ever eaten.

Pound For Pound

Published in Buzz Weekly

After saving for months for spring break, I decided to go to the wildest party city in the world. No, not Cancun—-London! Unpredictable weather and the worst currency exchange in the world may bother some people, but not me. Honestly though, there are many opportunities for fine dining and speed dating in this cultural epicenter.

So what can a naïve traveler do in London? The best option is to pick yourself up a travel guide. Because I am cheap, I bought an outdated AAA travel guide from 1998. Fortunately, I was traveling with Miss Caitlin Bergo and her companions who were smart enough to purchase 2004-2005 editions of various books. Either way, we quickly learned that travel guide or not, London offers far more than you can pack into a week.

Although the flight was only 7 hours, we lost a day and arrived on Tuesday. We booked a youth hostel in Piccadilly Circus and due to unfortunate miscommunication, we lost our reservation for the week because we did not check in Monday night. Fortunately, we used our powers of fierce sexuality combined with a touch of good luck and pathetic groveling to secure a room for the rest of the week.

Realizing that napping to adjust to local time was essentially a waste, I took the London Underground, better known as ‘The Tube,’ to Camden Town. Camden Town is a lively area located in northwest London offering a slew of pubs, alternative shops and pubs. I ended up at the World’s End: a multi-leveled pub with a delightful historical charm located conveniently across the street from the Tube. Like most pubs, the menu was limited to fish and chips and other fried food, as the main attraction is beer and social interaction. The barmaid’s usage of microwave technology to ineffectively reheat my meal was definitely worth the £5 (or 10 USD).

Conceding to the possibility that the pub food may not have tasted that great because it was from a pub, I gave Harry Ramsden’s fast food restaurant, located directly across the street from our youth hostel. Claiming to have ‘The World’s Best Fish and Chips,’ and also lured in by a £3 meal, I gave it a whirl. It had a similarity to Long John Silver’s that left me wiping the grease off my face for the next half hour. Despite the intense indigestion I experienced, I still felt it was a lot better than the St. Patrick’s Day dinner I ate at the Allen Residence Hall the week before.

At that point, I figured it would be in my best interest to stop eating fish and chips and check out the local curry houses that London is famous for. Because our youth hostel happened to be located next to Denman Street, which is filled entirely with Indian restaurants, Caitlin and I wandered into Chowki. A chic Indian restaurant in the heart of Piccadilly, Chowki offers a unique and delicious menu of monthly feasts from different regions of India. For only £10.95, you can split a hearty meal of 3 appetizers, an entrée and dessert with a friend, or if you have the financial means and luxury of refrigerator, you can take left-overs home with you.

However, this isn’t your run-of- the-mill Indian restaurant. The restaurateurs have created a trendy décor of dark wooden floors and metal accents that makes anyone feel classy. Obviously, we felt slightly embarrassed stumbling in from a day of traveling the Tube non-stop and wearing jeans, but was very attentive and friendly regardless. It took us several minutes to decide what to eat as all of the options were very appetizing. We shared the Mangalore feast, consisting of marinated prawns, lentils, spicy chicken curry, naan bread, rice and rice pudding. The presentation of the meal was particularly impressive: porcelain, interlocking, crescent-shaped dishes highlighting a colorfully artful meal. Lightly pan-fried in tamarind, cumin and coriander, the prawns couldn’t have been fresher. The lentils and spicy chicken curry were both mouth-watering and filling. Each item held a refined flavor that was delicious on its own or combined with any other item.

I was delighted that a dessert was included, but I felt I could have easily been satisfied with a main course. The rice pudding had been prepared in coconut milk, providing a sweet complement to the spicy meal we had just eaten. Warm and comforting, it was the perfect way to distract me from my bank account, which was quickly dissolving. Although the menu changes monthly, I would still recommend it based on the fact Chowki was possibly the best restaurant we ate during our trip, and maybe the most amazing Indian food I’ve ever eaten.

If you’re in London and don’t mind eating greasy pub food for the sake of an experience, I would search around before trying Harry Ramsden’s or consider skipping it entirely for an evening of fine dining at Chowki. Either way, an adventurous attitude provided me with a fantastic spring break, even if it wasn’t in Mexico.

No Luck O’ the Non-Irish

Published in Buzz Weekly on 3/24/05

I could hardly contain myself when I saw the table tent declaring the Allen Residential Dining Hall would serve a special St. Patrick’s Day dinner. What delights were in store? Why, everything your heart can imagine! An authentic buffet of corned beef, cabbage, rooted vegetables, fish and chips, Shepard’s pie, Irish soda bread, shamrock cookies, and last, but not least, booze---no, scratch that---brownies! Irish brownies straight from Dublin, Ireland, or maybe Dublin, Ohio! Regardless of origin, this was a special meal for a special day of holiness, or debauchery. Depends on how you look at it, I guess.

I decided to meet up with neighbor and fellow single, Natalie Smith, who shared my sentiments about the St. Patrick’s Day meal. A blue-eyed, blond haired girl about 18 years of age, Natalie is about as fresh-faced as a Noxzema advertisement. Her pouty lips and art school chic are reminiscent of a young Debbie Harry fused with an intelligentsia flair similar to Anais Nin, but less dramatic.

When we arrived, the dining hall was bustling with people. Maybe they were just as excited as we were. After all, the dining hall as an impeccable reputation for providing high quality foods. The dining hall has an interesting culture. After proceeding through a chaotic mass of students and dining hall workers, you can awkwardly try to find seating alone or with company in an intimate booth. Even better, you can try to create the largest, most architecturally complicated table, seating every person you ever met, despite the fact that distance prevents you from speaking, let alone seeing, the other side. Dining hall group coordination hasn’t been this good since Girl Scout camp.

We made our way through the buffet, grabbing samples here and there, and sat down at a table adjacent to a large crowd. Our dinner started off well enough, despite the fact I magically developed laryngitis overnight and was unable to speak. Through a series of long pauses due to one-sided conversation on her behalf, I learned that Natalie is an art student and has to face some nasty midterms. Though I couldn’t express it, I could tell we had a lot of things in common, including a hatred of germs, a love for puppies and recent disappointment. This disappointment stemmed from the realization that we consumed an atrocious meal. But why? How could this have happened?

From the first taste of the sub par corned beef to the final sip of lukewarm water, I knew in my heart I had hoped for too much. I refuse to judge a book by its cover, and had I judged this dinner by its appearance, I would have had a much more positive contribution. The corned beef, though a systematic presentation of equal cuts and coloring, tasted more like a hot dog wrapped in sandpaper than a deli item. Pepper appeared to be the seasoning of choice for the evening as rooted vegetables, boiled cabbage and Shepard’s lentil pie were covered in it. The Shepard’s pie, traditionally a meat dish, was offered as a vegetarian alternative for the evening. It consisted of what appeared to be undercooked, powdered potatoes, canned tomatoes and lentils. Unfortunately, these starchy items were probably the tastiest entrees.

The fish and chips were deep-fried to golden perfection, with a crispy exterior and tender interior. But this was obviously a facade for the fact it was more tasteless than a McDonald’s “filet-o’-fish.” I was deeply offended that a McDonald’s entree, which costs ten times less than the dining hall, would taste better than what I ate that night. Even the international student from Britain, Niki Parr, retreated outside for a cigarette in hopes of filling the void the dining hall experience had left him. He said something along the lines of, “It was rubbish,” --- plus or minus a few expletives.
After pushing aside half my Shepard’s pie and fish, I decided to try some of Natalie’s shamrock cookies. I was really pleased that they were covered in glittery sprinkles to distract me from the flavorless matter in my mouth. They also doubled as effective method to cleanse my palate before I ended with a brownie. In retrospect, I regret not saving enough room for the brownies, as they were the only pleasant item. However, ten dollars is not warranted for a mediocre dinner and chocolate chunk brownie.

Feeling very sick, I drank several glasses of water, but nothing could erase the betrayal I felt. Normally, I find myself excited for the “special” dinners, because I expect them to be unique and satisfying. Furthermore, I felt embarrassed for inviting a guest for this engagement, as it was a reflection of my own tastes. Tsk, tsk, dining hall. Better luck next year.

Me, Myself & Microwave

Published in Buzz Weekly

Due to an overwhelming stack of work and my general anti-social, lazy behavior, I decided to stay in Friday night with a microwave dinner. Motivated partially by curiosity, partially by lust for the cheese connoisseur, I hitched a ride to Euro Mart in hopes of finding an entree of gourmet quality but frugal price. Unable to decide amongst the overwhelming variety of tantalizing choices in the freezer case, I closed my eyes and stuck my hand in. I ended up with Deep Foods’ baingan bharta, a self-proclaimed, “vegetarian delight,” consisting of roasted eggplant, tomatoes, onions, peas, garlic and blended spices. Having only $5 in my wallet, I was pleased that it only cost $4.50.

My stomach, eating itself at this point, convinced me to skip the congenial small talk at the register and hurry home. As expected, I had little trouble preparing the frozen entree. Poked some holes, stirred a bit, nuked it a little more, stirred again---within minutes I had a delicious meal all for myself thanks to the conveniences of modern appliances. It smelled wonderful, but I was a bit surprised at the texture of the baingan bharta. Unlike the image on the box, which portrayed a consistency similar to a thick stew, the actual item exemplified the stereotypical microwave dinner with a soupy, semi-disappointing appearance. Maybe if it had been presented on a gold platter garnished with saffron and parsley, instead of a generic plastic box, it would resemble the display. Who knows?

Fortunately, my room was dark and comfortless enough that aesthetics seemed less important than immediate compensation for my emotional unavailability. Keeping an open mind because I had no other dining options for the evening, I set a place for myself at my desk, facing an institutional-white concrete wall, and allowed myself to indulge a little. Let me tell you, had I not been confined to the limited space between my sturdy desk and chair, it’s highly possible that I would have lost my balance and fallen to the ground. Never have I been so impressed by a frozen dinner! Was the perfect combination of coriander, ginger, salt, garlic and turmeric a result of the delicate, loving care of the New Jersey manufacturer? Or was it a stroke of luck? Either way, I was sold. I spent the next 15 or 20 minutes in sheer heaven, savoring every morsel that came into my mouth. This was definitely a couple steps up from my usual favorites of Michelina’s chili mac and Uncle Ben’s rice bowls. The marinated vegetables and distinctive blended spices created a zesty flavor similar to local Indian cuisine. Granted, it was still of microwave dinner quality, but surprisingly unique and appetizing.

The meal was more than anything I could have asked for. It exceeded my expectations from the advertised description of a “vegetarian delight.” I enjoyed it so much that I began ravenously licking the plastic container until every drop of sauce coated my tongue. My face was covered with the remnants of my meal, my stomach was full and my room smelled a little bit, but I was elated. I felt a little embarrassed afterwards for this pathetic moment of uncontrollable gratification, but then again, I was alone so I guess it really doesn’t matter.

Baingan bharta is an excellent option for anyone with dietary or monetary restrictions. Satisfying a low-calorie, low-fat, low-carb, or vegetarian diet, this salubrious entree allows neurotic health-nuts to free themselves from a night of hard work in the kitchen and pretend to be lazy like other Americans. Although it is suggested on the box that the meal would be better complemented with naan bread or rice pilaf, I felt the robust flavors were enjoyable on their own--much like myself. However, if you happen to have a romantic microwave dinner date, you can easily share the meal as the serving size is for two. Also, at the price of $4.50 a box (which tends to go on sale from time to time), you really can’t go wrong. Dietary restriction or not, the baingan bharta is a bangin’ buy worth a try.

A Burrito For Two, Conquered by One

published in Buzz Weekly on 3/10/2005

Alone and starving on a bleak, Saturday afternoon, I talked my friend Allison into taking me to lunch, hoping she'd accompany me. She said she wouldn't join me, but didn't mind dropping me off somewhere in the vicinity of her errands. I settled with El Torero, a “blink-and-you’ll-miss-it” find amidst the vast array of non-descript restaurants and dingy gas stations. Located in the outskirts of west Champaign (or at least what I consider to be the outskirts, since it felt like it took forever and a half to get there from my campus-town Urbana residence), El Torero is perfect for any patron with low funds and a big appetite.

When I walked in, I noticed the seating arrangement was almost entirely booths. When asked how many would be dining, I responded, “One,” with a confident tone in my voice. I was a strong, independent woman. By chance, I was seated at the awkward and lonely table in between two booths and two couples. I casually flipped through the menu and noticed how affordable lunch entrees were. Ranging between $3.75 and $7.50, I had numerous and satiating options to choose from including, but not limited to, 10 combination platters. I decided to go on my server’s suggestion of Horchata and the Burrito Loco: a foot long burrito filled with guacamole, lettuce, pico de gallo, a choice of chicken, pork or beef, and topped with a creamy, white-cheese sauce. Curious about the difference between the Burrito Loco and the Super Burrito, my waiter informed me that the Burrito Loco had rice on the inside. The other burrito? Rice on the outside.

Seconds later, I was greeted with my horchata, as well as an overflowing supply of freshly deep-fried chips and salsa. El Torero’s horchata, a rice-water drink, was a deliciously deep combination of sweet and starchy flavors with a delightful authenticity reminiscent of home cooking. Of course, not by my mother, as I am not Mexican. A nice balance of chunkiness and juiciness, the salsa was probably some of the best I’ve ever eaten. Not too spicy, but definitely not devoid of flavor. They complemented the chips perfectly. I was impressed by El Torero’s attentive staff. The Horchata was never empty and the chip basket was always full.

As I waited for my meal, I let loose the superficial interest in my menu for a moment to take in my surroundings. The Mexican scenery backed by brightly colored walls were particularly charming. Along with the proper Spanish ballad playing softly in the background, I picked up a romanticized vision of a humble village in Mexico. But don’t doubt the exciting nightlife aspect El Torero. The contrasting Corona flags and neon lights decorating the bar are a healthy reminder that you are still in a college town. I attempted to listen to my neighboring table’s conversation, but they were too consumed with the task of stuffing their faces with the Burrito Loco, compensating for their lacking communication. I felt a little relief through this encounter, as sitting by myself was a lot less uncomfortable than sitting across from someone I had nothing to say to for an hour.

As fast as you can say the name of their specialty, “Speedy Gonzales,” I was face-to-face with the notorious Burrito Loco. It was monstrous; maybe the size of my stomach. I knew I was going to be harboring something big, like a child, and let me tell you, I do not like children and especially the idea of childbearing. At the same time, I saw this Burrito as a challenge, like climbing Everest with my mouth. And boy, was I ready. I would have preferred if there was less cheese on top, but the chef’s decision wasn’t unwarranted. The creamy cheese sauce was just the right accompaniment for the sturdy and thick Burrito Loco. I was also promised rice in the burrito, but there was none. I can only assume this was because there was no space left inside the 12 inch tortilla. Although the burrito was big enough for two, I consumed the entirety as I had no one to share it with. Perhaps if I had been dining with a responsive partner, unlike the table next to me, I would have taken half of it home to share left-overs. Oh well. If life gives you lemons, magically convert them into limes and drop one into a Corona at El Torero.

Despite the rice mishap and inconvenient access from campus, the restaurant left a favorable impression on me. It’s certainly worth the effort to find the restaurant if you’re in the mood for an adventurous dining excursion, or happen to have reliable transportation options available. Whether you are dining alone or with an unresponsive partner, El Torero’s affordable and tantalizing menu will keep you delightfully distracted.