Bagan, Park St., Alameda, CA.

Nan Gyi Dok (Burmese rice noodles with a mild chicken coconut curry sauce, eggs, split yellow pea, and fried onion)
Thai Iced Tea

Forgive me for being blunt, but I am immediately suspicious of any Asian restaurant with scores of non-Asian people queuing up to gush over it (ahem, Le Cheval). While I’ve tried it and liked it, Burma Superstar is no exception. Apparently, my local Burmese restaurant (r.i.p., Hinn Tha) has changed into the East Bay branch of the ’star, so I gave it a try.

Wary of the Thep Phanom-enon — where they oversalt everything in an otherwise finely nuanced cuisine and somehow garner undying praise from the American palate — I ordered Nan Gyi Dok. Given my current dissatisfaction with curries (thanks to the plethora of mediocre Thai and now even Indian restaurants in the area), I was pleasantly surprised. Overly salty or not, the fragrant curry was some of the best I’ve ever had, a complex melange of spices tempered by a perfect coconut milk overtone. I’m glad to know that someone realizes this: mild does not equal bland. Alongside the rice noodles, which were like a lighter, more slippery spaghetti, the accoutrements made each bite a novelty, complimented by the piquant sweetness of slivered raw onion, the savory sweetness of fried onion, or pungent cilantro, the crunch of those fried-wonton-skin-like strips satisfying against the creaminess of sliced hardboiled egg. The chicken is kind of an afterthought, compulsory protein used as an excuse to assemble the rest of the ingredients.

I miss Hinn Tha’s Burmese iced tea. If you’ll excuse the perfume analogies (I’ve been reading about them too much recently), Thai iced tea is far too sweet, floral, and feminine, while Burmese iced tea is robust, rich, and masculine. I prefer the latter.

A rather hefty $15 out of my pocket for lunch, and copious amounts of water drunk to ward off my impending hypertension, though it was nice to sit and stare out at the rain.

Havana, Park St., Alameda, CA
(A quick, preliminary review.)

Cuban sandwich with boniato fries and garlic
Iced tea

I haven’t been having good luck with sandwiches recently. I thought this restaurant might change my luck, but I was mistaken. Never having lived in Cuba or on the eastern seaboard, I don’t fancy myself an expert on Cuban sandwiches, by any means. But is it that much of a stretch to except the flavor of a sandwich to reflect the vibrancy of its culture?

The restaurant had a pleasantly airy, open feel to it, its walls adorned with massive and impressive photographs that do nothing to quell my fascination with seeing Cuba in person. Vaguely Latin music emanated from the ceiling at the appropriate volume, varying in its appeal from enjoyable to appalling.

(An aside. Dear Bay Area Restaurants: Please remove Manu Chao and his keychain-explosion sound effects permanently from all musical rotation. It got old half a decade ago. Please and thank you.)

Service was absentminded and aloof, but I’m willing to be lenient since it is a new(ish) restaurant and these things tend to work themselves out. I consoled myself with bread reminiscent of dry ciabatta, strangely sliced double-wide. Regardless of grill time, my sandwich took far too long to arrive. When it did, it was accompanied by boniato fries instead of the plantains I’d ordered, but I was too impatient to argue. Plus, who can argue with sweet potato fries (even if their accompanying “guava chipotle sauce” tasted like nothing more than overly-sweet barbecue sauce)?

Anyway, onto the sandwich, itself. Pork should not be bland. Roast pork and ham, doubly so. The anemic pickle did nothing to distinguish itself from its relatives condemned to McDonald’s. The bread was quite good, simultaneously soft and toasty, but did nothing to pull the disparately textured yet indistinctly flavored elements of the sandwich together. The damned thing needed a healthy dose of mustard. But it was entirely edible, an inoffensive facsimile of its lofty prototypical ideal located somewhere in Miami.

$15 is a bit too much for a sandwich lunch, even if it’s purportedly Cuban. I may stop by for small plates and drinks sometime to give it another chance, but I’m not much of a mojito aficionado.

–

I will get to the taco crawl eventually. I promise.

2006.11.28.
Ibid

On Tuesday, a classmate and I ran to grab lunch before class. We ended up at Kirala, having their very reasonably priced sushi special. Watery miso soup, average pieces of fish that mostly tasted the same, indistinct bland textures. The salmon was so soft it was almost slimy and I couldn’t finish it. I wasn’t too disappointed, I suppose, because I pretty much got what I paid for.

To make up for it, that evening I had possibly the best nigiri in my entire life. In Alameda, no less. I’d discovered the existence of this intimate, easily overlooked restaurant on yelp, of all places. When we walked into the 12-seat room it was empty except for the sushi chef and his wife. Feeling slightly intimidated, we sat down, made ourselves comfortable, and asked what was good. I knew it was going to be a good evening given his first offering…. the list is below.

hamachi belly (did I mention that this is my favorite thing ever?)
shiromaguro
kampachi
aji
escolar – he chose to sear it lightly, something he said that shocked him when he saw it in japan but eagerly adopted after finding out how much better it was. He was right.

–

“What else should we have?”
“What kind of stuff do you like?”
(shrug)
“Spicy tuna roll?”
(I make a face and indicate that I don’t really like rolls) “I like nigiri.”
“You like the clean flavor of each fish?”
I think I won his approval.

–

taira-gai – pen shell scallops, much meatier, denser, and better than hotate
sake (cured lightly in sea salt and then marinated in sake — quite complimentary)
hirame and toro – he’d had pieces leftover before Thanksgiving so he smoked them with alderwood. Genius.
anago, lightly steamed and sauced – more delicate than unagi. I’m glad I tried it.

I don’t think I’d previously uttered the word ‘delicious’ so many times in one evening. It was basically sushi as it should be — each piece unique in its flavor and texture, intense in its simplicity. I’m not sure how such a small place keeps such an incredibly fresh and varied selection of fish. We had the sushi chef to ourselves for most of the meal; two other diners didn’t appear until we were almost finished. I enjoyed his conversations. We argued about the actual origin of ocean trout; he said he’d find out for me exactly what it was. He laughed every time I identified the music — a series of fairly weighty classical tunes that had been given jazz treatment. He finally confessed that he’d gotten them on limewire.

When he asked how we’d heard of the place he was amused by the answer. Apparently quite a few others had mentioned yelp recently. “I like it this way,” he gestured toward the empty dining room, “not mass-produced.” He urged us not to tell too many people about it. Given the results of his rapt yet leisurely attention toward each piece of fish, I can’t argue. Who knew that utopia existed in my very own city?

2007.12.05.

My favorite sushi spot, ruined by yelp. Alameda, CA.

The best thing about eating sushi alone is that I can waltz into my favorite twelve-seat sushi restaurant at 7pm, bypass the seven people waiting impatiently in the hallway, and immediately nab the last seat at the bar.

I slipped into the corner seat and ordered my usual omakase, complemented by a copious amount of steaming green tea.

The goods:

[round one] steelhead, hamachi, shiromaguro, aji

[round two] taira-gai (pen shell scallop), kampachi (amberjack), hirame

(“You’ve had seven,” he said, hesitating. “Yes, MORE,” I demanded. Hey, I didn’t have lunch.)

[round three] mutsu (seared butterfish), amaebi, toro

While it’s probably the best sushi place in the east bay, and perhaps the bay area (though so far I’ve left the south bay unscathed by my voracious appetite for fish), the quality of fish has been consistently uneven commensurate with the number of people crammed into their hallway. (I should post my original review — perhaps I will, in a moment.)

Of the three “rounds,” the first was by far the best. Steelhead is probably my favorite type of fish, and I can safely say that this piece of gleaming, flaming red trout is the best I’ve ever tasted. (I’ve seen it at one other sushi place in San Francisco; it also goes by “ocean trout.”) It also helps that hamachi, shiromaguro, and aji are also favorites, the clean, fresh flavor of each delighting my palate.

The second round disappointed me. The taira-gai were firm and meaty but lacked their usual sweetness. The kampachi, not one of my favorites due to its crunchy texture, had a strange slimy mouthfeel, almost but not quite inedible. (The only occasion I’ve left sushi on my plate was at Genki Sushi, but that’s another story.) The hirame, usually another favorite, was strangely devoid of its usual punchy oceanic richness.

Thankfully, round three redeemed the experience. Flavorful, firm charred mutsu; sweet, delicate amaebi; buttery toro. All good, but not the standouts I expect from this place.

I had a great time, though. The cozy warmth of the sushi bar is only rivaled by the graciousness of the fellow clientele, all of whom exude friendliness and a genuine love of exceptional sushi. $42 later, I left with my belly full and a smile on my face.

(Next: my original review from about a year ago.)