Chef J. Looney

You may want to sit back and relax, and perhaps even grab a bite to eat before you read any further. I’m about to share with you the tale of one of the top 5 meals I’ve ever eaten.

So, comfy? Well fed? Ok, here goes…

Once upon a time, there was this guy named Joel Palmer, and he lived in Indiana. It was around 1845 that he got bored with things there and decided to head out west and see what all the fuss was about. As it turns out, Joel was pretty well suited to frontier life and the pioneering lifestyle, qualities that greatly benefited several of the wagon trains he led. He was pretty hardcore, too – climbed Mt. Hood in the middle of winter in freakin’ moccassins, and discovered the Barlow Pass.

Joel was a statesman, diplomat, adventurer and was pretty much the real-life Chuck Norris of his day, and in the middle of all of his adventuring and diplomating and things, he built this house.

Fast forward to 1996. Jack Czarnecki bought the house and turned it into a restaurant, and built a reputation for excellent food and service in a relaxed fine-dining atmosphere. About 5 years ago, Jack decided he wanted to spend more time in the hills and woods of Oregon hunting for wild mushrooms and truffles (side note: Oregon truffles are held as equals with their European cousins in many culinary circles), and his son Chris had been gradually assuming more responsibilities in and out of the kitchen, so it was a natural and seamless passing of the torch when Chris took over in 2009.

Which brings us to June 2010. Megan had taken a trip to see her ocean. She loves the Oregon Coast. I flew up on a Friday to meet her and drive home together. Now, I have often lamented the fact that Megan experienced what a truffle was before I did, and that she has actually enjoyed them several times without me while I had never had the pleasure. That’s just wrong. So, as soon as I had gotten into the car at the airport, Megan asked me if I was hungry.

Seriously?

Well, bless her ever-loving heart, she had been on the internet looking for restaurants that served truffles, having heard that Oregon truffles were every bit as good as the European ones, and had stumbled across the Joel Palmer House, which just happened to be right along the way of our two-hour drive from Portland to the coast. I was giddy with anticipation (and probably a fair portion of hunger as well).

When we pulled up, I felt woefully under dressed in my jeans and hoodie, and although the other diners varied in dress from my level of casual to a jacket and tie somewhat more suited to a fine dining establishment, the hostess and staff made us feel right at home and perfectly comfortable.

It bears mentioning that everything at the Joel Palmer House is mushroom-centric – the wild mushrooms and truffles that Jack forages are the staple of their menu – but even if you think you don’t like mushrooms, I am confident that their menu will surprise and delight you if you are willing to be adventurous to even the slightest degree.

The hostess let us know that they served in the European style, which meant that we didn’t have an assigned server, but that every member of the staff was at our disposal. The Somelier arrived at our table shortly after we were seated and I chose a glass of Pinot Grigio, which was excellent.

For appetizers, I ordered the Foie Gras and Porcini Ravioli with Port-Reduction and Black Truffles, and Megan had the Three Mushroom Tart, which is a Palmer House Specialty.

When I was telling Stefahn about our experince after we had returned home, he let me know that I was an asshole for ordering Foie Gras. I don’t care, it was delicious and perfect – the flavors worked together so brilliantly that there didn’t seem to be any transition between the layers of sweet and savory goodness and delicate texture of the ravioli and filling, but more a gentle progression as smooth as the tide coming in on an Oregon beach. It was heavenly.

And I was transfixed by my own appetizer until I made the mistake of sampling the mushroom tart Megan had ordered. It was, as she put it, the single best food she’s ever eaten. It came in a very close second for me, nearly eclipsing the Potatoes Au Gratin at the Ritz-Carlton in Naples. Delicious doesn’t begin to describe the experience. It was rich and savory, and had the texture of a superbly tender meat pie. The crust was light and flaky, as close to perfection as I’ve ever had, and although there was a very definite earthiness that you would expect from a tart made entirely of mushrooms, it was a balanced and deep flavor, not overwhelmingly “mushroom-y” in it’s presence.

In fact, it was so absolutely perfect that I requested the chef at our table. Chris appeared promptly, and I asked (understanding the long-held tradition of closely guarding recipe secrets) if he would be willing to share the recipe. His surprising reply was “sure! Hang on one second.” He turned back into the kitchen, and returned a few moments later with a card containing the recipe, which he presented to me. He then spent the next few minutes explaining his method and a few of his particular ways of preparing the tart so that it turned out perfectly. I thanked him wholeheartedly, congratulating him on such culinary brilliance, and returned to the meal.

Both Megan and I chose the Filet Mignon of Painted Hills Beef served with Szechwan Pepper Porcini Sauce. I don’t know if I can say it was the best filet I’ve ever had, simply because the field is separated by such a narrow margin. I mean, is filet’s were an Olympic event, the top 10 filets I’ve ever eaten would be separated by mere thousandth’s of a second, and the filet Chris prepared for us was easily in that field – tender, juicy, flavorful and expertly seared. The Pepper Porcini sauce was, by design I’m sure, a glorious compliment to the cut  - rich and savory, with an ever-so-slight heat that enhanced the natural flavor of the meat.

To finish things off, Megan ordered the house-made concord grape sorbet, which was a fantastic experience of sweet and tart, very much akin to eating frozen concord grapes, I’m sure. On the dessert menu I noticed a mushroom ice cream, and my curiosity got the better of me. As it turns out, I;m glad it did! The single scoop of pale mocha colored nirvana arrived, and at the first taste, I was enveloped by tastes of caramel and rum (although it contains neither), gently supported by the underlying subtle earthiness of the porcini mushrooms used to make this divinely inspired concoction.  I can say no more than this: it was the perfect ending to an excellent meal.

Chris visited our table once again, and he and I talked for about 15 minutes or so (a generous allowance for a chef to give any guest!), and he shared more of his kitchen secrets and methods, and was as candid and charming as any man I’ve ever met. It’s clear that Chef Chris has a passion for what he does, and his love of his craft shows on the plate as well as the warmth of the entire experience.

If you find yourself anywhere within several hundred miles of the Joel Palmer House, it’s worth whatever effort may be required to make a visit.

Hell, it’s almost worth the14 hour drive to me right now.

Ok, it’s not exactly a restaurant, but this place merits a review. It’s right next door to Tony Burgers in Centerville, and it’s one of the most fascinating (if only for a few moments) food places I’ve ever been to. Truth is, I probably never would have found the place if it hadn’t been for my son. We were out to dinner the other night and he and his girlfriend were debating about where to go for ice cream and how far out of the way all the ice cream places are.

“What about Sub Zero?” I asked. I’d never been there, but I knew that it was right next door to Tonyburgers and on the way home.

“That place is weird.” They both said at about the same time.

“Weird how?” I asked.

“You just gotta see it. We’re going there!” Replied Stefahn, with his trademark grin that means I know something you don’t know.

So we were off to Sub Zero Ice Cream.

Now, there’s nothing special about the ice cream there, you gotta know that going in. I mean, it’s as good as any ice cream shop – I’m not saying that it wasn’t up to snuff. I enjoyed what I ordered, as did the other three. The pricing isn’t too bad, comparatively, either. But the real draw is the gimmick, and it’s worth a visit just to experience it.

You see, when you first step in, there’s a large poster of Albert Einstein on one wall, and a massive graphic of the Periodic Table of the Elements on the opposite wall. OK, so they’ve got geeky science-project décor. As I waited in line to place my order, I also noticed other hallmarks of a traditional ice-cream shop – rotating cooler in the dining area with ice cream cakes displayed, long counter with several high school-age kids filling orders, etc.

When it was my turn to order the fun really started. First, I picked from a list of ice creams – premium, custard, low-fat, frozen yogurt, etc. Then I picked my flavoring, and the mix-in ingredients I wanted. I chose the premium ice cream, caramel flavoring with dark chocolate chips. As I watched through the glass, the girl behind the counter carefully measured out a creamy off-white substance and dumped it in a large stainless steel bowl as she passed it down the line. I wasn’t sure where this was going – that stuff was definitely NOT ice cream, it was like milk in a bowl, and after she added the dark choclate chunks it looked like the bottom of a large bowl of cookie crisp cereal when all that’s left is the milk.

But here’s the really cool part – as it got passed to the next kid in line, he pressed a button and a spray of liquid nitrogen blasted the whole bowl! He started mixing quickly with two large metal paddles as the liquid nitrogen bubbled and steamed over the edge of the bowl. A few moments later the steam had stopped as all the nitrogen had evaporated and left behind the freshly frozen ice cream. I begged the kid behind the counter to let me push the button for the next serving (Megan’s), but he wasn’t too keen on that idea, probably thinking I was some kind of whackadoo for even asking.

Disappointed at not being allowed to dispense the super-cold liquid nitrogen, I reluctantly left the counter area and started eating my ice cream. They also politely declined my request to simply fill one of their Styrofoam containers with some of the magical liquid (which is probably a good thing – no telling what trouble I could get into with that!). It was pretty tasty, and exactly what I had expected. Good quality, good flavor, but nothing extraordinary in and of itself.

Like I said, the ice cream is good, but the gimmick is worth the trip.

After my last post on The Greatest Stuff in the World, one of my friends suggested I try the minestrone soup at Zucca Trattoria in South Ogden, claiming it was sincerely the best minestrone in the world. I recently took him up on his offer and went to dinner with he and his sweetheart.

I was a little surprised at the location of what my friend had hailed as (and Zucca’s website had also purported to be) a fine dining restaurant. It’s on the corner of a lonely strip mall about a mile off US 89 in a rather sparse part of South Ogden. Withholding my judgments until I’d sampled Chef Elio Scanu’s creations, I held the door for my wife as we stepped inside and were immediately welcomed by subtle and pleasant aromas of skilled artisans meticulously creating culinary bliss. We were seated promptly by a very friendly hostess, and our server arrived shortly after to take our drink orders. My friend decided on a glass of red wine (I don’t remember what kind, as I’m not a fan of the reds) and I selected a glass of the Pinot Grigio.

While waiting for our drinks, I couldn’t help but notice that as much as they’d tried to create an atmosphere of warmth and relaxed refinement, the large windows that made up the east wall of the building were a dead giveaway of the reality that we were dining in a strip mall. Kinda ruined it a bit for me, to tell you the truth, but again, I was here to have the best minestrone in the world, not to enjoy the ambience.

Our drinks arrived with appetizers of beef carpaccio with lemon-basil aioli and truffle oil and a plate of tempura-style shrimp and calamari. Although I’m generally not a fan of seafood, I did sample the prawns, which were excellent – tender, moist and flavorful with no need for cocktail sauce. The carpaccio was equally excellent – paper thin and so tender it almost fell apart on the fork. After thoroughly enjoying the appetizer, I felt like my friend may have been justified in his appraisal of the soup and was genuinely looking forward to the next course.

My minestrone arrived, and although I was not disappointed (it truly was a revelation), I don’t know if I can go so far as to call it the best in the world. The pasta was perfectly cooked, the broth was rich and flavorful, the beans were firm but tender, and the vegetables still had just a touch of crispness to them – it was an excellent soup, to be sure. That being said, I sampled some of my friends tomato basil bisque, which was rich and creamy, and absolutely perfect. Perhaps it was just my mood, but as wonderful as the minestrone was, I would have enjoyed the tomato basil even more.

Our entrees arrived, and were as beautiful as they were tasty. Megan had ordered the mushroom risotto for her meal (which at $15 felt a bit overpriced), I had the filet which was cooked to a near-perfect rare and served with wilted spinach and a balsamic reduction. I don’t know that most balsamic vinegars lend themselves to a reduction, as they tend to be quite robust in their flavors to begin with. By reducing what was a very well-balanced balsamic, Chef Scanu had further intensified the already strong flavors to a point just this side of overwhelming. I touched my exquisitely tender filet to the reduction sparingly and delicately, which may very well have been the chef’s intention. It was delicious and succulent as any filet I’ve ever had.

I did sample my friend’s seared ahi, which was equally brilliant. Had Zucca not offered a filet, I almost certainly would have selected the sushi-grade ahi steak. The sear on it was textbook, penetrating only 1/8^th of an inch and leaving the rest of the cut perfectly uncooked. There was no fishiness to it, but instead a delicate flavor of herbs that was a brilliant compliment to the firm texture of the fish. In spite of the fact that it was a fish, it was superb.

For dessert, we chose crème brulée and tiramisu. The tiramisu was perfect in every way, although the coffee flavor was quite mild. As a man who enjoys a very bold and strong coffee in his cup, I would have enjoyed a more robust flavor. The crème brulée was a bit of a disappointment, as it had a very grainy texture which is usually the sign of cooking the custard too fast or too hot – either of which is an unpardonable offense for a chef of Scanu’s caliber.

Overall it was a fantastic experience, although given the sub-par dessert and the dischordant ambience, ever so slightly overpriced. I’ll certainly eat there again, as I enjoyed the food (and the company) and our server was very attentive without being obtrusive, which is very important to me, but I’m likely to entertain other options before settling on Zucca for a second visit.

“Get dressed. I need pancakes!”

It was pretty clear that Megan was craving one of her favorite restaurants, The Original Pancake House, and it was my job to get her there.

A little back-story may be in order here, as it gives a pretty good idea of why they’re so damn tasty, and why both Megan and I dig this place so much.

The Original Pancake House was founded in Portland, Oregon in 1953 by Les Highet and Erma Hueneke. They collected pancake and breakfast recipes from all over the world before opening their little restaurant, and not much has changed since 1953 – the recipes are still the same. Every pancake is made from scratch with basic ingredients, and boy-oh-boy do the have a list of pancakes. But I’m getting ahead of myself…

The Salt lake City location (there are over 100 franchises worldwide) is located on 2100 South and 790 east, and is open from 6am until 2pm. Yes, they close at 2:00pm every day, so don’t plan on any late-night IHOP-style eating. This is better by far, anyway.

We arrived at around 12:30, near the end of their business day, and were seated promptly. If you arrive anytime before noon, expect a bit of a wait on weekdays but especially on weekends.

I’ve never found the service to be all that good. My drink – be it water, coffee or juice – is rarely refilled until I ask, and the wait staff is somewhat less than attentive. In my opinion, though, the quality of the food more than makes up for this consistent problem.

Now I’ll tell you straight up, they’ve got the best blueberry pancakes I’ve ever had, and that’s usually what Megan orders. I’m more of an eggs benedict kind of guy, and theirs is excellent. The eggs are always perfectly poached, and their hollandaise sauce is made from scratch each day, so they have limited availability of this item.

In addition to the stand-by order of blueberry pancakes (and the short-stack of buttermilk pancakes that comes with pretty much anything you order), they’ve got a long list of different types and flavors of pancakes available. In fact, one whole page of their large menu is devoted to just pancakes. Coconut? Yep. chocolate chip? Yep. Apple? They’re legendary here. Sourdough? Buckwheat? Swedish? Dutch? Yes, yes, yes, and hell yes! Pretty much any kind of pancake you can imagine, they’ve got.

Although it’ll take your food awhile to be served (making pancakes from scratch takes time, be patient!), when your pancakes arrive, they’re everything you could ever want in a pancake – light, fluffy, flavorful – these pancakes are perfect every time. The bacon and sausage side orders are exactly what I look for in my breakfast meats as well. the sausage is perfectly seasoned with just a little bit of spice to it (links or patties) and the bacon is a real thick-cut and not just some marginally-thicker-than-the-cheap-ass-shit-you-buy-at-the-grocery-store “thick-cut” wannabe bacon. And the coffee is one of my favorites to drink black (it’s also one of Megan’s favorites, although she adds cream) – it’s rich and smooth and tastes just like Ward Cleaver would like it to.
If you’re an omelette fan, you better come hungry – each omelette is made with 3 extra-large eggs and takes up pretty much the whole damn plate. They’re big, and just as flavorful as you would expect them to be, loaded with cheese, peppers, onions and meat. They’ve got several choices on the menu, but you can pretty much tell them what you want in your omelette and they’re happy to make it.

The atmosphere isn’t classic 50′s like the food, but that’s okay. They’ve got an outside patio for dining during the warmer months, which seems to be popular. I’m not an “eat my food outside” kind of guy, so I’ve never been out there, but there’s always a crowd.

If you dig on pancakes (and breakfast food in particular), The Original Pancake House is the gold standard. The service pretty much sucks, but the food is worth the small sacrifice of having to track down your server and ask for a refill.