LOCATION: 70 Union Street Newton Centre, MA 02459 ("Centre"? Not "center"? So the word's become cen-tray instead of cen-ter? Come on, world!)
TYPE OF FOOD: Diner
REVIEW: As if Newton Centre needs anything else, the Deluxe Station Diner rolls in. I don't mean to sound rude, but honestly, Newton Centre has become Times Square almost. With a bank, a ice-cream store, a family restaurant, a Mexican restaurant, a "family-style" restaurant (shudder shudder), a Walgreens, a party store, a parking lot, a Peet's, two pizza places, a Chinese restaurant and a burger place, it seemed like Newton Centre had it all. And yet, they were able to jam in a little diner on top of the train stop. Is that a bad thing? Hmm...
Having been a frequent flier to the other location (Deluxe Town Diner) owned by the same owner, I knew what to get. Or, I thought I knew: the Greek wrap on a whole-wheat tortilla (the wheat one, not the Spanish one with eggs and potatoes- oh, SPAIN! LET ME FEAST ON YOUR PATATAS BRAVAS ONE LAST TIME! LET ME EAT THE PORK AND TASTE THE BREAD! SEE THE FORTRESS OF TOLEDO ONE MORE-, hmm, excuse me, I need to come back to down to Earth, hrm, the United States, hrm-). But having the usual large menu, I looked quickly to see if anything would spark my interest. Eggs? No. Pancakes? No. Anything else? Not really. That left me with the wrap and salad.
The wrap was absolutely delicious. The tortilla, as it should be, was soft and malleable. The filling on the inside was cooked to perfection and was delicious overall in the wrap. The salad was bland, but what originality can you get from a side garden salad with no dressing or vinaigrette? I, as usual, asked for a fruit salad. And, as usual, the fruit salad was only about a couple of spoonfuls big, so I quickly (and deliciously) gobbled in down. And as usual, I left the restaurant soon after. And as usual, I am typing this review. And as usual, I am ending this section with a joke. And as usual, I am moving on from this section to the service section. Starting-
SERVICE: The service was, well, honestly, what would you expect. It was nothing out-of-the-ordinary or really special. They were nice and smiling and friendly, but they were the usual bunch in restaurants. That's not a problem but maybe that is a good thing. If what you expect has been met, it makes for a better experience. But alas, I suppose this is the end of this segment. Or five lines or so. You know, maybe it's just me, but I think I should- it's six lines now! Six! Next section! Before seven occurs, and we don't want- ah!
ATMOSPHERE: This is where the restaurant gets its real kick. The atmosphere is basically steampunk-themed. I'm not a big fan of it, but it's very nice. The atmosphere really is basically steampunk crammed into a restaurant, but the steampunk is fresh and new and feels inventive yet comfortable. The floors are clean, the noise isn't too loud-but that's pushed aside by the creative decoration. Honestly, it is to the point that I suggest you poke your head just to see the place. Or maybe use the bathroom. Or maybe stop for a cup of coffee. How about a slice of pie? Am I slowly revealing what I think of the place before the rating? Well, um, yeah, I kind of am. Movin' on. I don't have time to type in the "g". I'm too kool fo' that. Wiggie wiggie word. I'm hip. I'm cool. Meat dress!
PRICE: The wrap was eight dollars and fifty cents. The price was perfect for an extremely good meal. The portion was reasonably done and with the salad(s) added in in came together to form a fit and firm meal. "A fit and firm meal." That should have been on one of those advertisements from the early forties. "Save your rations for a fit and firm meal." I don't have copyright on that. Feel free to use it. Because I'm going to totally encourage you to copy my reviews, then, oh, ten, fifteen years down the road, sue you for copyright harassment for using one phrase. Oh, and how much money? Millions of dollars. Hopefully someone will pick that up.
RATING: Deluxe Station Diner is a quaint, little diner on top of a train station that offers so much in a section which already has so much. The food is great, with the price in the same condition, as well as a good service. But the atmosphere is the real swing which puts the ball over the fence. It's retro and creative, interesting and fun. This diner is definitely one you can sink your teeth into. Ha. Ha. Ha. Sink your teeth into. Because they offer food. And you bite food. Funny. Deluxe Station Diner gets a five out of five.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Kouzina
LOCATION: 1649 Beacon Street Waban, MA 02468
TYPE OF FOOD: Mediterranean
REVIEW: Words like, "Mediterranean", "Asian", "European", and "American" are extremely vague terms, especially when it comes to food. For instance, Mongolia is as much as China is in Asia (nothing is better than listening to a little morin khuur on a Friday night). What's especially even more vague is when you look at the menu and wonder what country in the region does a certain dish come from (how does a restaurant expect to me to know where qovurma comes from?). That was the case when I stepped into Kouzina, looked at the menu, and wondered, just wondered.
What in the world is a "bronzini"? Apparently it's a fish, but to me, it sounds like some Arabian piece of furniture. Why is "pita" spelled "pitta"? It honestly doesn't make sense to me whatsoever: do we spell cake "cakke"? Despite these confusing things, I was able to decide my meal choice within the space of a few minutes: the lamb "pitta" sandwich. It took a few minutes to cook my meal, but thanks to the magic of the Internet, you only have to read one sentence in order to understand that fact. Or maybe two. Or maybe three. Or maybe four. But wait- five! But wait- oh, whatever.
The sandwich was strangely wrapped in tin foil, and was cut in half so you would get two sandwiches. It came with French fries with Feta cheese mixed in, but as I don't eat French fries, I ate the Feta cheese. It was very good, and high quality. The sandwich itself had a liberal dose of tzaziki sauce, which in this case was a good thing and it kept the sandwich wet and with a nice yogurt flavor. The lamb in the sandwich was cooked well, and was nice and chewy, as well as flavorful. The pita itself was perfectly grilled, and all in all, the sandwich was very delicious. The only problem I could see was that the meat was dripping juices, and as a result it got all over my pants and caused them to get wet. Oh well, it's a side effect of a tasty meal.
SERVICE: The service was fine, but not overly exceptional. They did their job (any guesses would be greatly appreciated) and they did it well. Apparently that job extended outside of serving food (oh, that's their job! I thought they were carrying the nuclear football-my bad!). From what I could see, they were also doing garnish and helping make the food. This is unusual (I decide what's usual and unusual! Got a problem with that?), but Gordon Ramsay doesn't know, so it don't matter. Gosh, all that Hell's Kitchen is is him having a temper tantrum. I mean, the show is good at times, but come- oh. I review food. Not shows. Sorry.
ATMOSPHERE: This is where the major problems came. The atmosphere was a real letdown. The owners hung up several mirrors and paintings as the only decoration covering about fifteen percent of the right wall, but the paintings and mirrors looked old, as if they had been up for years (the bottom of them looked orangey, rust anyone?). The floors didn't look too appealing either, though they were clean. The bathrooms though are a mess. The faucet was really working, and it overall looked like it hadn't been cleaned in a few days. I was only in there for at most two minutes, but maybe that might have been a good thing. Maybe, just maybe. Just maybe. Just maybe. What does that mean, anyway?
PRICE: Thanks to a certain recent tropical storm I'm doing this review in a bookstore, next to a Starbucks, on my laptop. And thanks to my laptop's strange inability to open PDF files, I am unable to, for certain, give the price. I do believe it was in the neighborhood of nine dollars, but I could be wrong. The price could be twenty dollars, but that doesn't matter. For any price, the food was excellent, and I would pay one hundred dollars to eat the sandwich. Taking out, of course. On my couch. Watching football. And hoping to avoid a Coors Light commercial. Oh yeah. Living the dream.
RATING: Kouzina is a place which serves excellent food with good service at a reasonable price. The major downside which prevents a perfect score is the lousy (yeah, I gots me a vocabulary!) atmosphere which really forces you to takeout, if you have that option. But I don't know that for sure. Why? Well, I'm in a bookstore. Sitting on a highchair. Typing this review. My left arm's falling asleep, and I'm hoping, really hoping, that this gets through Blogger. How's your day been? Kouzina gets a three out of five.
TYPE OF FOOD: Mediterranean
REVIEW: Words like, "Mediterranean", "Asian", "European", and "American" are extremely vague terms, especially when it comes to food. For instance, Mongolia is as much as China is in Asia (nothing is better than listening to a little morin khuur on a Friday night). What's especially even more vague is when you look at the menu and wonder what country in the region does a certain dish come from (how does a restaurant expect to me to know where qovurma comes from?). That was the case when I stepped into Kouzina, looked at the menu, and wondered, just wondered.
What in the world is a "bronzini"? Apparently it's a fish, but to me, it sounds like some Arabian piece of furniture. Why is "pita" spelled "pitta"? It honestly doesn't make sense to me whatsoever: do we spell cake "cakke"? Despite these confusing things, I was able to decide my meal choice within the space of a few minutes: the lamb "pitta" sandwich. It took a few minutes to cook my meal, but thanks to the magic of the Internet, you only have to read one sentence in order to understand that fact. Or maybe two. Or maybe three. Or maybe four. But wait- five! But wait- oh, whatever.
The sandwich was strangely wrapped in tin foil, and was cut in half so you would get two sandwiches. It came with French fries with Feta cheese mixed in, but as I don't eat French fries, I ate the Feta cheese. It was very good, and high quality. The sandwich itself had a liberal dose of tzaziki sauce, which in this case was a good thing and it kept the sandwich wet and with a nice yogurt flavor. The lamb in the sandwich was cooked well, and was nice and chewy, as well as flavorful. The pita itself was perfectly grilled, and all in all, the sandwich was very delicious. The only problem I could see was that the meat was dripping juices, and as a result it got all over my pants and caused them to get wet. Oh well, it's a side effect of a tasty meal.
SERVICE: The service was fine, but not overly exceptional. They did their job (any guesses would be greatly appreciated) and they did it well. Apparently that job extended outside of serving food (oh, that's their job! I thought they were carrying the nuclear football-my bad!). From what I could see, they were also doing garnish and helping make the food. This is unusual (I decide what's usual and unusual! Got a problem with that?), but Gordon Ramsay doesn't know, so it don't matter. Gosh, all that Hell's Kitchen is is him having a temper tantrum. I mean, the show is good at times, but come- oh. I review food. Not shows. Sorry.
ATMOSPHERE: This is where the major problems came. The atmosphere was a real letdown. The owners hung up several mirrors and paintings as the only decoration covering about fifteen percent of the right wall, but the paintings and mirrors looked old, as if they had been up for years (the bottom of them looked orangey, rust anyone?). The floors didn't look too appealing either, though they were clean. The bathrooms though are a mess. The faucet was really working, and it overall looked like it hadn't been cleaned in a few days. I was only in there for at most two minutes, but maybe that might have been a good thing. Maybe, just maybe. Just maybe. Just maybe. What does that mean, anyway?
PRICE: Thanks to a certain recent tropical storm I'm doing this review in a bookstore, next to a Starbucks, on my laptop. And thanks to my laptop's strange inability to open PDF files, I am unable to, for certain, give the price. I do believe it was in the neighborhood of nine dollars, but I could be wrong. The price could be twenty dollars, but that doesn't matter. For any price, the food was excellent, and I would pay one hundred dollars to eat the sandwich. Taking out, of course. On my couch. Watching football. And hoping to avoid a Coors Light commercial. Oh yeah. Living the dream.
RATING: Kouzina is a place which serves excellent food with good service at a reasonable price. The major downside which prevents a perfect score is the lousy (yeah, I gots me a vocabulary!) atmosphere which really forces you to takeout, if you have that option. But I don't know that for sure. Why? Well, I'm in a bookstore. Sitting on a highchair. Typing this review. My left arm's falling asleep, and I'm hoping, really hoping, that this gets through Blogger. How's your day been? Kouzina gets a three out of five.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Botin
LOCATION: Calle Cuchilleros 17 Madrid, Spain (the big gun)
CUISINE: Spanish
REVIEW: The words, "tourist trap" can apply to many (and too many) things. Tourist traps apparently has come to mean many things (according to Wikipedia, the source of utter knowledge; if you can't find it, you shouldn't know it! But you might anyway... oh well), from flush toilets (watch as your defecation product disappears into old metal tubing built into your McMansion!) to a single tree (feel the fresh green pine needles rain down on your face!) to the city of Las Vegas (insert name/product related joke here!). But one name that was tossed in as a tourist trap was the oldest restaurant in the world: Botin. And while I was stomping around in Madrid, I decided to pop my head in for a bite to eat (it was really more of a meal, but I guess a meal is several bites one after the other).
For my meal choice, there was no dispute (or fight, or quarrel, or conflict, or battle, or argument, or... I don't think the dictionary has anymore synonyms): the world-famous (with the hyphen!) cochinillo asado, or also known as the roast suckling pig. As usual in restaurants, there were a number of close calls where I thought that my food had come (mostly involving a large group of Japanese tourists), until finally, the hot slab of pork, accompanied by some small, round boiled potatoes, reached the table and my spot in front of me (no rambling long table joke today.. or week... or post... or month... or...).
The potatoes were, for boiled potatoes, pretty good. But the main focus which stole the lighted circle on the big wooden platform was the pig. It was absolutely delicious. It was juicy, with perfectly cooked meat which would make even Ingrid Newkirk giggle like a schoolgirl. The skin on it was almost like a chip on top of the meat, and combined with the meat it was delicious. The dish was absolutely perfect in every way, with the perfect meat and the nice crunchy skin, and I eat every morsel of meat. By the end of the meal, there was literally no meat on the bones. It was absolutely perfect, and I went out of the restaurant unbelievably happy.
SERVICE: The service was very, very good. The service was experienced and was able to help people quickly (beat that, McDonald's!). While I didn't get the personal experience, I got a sense of the service from the way they served other people: the aforementioned large group of Japanese tourists. As any good group of tourists do, they ordered a whole lot of food (come on, admit it, you've done it too... my credit card has always regretted it). The service had to move around, going from seat to seat, moving quickly on their feet in order to deliver food and drinks. They were able to do it quickly and easily, and they seemed happy to do it. Seemed happy. Little did anyone know, but that night, they set their plans into motion to steal the recipe for suckling pig, and sneak underground in order to give it to Lord Voldemort. Or maybe they were just happy. I'll stick with that.
ATMOSPHERE: For a restaurant that's over two hundred seventy-five years old, they have a nice atmosphere. The place was clean and calm, with no loud voices or noises coming from the kitchen (if I only I knew where it was...) and other places. The real head turner was not the inside of the restaurant, but the outside. Outside was a couple of glass windows/cases which held many things, mostly signs. Mostly on the signs was promotional things, mentioning how Botin's the oldest restaurant in the world, Hemingway mentioned it in one of his books (The Sun Also Rises... yeah, that's right, even outside of the British Empire... wait, does that still exist?), yada yada yada. It's not a bad thing that they're doing that, it's a good thing. In Madrid though, there's no Times Square like place, so it was probably the closest you could find to a billboard around. Beats Armani anyday.
PRICE: A dinner for five costs about two hundred euros- forty euros per person (for people with a calculator out of reach... could have just used Google, but no!). That's pretty good for me, considering the extremely high quality of the meal I had just had. The forty euros that was paid was worth every cent, every juicy, yummy, delicious, warm and fresh cent. And no, I did not just heat up all my coins just so I could describe them here. And no, I am not broke because I just did that. That's the thing about denial, huh?
RATING: Botin has been considered as the ultimate tourist trap for any Madrid visitor. But my experience was the opposite of that. The food was unbelievably delicious, the service quick, the atmosphere great, and the price right. Unless Plan 9 To Outer Space has become the greatest movie of all time, Botin is not in one tiniest bit, a tourist trap. And no, I don't have a storage container with some tourists in it so I could have a literal "tourist trap". And no, I am not being investigated by the FBI, CIA, and local, state, and federal police combined. And no- you know, I'm speaking too much. Way. Too. Much. Botin gets a five out of five.
CUISINE: Spanish
REVIEW: The words, "tourist trap" can apply to many (and too many) things. Tourist traps apparently has come to mean many things (according to Wikipedia, the source of utter knowledge; if you can't find it, you shouldn't know it! But you might anyway... oh well), from flush toilets (watch as your defecation product disappears into old metal tubing built into your McMansion!) to a single tree (feel the fresh green pine needles rain down on your face!) to the city of Las Vegas (insert name/product related joke here!). But one name that was tossed in as a tourist trap was the oldest restaurant in the world: Botin. And while I was stomping around in Madrid, I decided to pop my head in for a bite to eat (it was really more of a meal, but I guess a meal is several bites one after the other).
For my meal choice, there was no dispute (or fight, or quarrel, or conflict, or battle, or argument, or... I don't think the dictionary has anymore synonyms): the world-famous (with the hyphen!) cochinillo asado, or also known as the roast suckling pig. As usual in restaurants, there were a number of close calls where I thought that my food had come (mostly involving a large group of Japanese tourists), until finally, the hot slab of pork, accompanied by some small, round boiled potatoes, reached the table and my spot in front of me (no rambling long table joke today.. or week... or post... or month... or...).
The potatoes were, for boiled potatoes, pretty good. But the main focus which stole the lighted circle on the big wooden platform was the pig. It was absolutely delicious. It was juicy, with perfectly cooked meat which would make even Ingrid Newkirk giggle like a schoolgirl. The skin on it was almost like a chip on top of the meat, and combined with the meat it was delicious. The dish was absolutely perfect in every way, with the perfect meat and the nice crunchy skin, and I eat every morsel of meat. By the end of the meal, there was literally no meat on the bones. It was absolutely perfect, and I went out of the restaurant unbelievably happy.
SERVICE: The service was very, very good. The service was experienced and was able to help people quickly (beat that, McDonald's!). While I didn't get the personal experience, I got a sense of the service from the way they served other people: the aforementioned large group of Japanese tourists. As any good group of tourists do, they ordered a whole lot of food (come on, admit it, you've done it too... my credit card has always regretted it). The service had to move around, going from seat to seat, moving quickly on their feet in order to deliver food and drinks. They were able to do it quickly and easily, and they seemed happy to do it. Seemed happy. Little did anyone know, but that night, they set their plans into motion to steal the recipe for suckling pig, and sneak underground in order to give it to Lord Voldemort. Or maybe they were just happy. I'll stick with that.
ATMOSPHERE: For a restaurant that's over two hundred seventy-five years old, they have a nice atmosphere. The place was clean and calm, with no loud voices or noises coming from the kitchen (if I only I knew where it was...) and other places. The real head turner was not the inside of the restaurant, but the outside. Outside was a couple of glass windows/cases which held many things, mostly signs. Mostly on the signs was promotional things, mentioning how Botin's the oldest restaurant in the world, Hemingway mentioned it in one of his books (The Sun Also Rises... yeah, that's right, even outside of the British Empire... wait, does that still exist?), yada yada yada. It's not a bad thing that they're doing that, it's a good thing. In Madrid though, there's no Times Square like place, so it was probably the closest you could find to a billboard around. Beats Armani anyday.
PRICE: A dinner for five costs about two hundred euros- forty euros per person (for people with a calculator out of reach... could have just used Google, but no!). That's pretty good for me, considering the extremely high quality of the meal I had just had. The forty euros that was paid was worth every cent, every juicy, yummy, delicious, warm and fresh cent. And no, I did not just heat up all my coins just so I could describe them here. And no, I am not broke because I just did that. That's the thing about denial, huh?
RATING: Botin has been considered as the ultimate tourist trap for any Madrid visitor. But my experience was the opposite of that. The food was unbelievably delicious, the service quick, the atmosphere great, and the price right. Unless Plan 9 To Outer Space has become the greatest movie of all time, Botin is not in one tiniest bit, a tourist trap. And no, I don't have a storage container with some tourists in it so I could have a literal "tourist trap". And no, I am not being investigated by the FBI, CIA, and local, state, and federal police combined. And no- you know, I'm speaking too much. Way. Too. Much. Botin gets a five out of five.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Alfileritos 24
LOCATION: C/Alfileritos, 24 (no surprise) Toledo, Spain
TYPE OF FOOD: Spanish (no surprise to the second power, yes I just made that up)
REVIEW: Spain is (cover your eyes, eight year olds out there!) one heck of a country. Any real person can discover that when they wake up at two in the morning after a Barcelona/Madrid football game (just to name a specific situation). But what is amazing about the country is its cuisine. Everything about it from its eggs to its chicken is interesting (see, the eggs are before the chicken!). And no matter where you go in Spain I'm sure you can find a good example of its food (though I never really went far beyond Madrid, that's right, no Barcelona!). On a day trip to Toledo, lunchtime reared its head like a Michael Bay movie, so I decided to go to Alfileritos 24 (and coming soon, Alfileritos 25: The Anniversary of Taste).
Of course, I was given the usual menu (why can't people break traditions here? Just give me an inked up waffle!). And of course in my mind, I had to decide what to order (why? I had been there for quite some time: a few minutes count, right?). After a few moments, I finally made my decision: I would use my saliva, tongue and teeth to divide bacalao, a white fish similar to cod (straight from my brain dictionary!). And so, that was what was told to the waitress, and some time later, the fish was delivered to me.
The fish was quite fine, with nice flavor. The bread that was served with it (extra cost!) was fine as well, but nothing extremely special. I also ordered some some green tea as well, and it was served in what seemed like a ten-pound teapot with a whole lot of metal. The tea, once again, was fine, nothing extremely special (only moderately special). Overall, it was a fine meal. I paid the price of the meal, used my tibias to make my body conform to an upright posture, and using said tibias, did the motion of walking down a series of platforms down one story, and then stepped out three pieces of wood in order to reach the earth outside the frame.
SERVICE: The service seemed to be almost always in the kitchen, doing the obvious (chain smoking? Magazine reading? Being on the internet when they should be flying and landing a plane... or did they fall asleep?): serving and making food. They didn't seem to be around often, and almost seemed to have forgotten our table; despite the fact that I was seated directly in front of the door. It could be that they were just busy, but that doesn't seem likely... just like how you can overshoot an airport by miles and only say, "I wasn't paying attention." Four words: I mean, come on.
ATMOSPHERE: The atmosphere is the most appealing aspect to the restaurant. It is as new and retro as if Twitter, Facebook, Lady Gaga, auto-tuning, and Keyboard Cat shot all of their 2007-onward energy at you in one giant blow. That as it may, the place is almost designed like a children's jungle maze. It has tons of glazed glass ramps and plants leading from two feet to four feet higher. The bathroom was locked in this maze, and although the bathroom was nice and clean, the maze aspect turrrrned meeeeeeee offffffff. Get it? Huh? Huh? No? Beatles reference? Come on! Worth a shot.
PRICE: The price of my dish was thirty-one euros and forty-eight cents (not pesos!). The dish might have been a bit too costly for some tastes, but for me it was fine considering the quality of the dish. But once again. These are euros. Not pesos. Spain. Mexico. Spain. Mexico. Get it right.
RATING: Alfileritos 24 is a nice, hip hop ya don't stop restaurant in Toledo. The food overall was fine, along with it's a little less better service and good matching price. The major draw-in, though, is it's new-inspired atmosphere, which is a good and bad trait for the place. Or, for a better term, mixed. Not a mixed bag. Put a plastic bag in a bowl with a wooden spoon if you want that. Geesh. Alfileritos 24 gets a three out of five.
TYPE OF FOOD: Spanish (no surprise to the second power, yes I just made that up)
REVIEW: Spain is (cover your eyes, eight year olds out there!) one heck of a country. Any real person can discover that when they wake up at two in the morning after a Barcelona/Madrid football game (just to name a specific situation). But what is amazing about the country is its cuisine. Everything about it from its eggs to its chicken is interesting (see, the eggs are before the chicken!). And no matter where you go in Spain I'm sure you can find a good example of its food (though I never really went far beyond Madrid, that's right, no Barcelona!). On a day trip to Toledo, lunchtime reared its head like a Michael Bay movie, so I decided to go to Alfileritos 24 (and coming soon, Alfileritos 25: The Anniversary of Taste).
Of course, I was given the usual menu (why can't people break traditions here? Just give me an inked up waffle!). And of course in my mind, I had to decide what to order (why? I had been there for quite some time: a few minutes count, right?). After a few moments, I finally made my decision: I would use my saliva, tongue and teeth to divide bacalao, a white fish similar to cod (straight from my brain dictionary!). And so, that was what was told to the waitress, and some time later, the fish was delivered to me.
The fish was quite fine, with nice flavor. The bread that was served with it (extra cost!) was fine as well, but nothing extremely special. I also ordered some some green tea as well, and it was served in what seemed like a ten-pound teapot with a whole lot of metal. The tea, once again, was fine, nothing extremely special (only moderately special). Overall, it was a fine meal. I paid the price of the meal, used my tibias to make my body conform to an upright posture, and using said tibias, did the motion of walking down a series of platforms down one story, and then stepped out three pieces of wood in order to reach the earth outside the frame.
SERVICE: The service seemed to be almost always in the kitchen, doing the obvious (chain smoking? Magazine reading? Being on the internet when they should be flying and landing a plane... or did they fall asleep?): serving and making food. They didn't seem to be around often, and almost seemed to have forgotten our table; despite the fact that I was seated directly in front of the door. It could be that they were just busy, but that doesn't seem likely... just like how you can overshoot an airport by miles and only say, "I wasn't paying attention." Four words: I mean, come on.
ATMOSPHERE: The atmosphere is the most appealing aspect to the restaurant. It is as new and retro as if Twitter, Facebook, Lady Gaga, auto-tuning, and Keyboard Cat shot all of their 2007-onward energy at you in one giant blow. That as it may, the place is almost designed like a children's jungle maze. It has tons of glazed glass ramps and plants leading from two feet to four feet higher. The bathroom was locked in this maze, and although the bathroom was nice and clean, the maze aspect turrrrned meeeeeeee offffffff. Get it? Huh? Huh? No? Beatles reference? Come on! Worth a shot.
PRICE: The price of my dish was thirty-one euros and forty-eight cents (not pesos!). The dish might have been a bit too costly for some tastes, but for me it was fine considering the quality of the dish. But once again. These are euros. Not pesos. Spain. Mexico. Spain. Mexico. Get it right.
RATING: Alfileritos 24 is a nice, hip hop ya don't stop restaurant in Toledo. The food overall was fine, along with it's a little less better service and good matching price. The major draw-in, though, is it's new-inspired atmosphere, which is a good and bad trait for the place. Or, for a better term, mixed. Not a mixed bag. Put a plastic bag in a bowl with a wooden spoon if you want that. Geesh. Alfileritos 24 gets a three out of five.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Trattoria Pulcinella
LOCATION: C/Regueros, 7-28004 Madrid, Spain (I'm crashing Europe, yeah, baby, yeah!)
TYPE OF FOOD: Italian (yep, that's right: in Spain)
REVIEW: The fusion food movement, if you can call it that (seems the word, "movement", can be applied to anything nowadays.... health food movement, green movement, Civil Rights Movement.. well the last one's fine), is not something that has gained an extreme interest (for me at least, and I'm big in the food blogger world... inside my unconscious mind). But what has gained interest is placing restaurants in random countries from countries thousands of miles away. Now, you may be looking at your piece of glass on top of some metal wondering, why the heck is some random guy talking about displaced restaurants? The answer is because this review that you are currently looking over using several organs in your body consists of one. And if you didn't skip over the part you would have noticed this was an Italian restaurant (unless of course you're a psychic... then tell me when was I born, where was I born, give me three candidates for the Republicans in 2012, what is the name of the next film which will win "Best Picture" and who will game seven between Oklahoma City and Seattle... what?). And no, this is not the North End. This is Iberia. Er, Spain. Sorry.
Going to Spain can be a difficult, yet fun experience, yet when you go into a restaurant, only possessing ('cause you can hold words now!) basic Spanish, it can be kind of hard to read any part of the menu. Thanks to some early classes, however, I was able to figure a few words (and the meaning of life), which was enough to determine what to pick in order to satisfy my various internal acids. Since the menu consisted of a good section of pastas, I decided to consume one of those. Realizing that I didn't my trusty phrase book at my side (or more correctly, my pocket or more correctly, my lap, or more correctly, somewhere near me... in a ten mile radius), I decided to go with one I knew based on its name. I could only read one, so I decided upon it. After some time later, my dish of (what could it be? Marinara, primavera, penne all'arrabbiata? What is it?) puttanesca arrived on my table, reasonably warmed and ready to eat.
The first thing I noticed about the dish was that it was salty. It was salty quite a bit. That did not deter me anyway, and I continued eating the dish. It had some flavor, and the pasta was cooked very well. The ratio between sauce and pasta was adequate, and that the dish wasn't too dry or drowning in sauce. The ingredients in the sauce also didn't overpower one another. I was able to eat it all (with the help of the most abundant compound on Earth's surface) successfully, and then walk onto an over 1,200 year old city.
SERVICE: For being in a country in which the residents spoke a language which you only knew a few lists of and about five minutes looking through a phrase book, the service wasn't half-bad. They (I hope) understood I was an American, and were patient with me. When told I needed more time to think, they left and instead of coming back twenty minutes later like in a certain country I know (hint, hint), they came back in time and served there. If only I knew how to speak Spanish. If only I know how to speak Spanish. That's right. Two tenses.
ATMOSPHERE: The restaurant had authentic Italian atmosphere (and you thought you could only find it in the North End, didn't you?). The outside looked as if you had stepped into Naples (darn wormholes). Inside as you stepped in there was a place where you could drink Sangria (until two in this country... let's just say that make sure you close your windows at night... especially after a football game... no not that football). The floors were clean, and there were candles in quite a few places. The room was somewhat lighted, which added an even more authentic Italian vibe to the place. If only there was an Authentic Italian Restaurant Society. All we have is GEO, GOP, and NBA. Who could watch continuous scoring for forty-eight minutes straight?
PRICE: The price of my dish was nine and a half euros. It was a decent amount of food, not too much yet too little. It did feel almost as if the pan making the dish bumped into the salt shaker and continued stirring and stirring and stirring... but with a glass of water you could get over it. Plus the dish did taste fresh, so overall, it was a decent price. But not Vincent Price. That guy creeps me out a little. A little.
RATING: Trattoria Pulcinella is an authentic Italian restaurant in one of the oldest cities in the world. The atmosphere is pure Italy, the service great and the price reasonable. While the food was a bit salty, it was only one dish and with a glass of water, you can be able to eat it without your mouth being too salted out. You know, I think Madrid might be starting to grow on me. I just can't handle the coffee. I don't like coffee. Trattoria Pulcinella gets a five out of five.
TYPE OF FOOD: Italian (yep, that's right: in Spain)
REVIEW: The fusion food movement, if you can call it that (seems the word, "movement", can be applied to anything nowadays.... health food movement, green movement, Civil Rights Movement.. well the last one's fine), is not something that has gained an extreme interest (for me at least, and I'm big in the food blogger world... inside my unconscious mind). But what has gained interest is placing restaurants in random countries from countries thousands of miles away. Now, you may be looking at your piece of glass on top of some metal wondering, why the heck is some random guy talking about displaced restaurants? The answer is because this review that you are currently looking over using several organs in your body consists of one. And if you didn't skip over the part you would have noticed this was an Italian restaurant (unless of course you're a psychic... then tell me when was I born, where was I born, give me three candidates for the Republicans in 2012, what is the name of the next film which will win "Best Picture" and who will game seven between Oklahoma City and Seattle... what?). And no, this is not the North End. This is Iberia. Er, Spain. Sorry.
Going to Spain can be a difficult, yet fun experience, yet when you go into a restaurant, only possessing ('cause you can hold words now!) basic Spanish, it can be kind of hard to read any part of the menu. Thanks to some early classes, however, I was able to figure a few words (and the meaning of life), which was enough to determine what to pick in order to satisfy my various internal acids. Since the menu consisted of a good section of pastas, I decided to consume one of those. Realizing that I didn't my trusty phrase book at my side (or more correctly, my pocket or more correctly, my lap, or more correctly, somewhere near me... in a ten mile radius), I decided to go with one I knew based on its name. I could only read one, so I decided upon it. After some time later, my dish of (what could it be? Marinara, primavera, penne all'arrabbiata? What is it?) puttanesca arrived on my table, reasonably warmed and ready to eat.
The first thing I noticed about the dish was that it was salty. It was salty quite a bit. That did not deter me anyway, and I continued eating the dish. It had some flavor, and the pasta was cooked very well. The ratio between sauce and pasta was adequate, and that the dish wasn't too dry or drowning in sauce. The ingredients in the sauce also didn't overpower one another. I was able to eat it all (with the help of the most abundant compound on Earth's surface) successfully, and then walk onto an over 1,200 year old city.
SERVICE: For being in a country in which the residents spoke a language which you only knew a few lists of and about five minutes looking through a phrase book, the service wasn't half-bad. They (I hope) understood I was an American, and were patient with me. When told I needed more time to think, they left and instead of coming back twenty minutes later like in a certain country I know (hint, hint), they came back in time and served there. If only I knew how to speak Spanish. If only I know how to speak Spanish. That's right. Two tenses.
ATMOSPHERE: The restaurant had authentic Italian atmosphere (and you thought you could only find it in the North End, didn't you?). The outside looked as if you had stepped into Naples (darn wormholes). Inside as you stepped in there was a place where you could drink Sangria (until two in this country... let's just say that make sure you close your windows at night... especially after a football game... no not that football). The floors were clean, and there were candles in quite a few places. The room was somewhat lighted, which added an even more authentic Italian vibe to the place. If only there was an Authentic Italian Restaurant Society. All we have is GEO, GOP, and NBA. Who could watch continuous scoring for forty-eight minutes straight?
PRICE: The price of my dish was nine and a half euros. It was a decent amount of food, not too much yet too little. It did feel almost as if the pan making the dish bumped into the salt shaker and continued stirring and stirring and stirring... but with a glass of water you could get over it. Plus the dish did taste fresh, so overall, it was a decent price. But not Vincent Price. That guy creeps me out a little. A little.
RATING: Trattoria Pulcinella is an authentic Italian restaurant in one of the oldest cities in the world. The atmosphere is pure Italy, the service great and the price reasonable. While the food was a bit salty, it was only one dish and with a glass of water, you can be able to eat it without your mouth being too salted out. You know, I think Madrid might be starting to grow on me. I just can't handle the coffee. I don't like coffee. Trattoria Pulcinella gets a five out of five.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Demos
LOCATION: 146 Lexington Street Waltham, MA 02452
TYPE OF FOOD: Greek (don't worry, there's no "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" jokes in this review (at least for the first half))
REVIEW: Greek restaurants are as much as an enigma as opening a Christmas present: when you open it, you have no idea what you'll get. Would they put stuffed grape leaves on the Greek salad (OMG!!!!! :O)? Would they have the creamy Greek dressing (GASP!!!)? Or would they, possibly would they, would they experiment with their kabobs (AHHHH!!! TWEET! MUST TWEET!!!)? Luckily, I knew of one place which had nether of these three: Demos (THANK U YEAH!!!!).
I had been there so many times I didn't need to use my vitreous humour to look at the menu: chicken kabob dinner with double Greek salad and water (oh, I know what you were thinking: you thought I would go into some long thing stating how weird the food offered was like, "Oh, they have deep fried lamb and they call it, an American classic," well I'm not going to do that, this paragraph will be trim with only a couple of sentences, so if you don't like it, you can just go- oh, it's long now, isn't it? Oh....). I sat down and after a few minutes, the salad came, though I didn't touch it (or breathe on it or think about or, gasp, smell it!), and instead I waited until more minutes later for the kabobs to come. And soon enough, the kabobs arrived.
The kabobs were nice and hot, and the chicken was nicely grilled to absolute perfection. They were nice and juicy, and I chewed on them happily. The vegetables were the exact same, perfectly grilled and one of the best sandwiches I have ever eaten when placed in a pita with the meat. After the meat disappeared to meet its' acid fate in my digestive system, I reared my ugly head to the salad. The lettuce was fresh and the vinaigrette was delicious, but the best part of it was the cheese. The cheese was slightly salty, the sign of good Feta cheese, and combined with the rest of the salad, it was absolutely delicious. Walking away with a ton full o' delicious fresh from Mount Olympus food (say hi to Demeter for me), I stepped out the door out into the parking lot out into the car out onto the street out to my house.
SERVICE: The service was nice, though I didn't get a real sense of them (I'm not Freud here, give me a break, unconscious mind). They mostly stayed behind the counter, where they took in money and orders. They brought the food to you ('cause I'm a lazy hard working American who needs to put food on the table.... and dress weird at Walmart), which was a nice bit of relaxation. The staff was authentic Greek, and has some sort of accent. Despite this, I could still understand what they were saying. My unconscious mind bothers me some times.
ATMOSPHERE: The atmosphere had direction signs, pictures, wood, perfect, authentic.... Italian. I'm not joking. The atmosphere made it look as if it was an authentic, legit (I don't have time to type the full word, blame my unconscious mind) Italian restaurant from the North End. I mean, it was mostly clean, had nice booths to sit in and fine bathrooms.... but it looked like a darn Italian restaurant. And you know what? I was kind of fine with it. One's unconscious mind works in strange ways.
PRICE: The price is about twenty-six dollars for two meals and a drink. The food was high quality and plenty of it as a kicker. Overall, the price is perfect for the delicious food. This restaurant's manager has a pretty good unconscious mind, if I don't say so myself.
RATING: Demo's is a delicious authentic Greek restaurant in every sense of the word. It has decent service and a nice price to boot. While the atmosphere looks more Sicilian than Aegean, anyone with a fit unconscious mind can get past that. Oh, I'm sorry. I think I've been seeing too much product placement. Fly JetBlue today and save money! Darn unconscious mind. Demo's gets a five out of five.
TYPE OF FOOD: Greek (don't worry, there's no "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" jokes in this review (at least for the first half))
REVIEW: Greek restaurants are as much as an enigma as opening a Christmas present: when you open it, you have no idea what you'll get. Would they put stuffed grape leaves on the Greek salad (OMG!!!!! :O)? Would they have the creamy Greek dressing (GASP!!!)? Or would they, possibly would they, would they experiment with their kabobs (AHHHH!!! TWEET! MUST TWEET!!!)? Luckily, I knew of one place which had nether of these three: Demos (THANK U YEAH!!!!).
I had been there so many times I didn't need to use my vitreous humour to look at the menu: chicken kabob dinner with double Greek salad and water (oh, I know what you were thinking: you thought I would go into some long thing stating how weird the food offered was like, "Oh, they have deep fried lamb and they call it, an American classic," well I'm not going to do that, this paragraph will be trim with only a couple of sentences, so if you don't like it, you can just go- oh, it's long now, isn't it? Oh....). I sat down and after a few minutes, the salad came, though I didn't touch it (or breathe on it or think about or, gasp, smell it!), and instead I waited until more minutes later for the kabobs to come. And soon enough, the kabobs arrived.
The kabobs were nice and hot, and the chicken was nicely grilled to absolute perfection. They were nice and juicy, and I chewed on them happily. The vegetables were the exact same, perfectly grilled and one of the best sandwiches I have ever eaten when placed in a pita with the meat. After the meat disappeared to meet its' acid fate in my digestive system, I reared my ugly head to the salad. The lettuce was fresh and the vinaigrette was delicious, but the best part of it was the cheese. The cheese was slightly salty, the sign of good Feta cheese, and combined with the rest of the salad, it was absolutely delicious. Walking away with a ton full o' delicious fresh from Mount Olympus food (say hi to Demeter for me), I stepped out the door out into the parking lot out into the car out onto the street out to my house.
SERVICE: The service was nice, though I didn't get a real sense of them (I'm not Freud here, give me a break, unconscious mind). They mostly stayed behind the counter, where they took in money and orders. They brought the food to you ('cause I'm a lazy hard working American who needs to put food on the table.... and dress weird at Walmart), which was a nice bit of relaxation. The staff was authentic Greek, and has some sort of accent. Despite this, I could still understand what they were saying. My unconscious mind bothers me some times.
ATMOSPHERE: The atmosphere had direction signs, pictures, wood, perfect, authentic.... Italian. I'm not joking. The atmosphere made it look as if it was an authentic, legit (I don't have time to type the full word, blame my unconscious mind) Italian restaurant from the North End. I mean, it was mostly clean, had nice booths to sit in and fine bathrooms.... but it looked like a darn Italian restaurant. And you know what? I was kind of fine with it. One's unconscious mind works in strange ways.
PRICE: The price is about twenty-six dollars for two meals and a drink. The food was high quality and plenty of it as a kicker. Overall, the price is perfect for the delicious food. This restaurant's manager has a pretty good unconscious mind, if I don't say so myself.
RATING: Demo's is a delicious authentic Greek restaurant in every sense of the word. It has decent service and a nice price to boot. While the atmosphere looks more Sicilian than Aegean, anyone with a fit unconscious mind can get past that. Oh, I'm sorry. I think I've been seeing too much product placement. Fly JetBlue today and save money! Darn unconscious mind. Demo's gets a five out of five.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
New England Soup Factory
LOCATION: 2-4 Brookline Place Brookline, MA 02445
TYPE OF FOOD: Soup (dang! I wanted it to be Willy Wonka..)
REVIEW: Speciality restaurants, like expensive Broadway musicals, have many ups and downs (sorry Spiderman fans! You'll need to wait another three hours to see the rest of the show! No refunds!). Depending on the food, your success can be great or be an epic fail (you're welcome, internet obsessed people!). Desserts? Nope. Sandwiches? Possibly. Comfort food? Hmm....
The menu had several options. At the Soup Factory (so, wait, where are the tall towers billowing smoke? Where's the angry Al Gore protesting it? I knew this was a conspiracy against Webster's Dictionary...), there are regular options available daily, while there are new options made every day. Ignoring the new options completely like Sarah Palin in the vice-presidential debates, I focused on the everyday options. Should I go with Chicken Pot Pie, even if I have never eaten a pot pie in my life (the adventurous option)? Or maybe the "Hearty" "Italian" Beef Stew (because everyone in Italy eats beef stew, right? What grains?)? Or maybe, maybe, MAYBE (I'm only saying maybe) the Lobster Newburg (hmm, butter, cream and cognac! Perfect in a soup!)? Eventually after about two to three seconds, I decided on the Chicken Noodle Soup with multi-grain bread and a fruit salad. After about two to three minutes, the soup went from ladle to paper-cardboard bowl and plastic tray to oak slab.
The bread, dipped in the soup, was very, very delicious. The soup by itself was very good, with not too much salt and nice vegetables. The noodles added a nice touch to the soup with a basic taste. After eating and then drinking the broth, I moved onto the fruit. The fruit was mostly pineapples and grapes, but was still very fresh and fine. A strange green fruit star was in the salad, and was very good, though I could not figure out what fruit it was. Still, I got up, walked towards the glass sheets and metal which was the door, and walked into the town of Brookline.
SERVICE: The service consisted of some sixteen to twenty-four year olds. There were several of them at different stations (the cup management station is the most important of all!). For some reason, as if Arnold Schwarzenegger in 1980 had hit them on the heads (because training for a movie totally makes you win Mr. Olympia, right?), they seemed confused and out of sync. The person who I gave my order to seemed like he didn't hear my order of fruit salad, and nearly didn't give it to me. I know why; it's them. They're after all of the service people! Who's next? Flight attendants? Drive-thru people? Cashiers? Gasp!
ATMOSPHERE: The atmosphere was nothing significant. There were several posters saying that they were in some magazine's hall of fame (yay! Some magazine gave five star rating two years in a row! It has a circulation of 1,050! Let's buy two-hundred dollars to show everyone we are number one! Whoo-hoo!), and a van Gogh inspired poster of a woman leaning over and eating a bowl of soup (half of the thing was pitch black!). The floors were somewhat dirty, but not enough to get seriously upset. Still, dirt is dirt, and paper straw wrappers are paper straw wrappers. Don't worry, I didn't call Greenpeace. Yet.
PRICE: I cannot seem to remember the exact price (this is why you do not play football), but I do remember it something around six dollars. Six dollars is quite good for a soup, and considering the high quality, it could be worth twenty dollars. If you had some edible gold to it. Edible gold. Google, Bing, Yahoo, LeapFish, Blekko, Goby, Boogami, Wikia Search, Yummly, Forestle, or Duck Duck Go it. Cool stuff.
RATING: New England Soup Factory is a great place with extraordinary food and great prices. However, the service is not the greatest and the floors are quite dirty. Or more specifically, covered with straw wrappers. Or more specifically, it was the mats near the door. Or more specifically, it was more on the side facing the left of the door. Or more specifically, some of the straw wrappers were ripped. Or more specifically- oh, nevermind. New England Soup Factory gets a three out of five.
TYPE OF FOOD: Soup (dang! I wanted it to be Willy Wonka..)
REVIEW: Speciality restaurants, like expensive Broadway musicals, have many ups and downs (sorry Spiderman fans! You'll need to wait another three hours to see the rest of the show! No refunds!). Depending on the food, your success can be great or be an epic fail (you're welcome, internet obsessed people!). Desserts? Nope. Sandwiches? Possibly. Comfort food? Hmm....
The menu had several options. At the Soup Factory (so, wait, where are the tall towers billowing smoke? Where's the angry Al Gore protesting it? I knew this was a conspiracy against Webster's Dictionary...), there are regular options available daily, while there are new options made every day. Ignoring the new options completely like Sarah Palin in the vice-presidential debates, I focused on the everyday options. Should I go with Chicken Pot Pie, even if I have never eaten a pot pie in my life (the adventurous option)? Or maybe the "Hearty" "Italian" Beef Stew (because everyone in Italy eats beef stew, right? What grains?)? Or maybe, maybe, MAYBE (I'm only saying maybe) the Lobster Newburg (hmm, butter, cream and cognac! Perfect in a soup!)? Eventually after about two to three seconds, I decided on the Chicken Noodle Soup with multi-grain bread and a fruit salad. After about two to three minutes, the soup went from ladle to paper-cardboard bowl and plastic tray to oak slab.
The bread, dipped in the soup, was very, very delicious. The soup by itself was very good, with not too much salt and nice vegetables. The noodles added a nice touch to the soup with a basic taste. After eating and then drinking the broth, I moved onto the fruit. The fruit was mostly pineapples and grapes, but was still very fresh and fine. A strange green fruit star was in the salad, and was very good, though I could not figure out what fruit it was. Still, I got up, walked towards the glass sheets and metal which was the door, and walked into the town of Brookline.
SERVICE: The service consisted of some sixteen to twenty-four year olds. There were several of them at different stations (the cup management station is the most important of all!). For some reason, as if Arnold Schwarzenegger in 1980 had hit them on the heads (because training for a movie totally makes you win Mr. Olympia, right?), they seemed confused and out of sync. The person who I gave my order to seemed like he didn't hear my order of fruit salad, and nearly didn't give it to me. I know why; it's them. They're after all of the service people! Who's next? Flight attendants? Drive-thru people? Cashiers? Gasp!
ATMOSPHERE: The atmosphere was nothing significant. There were several posters saying that they were in some magazine's hall of fame (yay! Some magazine gave five star rating two years in a row! It has a circulation of 1,050! Let's buy two-hundred dollars to show everyone we are number one! Whoo-hoo!), and a van Gogh inspired poster of a woman leaning over and eating a bowl of soup (half of the thing was pitch black!). The floors were somewhat dirty, but not enough to get seriously upset. Still, dirt is dirt, and paper straw wrappers are paper straw wrappers. Don't worry, I didn't call Greenpeace. Yet.
PRICE: I cannot seem to remember the exact price (this is why you do not play football), but I do remember it something around six dollars. Six dollars is quite good for a soup, and considering the high quality, it could be worth twenty dollars. If you had some edible gold to it. Edible gold. Google, Bing, Yahoo, LeapFish, Blekko, Goby, Boogami, Wikia Search, Yummly, Forestle, or Duck Duck Go it. Cool stuff.
RATING: New England Soup Factory is a great place with extraordinary food and great prices. However, the service is not the greatest and the floors are quite dirty. Or more specifically, covered with straw wrappers. Or more specifically, it was the mats near the door. Or more specifically, it was more on the side facing the left of the door. Or more specifically, some of the straw wrappers were ripped. Or more specifically- oh, nevermind. New England Soup Factory gets a three out of five.
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