HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH!

So, again, I’ve been very, very lazy and haven’t been posting much about my ongoing European trip. The latest trip was to Bruges, Belgium to attend a wedding. Check out my lady friend’s post about our phenomenal eating experiences.

Bruges is very interesting. Well, Belgium in general is interesting. It’s a country about half the size of Michigan, with two different official languages in the different Walloon and Flanders parts of the Country – French and Flemish, respectively. In Bruges, they speak Flemish. Because only about 3 million people in the world speak Flemish, they all also speak INCREDIBLY good english, making it a breeze to get around and chat with folks.

Kriek - the Perfect Marriage!

The last stop we hit up in Bruges was pretty much the greatest beer store in the world (Bacchus Cornelius).  Here, I picked up a ton of different kinds of Gueuze and Kriek, which are normally very, very expensive in the U.S. when you can even find them.   These are very unique, Lambic-based beers that are only made around Brussels using wild yeast fermentation.

These Kriek’s were beautiful – very subtle sour cherry hints to the sourness of the Lambics.  Pretty awesome – and I learned to pour fast to create lots of Mousse!

FOAM!

All right, the addition to the title is a joke.  Having said that, however, due to the overwhelming response I do plan on a prequel to my Eating the Road series, starting with the gripping tale of when I got gas for my car and a snack at the gas station before I left for Philly.  Stay tuned for that…

In all seriousness (I officially have more sense than George Lucas — no prequels here) this is the end of the road.  And I wish I could write about some delicious breakfast I had before I dropped my wife off at the Philly airport and began my long drive back, but I can’t — I was righteously hungover.  I staggered to the mini bar and allowed my self to get bit by the hair of the dog to set the day straight.  Just kidding, I drank a bottle of water, choked down a cup of coffee and was on my way.

I refused to allow myself to be gouged on the Pennsylvania Turnpike again, so I headed north for a route that would take a little longer, but save me $20 in tolls.  This route also coincidentally brought me near State College, PA, one of my favorite college towns, and just in time for lunch at that.

My first stop was at another turnpike rest area, alas I did have to use the turnpike a little to get out of Philly, but this was worth it.  It had a crazy huge food court and a well stocked convenience store.  Finally feeling like I could manage a little food, I grabbed a granola bar and a Diet Dew and headed for State College.

Before I write about my exploits in Nittany Lion land, I do want to give a brief shout out to Lehigh Valley, PA.  This place is really beautiful.  If you ever have a chance to go there, and I can’t imagine why you would, GO THERE.  Seriously.

Lehigh Valley, PA. Go there, man.

I timed my arrival in State College for lunch to be around 3:30, which was coincidentally the same time a certain Maize and Blue football team was set to kickoff against the evil Golden Domers of Notre Dame.  I had planned on hitting a local brewpub called Otto’s, and enjoying a little Big Ten brotherhood as we watched Shoelace run roughshod over the Irish.

I don't think we're in Ann Arbor anymore...

Alas, I left my directions at the hotel in Philly and chanced that I would be able to find Otto’s on my own.  State College isn’t that big.  Unfortunately, I had no success and was not happy about the prospect of missing kickoff.  Just down the road from Beaver Stadium (which is pretty impressive) was a place called the Nittany Lion Inn, and it had a sign which read: Public Welcome.  “I’m the public!” I thought, and ambled in.

Have you ever entered an establishment and immediately felt out of place?  I was completely underdressed, and to make matters worse, I was not wearing any Penn State garb.  Still, the game was on a TV at the lounge, which was amusingly called “Whiskers.”  Wolverines have whiskers too, PSU fan.

Whiskers was a pretty nice lounge, and my sandals and shorts weren’t as badly out of place there.  It was something of a Dockers convention and everyone had an appropriately navy blue shirt on as well.  As for the menu, A+, Whiskers had a fantastic selection; I had a difficult time choosing.  I selected the Bison Burger, which was topped with crispy shallots (amazing), smoked cheddar and BBQ sauce.  The burger, fries, and a salad ran $12, and was worth every penny.  The BBQ sauce was nothing special, but the Bison was perfect and the smoked cheddar was, how shall I say it, smoky.  Really delicious.

The only drawback was the pint of Yuengling I ordered.  Yuengling bills themselves as “America’s Oldest Brewery,” and it is all over PA.  I finally broke down and tried it, and was not very impressed.  Call it a rich man’s Rolling Rock.  Typical American lager, not terrible but certainly not memorable.  At least I can now check it off my Beer Bucket List.

I watched three quarters of the game before I left.  The Nittany Lion Inn was an inviting and comfortable place; Penn Staters were friendly and open to a fellow Big Ten fan in their midst.  I could have stayed longer, perhaps another couple pints and grabbing a room at the Inn.  Penn State was due to play Alabama that night and it promised to be a raucous environment.  But I had to leave… 

Good thing I did, too.  I didn’t get back to Ann Arbor until midnight, and Penn State got clobbered by ‘Bama.

The road was good to me, especially my last day.  I-80 through Pennsylvania is very scenic and beautiful, and lunch at a Big Ten college town was the perfect break in the day.  Having been to each Big Ten college town (Lincoln, NE doesn’t count yet) I can attest that if you can’t have a good time in these places than you are already dead. 

As for Eating the Road, thanks for reading my first venture into travel writing.  The best part about it was the eating.

Cuba Libre

When you have small children, dinner alone at a nice restaurant with your spouse is a luxury.  Usually, our wedding anniversary is the one day a year we can count on to be able to do this.  So, like haggard revolutionaries descending from the jungle, my wife and I entered one of Philadelphia’s finest Cuban restaurants, Cuba Libre, to mark our 10^th anniversary.

Cuba Libre

She ordered a glass of white wine, while I embraced the setting and ordered a Mojito.  The Mojito was very nice, but something is lost when drinking a tropical drink in a non-tropical setting.

For appetizers, my wife wanted the triple dip platter, with Haitian eggplant, black bean hummus, and smoked marlin dip/spreads.  I was pleased with her choice and ready to eat when suddenly I was paralyzed by the icy grip of fear.  Along with plantain chips, the dips were also served with cassava chips.  As you may or may not know, Time Magazine had declared cassava one of the ten most dangerous foods in the world.  My palms grew sweaty, chills ran up my spine, and the thought of leaving this mortal coil became a real proposition.  How could I enjoy my appetizer when one its components was going to try to kill me?

Fortunately, I remembered my previous, Pulitzer Prize winning post about Time’s ridiculous list.  Cassava was only dangerous if served raw.  After sneaking into the kitchen to inspect the cooking method, and then convincing the chef and the manager on duty that I wasn’t insane, I settled in to enjoy my non-raw cassava chips.

And they were fantastic.  Perhaps it was the proximity with danger, but I felt alive while indulging in the appetizer.  My senses were even more aroused by the fact that the dips were amazing, especially the Haitian Eggplant, which was spicy and delicious.  The smoked marlin was what you would expect, it tasted like smoked fish, and the black bean hummus was also outstanding.  But the real revelation was the Haitian eggplant and the plantain chips.  All in all, a terrific appetizer.

For dinner I had a sampler of empanadas, which seemed appropriately Cuban.  One included chicken, corn, and jack cheese, which I could only describe as sinfully delicious.  My wife selected a watercress salad and black bean soup, both of which were top-notch, and I also ordered black beans w/rice, onion, and bacon on the side.  Cubans must love black beans, and who can blame them?  They are outstanding, and at Cuba Libre they were clay in the chef’s hands. 

If you are in Philly, Cuba Libre is a fantastic choice.  Highly recommend.

Dolce 

Not ready to call it a night, we asked our waitress for a recommendation for dessert and a nightcap.  Her choice: Dolce, a trendy Italian restaurant a couple blocks away.  My wife and I agreed and found our way there ten minutes later. 

Upon entering, my wife and I snickered a bit.  Trendy?  Perhaps, but at Dolce they were trying too hard.  The whole thing smacked of too much effort.  The floor lit up, the waitresses were dour, pouty, and aloof, and at 11pm on a Friday night the place was practically empty.  They might want to consider kicking it down a notch.

We did order dessert, vanilla cheesecake for me and apple pie with ice cream and caramel sauce for my wife.  My cheesecake was fine — nothing special — but the apple pie was AMAZING.  Imagine our surprise, that at this trying-too-hard-to-be-trendy restaurant we would find the most delicious apple pie.  How the hell does that make sense?

After finishing dessert, we ordered another round of drinks, Bailey’s and coffee for my wife and a Dogfish IPA for me.

If you are looking for a pleasant environment and quality, friendly service, Dolce is not for you.  The waitress was too pouty and dour, and the light up floor was giving me a headache.  But they made one hell of a great apple pie.

In the final installment:  My road trip back and lunch in State College at the Nittany Lion Inn.

When faced with an afternoon to kill doing touristy things in Philadelphia, I was presented with a question as old as the city itself:  Do I take in the Liberty Bell and other Colonial era sights, or scope out the city for places that have been shot on It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia?  Either choice would provide a much needed blast of culture and history.  After my long night of driving, and a relaxing morning sleeping in at a swanky Philadelphia hotel, I opted for lunch.

But Jeremy, you may be asking, what about your kids?  Aren’t they semi-permanently glued to you, restricting your freedom and liberty?  Not this particular weekend, my friends.  My wife had a high powered nursing conference, and I was there with an afternoon to kill by myself before meeting up with her for dinner.  The kids were back in Michigan, either fending for themselves or at their Grandparent’s house.  Meh.  Either way, my Declaration of Independence had been signed and my first act of freedom was to scour the streets of Philly for cheesesteaks and beer.

When placed in an unfamiliar city, my plan of action is walking.  Exploring a city at ground level is great, not just for people watching but also to get a feel of the place.  What are the local shops/bars/restaurants like?  How attractive are the female inhabitants?  What is the ratio of panhandlers per block?  Philly scored well on all three counts.  Not only was the Liberty Bell and other historically significant sights within walking distance of my hotel, but so were many terrific restaurants.

The first one that caught my eye will be familiar to watchers of Food Network.  The restaurant was called Morimoto.  Yes, that Morimoto, one of my favorite of the Iron Chefs, although he is no Hiroyuki Sakai, the unquestioned God and Master of all Iron Chefs.  Checking the menu, it did look fantastic, including a dish called Angry Chicken, which I loved.  Why is it angry?  Do you hurl insults at it before it is cooked?  Sadly, I wouldn’t know, prices at Morimoto were crazy expensive.  Dinner and drinks for two were easily going to be $150.  Time to keep looking…

Greatest. Iron. Chef. Ever.

Also, lunch was beckoning me.  I was hoping for a friendly bar, something called, oh, I don’t know….Paddy’s Pub.  Unfortunately no such place was to be found so I settled on a multi-story venture named Rotten Ralph’s.  Located on the corner of 2^nd Street and Chestnut, Rotten Ralph’s is a street level bar with indoor and outdoor seating, and it claimed it had a club of some sort upstairs.  Not interested in hitting the club at two in the afternoon, I grabbed an inviting seat at the bar, ordered a pint of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and a Chicken Philly Cheesesteak. 

After amusing myself with conversation with pessimistic Eagles fans, my sandwich arrived.  Covered in melted provolone, it was a serious beast of a sandwich, peppers and onions were spilling out.  I took a bite, and it was everything I hoped it would be.  The peppers and onions were the star of the show, juicy and loaded with flavor.  The chicken was perfect too, but without the chorus of peppers and onions it would not have been anything special.  The bread also stood out, light and with a crispy bite, not overly dense or soggy.  I decided that I wasn’t sure why Ralph was Rotten, but it sure as hell wasn’t due to a poor cheesesteak.

Served with shoestring French fries, which were also delicious, it was an overall amazing eating experience.  I polished off my sandwich and was ready to hit the streets for further exploration when something caught my eye:  Hoegaarden on tap!!!!!   A second pint was a must.  After savoring my beer, and sermonizing to Philly football fans that they should be happy that they have a team that competes for the playoffs every year as opposed to being stuck in professional football hell —  Detroit — I headed for Independence Hall.

Sightseeing, people watching, eating a great sandwich and drinking great beer all made for a wonderful day.  Dinner was set for a Cuban restaurant just around the corner from Rotten Ralph’s.  So far, Philly was everything I hoped for: a vibrant city with great restaurants, amusingly pessimistic football fans, and a surprising amount of beautiful women promenading along the sidewalks. 

And, as a bonus, it was sunny in Philadelphia.  Life was good, time for a quick nap and a shower, followed by dinner with my wife.

In the next installment:  Reviews of Cuba Libre and Dolce.

Road trips can function a couple of different ways.  There is the ideal kind, the one where time is not really an issue, you can stop and check out interesting sights and scenery, and most importantly, discover a local eatery that is delicious and memorable.  Unfortunately, when I had to drive to Philadelphia last week, I was in a hurry and unable to explore.

That means driving on the Interstate the whole way and living at the mercy of what I call Interstate Eats.  You know what I mean, you are driving down the highway, ripping off mile after mile all to the sounds of whatever strikes your fancy on your iPod, and the signs appear:  McDonalds, Burger King, Subway, Wendy’s, etc.  It is bleak, my friends.

The night before I left, I did what any modern intrepid road tripper does:  I made several playlists for my iPod, loaded it up with podcasts of This American Life and Real Time With Bill Maher and inspected my vehicle — my trusty, no-longer-produced-because-they-are-out-of-business Saturn Vue, and got a decent night sleep because I was unable to leave until 5pm the next day, which meant that I would hit Philly at around 3am.

The road from Ann Arbor to Philly is covered mostly by the Ohio and Pennsylvania Turnpikes.  Aside from gouging you for tolls, the Turnpike “plazas” that have restrooms, food, and gas are grossly overpriced.  But what can you do?  A hungry traveler has got to eat.  Fortunately, the plazas on the Turnpike have a slightly better choice than leaving it to chance in Podunk, Ohio.

Behold! The Ohio Turnpike Service Plaza in all its Glory!!!!

For starters, every one has a Starbucks.  When you have to drive 600 miles and most of it is at night, my usual aversion to Starbucks gets pushed aside.  So the first important task of fueling myself with coffee is accomplished with relative ease, if you consider Starbucks’ lame ordering system easy (I’m sorry, but a tall will never equal a small in my world).  But after a few McMochas from Starbucks, I was ready for real food. 

Lo and behold, included in one of the Ohio Turnpike plazas was a Panera.  When faced with McDonalds, Pizza Hut Express, or Panera, the choice is quite simple.  My history with Panera dates back to my days as a rosy-cheeked youth living in the suburbs of St. Louis.  There, at the teenage hangout known as Chesterfield Mall, was the St. Louis Bread Company — the restaurant which would eventually be known as Panera Bread.  So I have a soft spot for Panera.

After stretching a bit and inspecting the maps (something I always do, even if I have my route memorized, call it a catharsis) I walked into Panera and checked out the menu.  Usually the “You pick two” is my Panera standby, but the menu offered an intriguing and potentially delicious option: The Cuban Chicken Panini.

Panera's Cuban Chicken Panini (thanks to our freinds at Grub Grade for the pic)

Is there anything not to love about the traditional Cuban sandwich?  Chicken, ham, swiss, and pickles, all smashed into a delightful, handheld symphony of flavor.  I was excited about trying Panera’s version, as it was a nice break from the drive and I have a general theory that smashing a sandwich makes it better.

Panera’s Cuban Chicken Panini includes all the favorites I listed above, along with a chipotle mayo and a sun-dried tomato mustard, all on perfectly pressed focaccia.  I received my sandwich and it was piping hot, which was fantastic as it allowed me to linger a few minutes while it cooled to read a copy of the Metro Times I snagged from a gas station before I left.  Nothing like reading Dan Savage before you eat…

As for the sandwich itself, it was delicious.  Sure, I had a few qualms — the pickles should be thinly sliced and cover the whole sandwich; Panera used pickle chips which provided poor overall coverage.  But you will not hear any other negative words.  The chicken was tender and juicy, the ham provided a nice, salty bite, the swiss was the perfect compliment.  But I was really surprised by how much I liked the sun dried tomato mustard.  Tangy and tasty, it complimented the meat but also was flavorful enough to stand out.  I will no doubt seek out Panera’s Cuban Chicken Panini again.

After devouring my sandwich, I pushed forward into the night.  Pittsburgh welcomed me with some great Indie music on a local station (91.3 for our Pittsburgh readers) and I rolled into Philly early the next morning.  I was tired and ready to sleep, but excited about exploring the city when I woke up.

Fortunately, the rest of the trip would provide real culinary adventures — as delicious as my sandwich was, I was hungry for something new.  I would find it the next day, along with some delicious old friends and Philly specialties.

Since I was in Boston and environs this last weekend, my next few posts will involve the wonders of Massachusetts dining.  Unfortunately, while walking down Newbury Street (a major Boston shopping corridor), we came across this place:

Excitement at the fat kid in the Celtics Jersey enjoying delicious cupcakes was quickly met with immediate horror and tourist shame as I was quickly informed by a local friend that this place only sells T-shirts.

In my book, you don’t joke around about cupcakes like that.  It’s just not right.  I mean, it even talks about fat and carbs and everything.  I’m officially boycotting this place.  Forever.  To regain my tourist mojo, I immediately went to Boston Common and made a proper ass out of myself:

Like most Americans, I’m fascinated with the drinking culture of Great Britain. Not only do the British drink a whole lot, but more importantly, our friends in the UK seem to really enjoy drinking as much as anybody possibly can. In fact, the British Home Office paid for research into a safer pint glass that will make drinking even more enjoyable.

Imagine this, you are someplace in London drinking one of the 126 Million pints of beer severed in throughout the UK every week. Somehow you break your glass. This could have led to tragedy as official figures record 5,500 attacks a year with beer pint glasses (Nerdy Statistical note: this leads to a 0.00008394% chance that the guy next to you is going to attack you with his pint of Boddingtons). Does that seem like a lot to you? Now, however, the governments new hybrid safety glass (coming to a pub near you) can be broken, but held together like a car windscreen with a layer of plastic.  That’s right – safety glass for beer pints.

Cheers to the Brits! Bottoms Up!