What's In A Name?

January 18th, 2011 (last visit)

Charlotte, NC

In the winter of 2003 I met a pretty awesome girl. I was in my cube at my office and on a heated phone call with a vendor who had massively screwed up a delivery to a customer for which I was currently taking the heat. In an effort to increase my lung capacity, effectively raising the volume with which I could scream at this poor person on the other end of the line, I was actually standing up. It was at this point that my manager walked up, followed by an extremely cute blond with a confident smile, introducing her as a recent interview. The current rant was getting me nowhere and the guy I was connected with was not anywhere near as attractive as this new applicant for our department - so I promptly slammed down the phone and shook the lovely hand of the woman who, two and a half years later, would be my wife. 

A happening somewhere in between these two events is what I would like to discuss. I, certainly being into the whole brevity-thing, would, on occasion in our early courting, attempt to shorten my future bride’s name from Catherine to Cat. It was cute, reminded me of both Michelle Pfeiffer and Halle Berry and required two-less syllables than the original. However, due to the fact that she had known someone in college with this feline moniker for whom she held a true distaste, I was chastised on each attempt. I’m a pretty stubborn person and did not give up easily. I finally surrendered when I was threatened with the permanent loss of physical contact with her altogether. The reason I bring this up is because more and more I notice that we as humans can be easily turned off by all number of things simply because of what they are called. I would address her by the name of someone that she had found intolerable and she would instantly associate the word with bad memories. This person had forever ruined a three letter word in her eyes. An undesirable word does not even have to be connected to a bad memory. I can’t tell you the number of people I know, the majority women, who’s skin crawls at the mention of the word “moist.” I have seen them reduced to full body shivers at the offer of a moist towelette. Simply not liking a connotation or even the sound of a word can completely turn a person off from an otherwise enjoyable food, activity or cleansing device. 

In many instances we try to conceal an ingredient, or dish for that matter, by sanitizing their title, like utilizing it’s foreign translation or flat out making up something new. Ever had Rocky Mountain Oysters? Egg White omelette sounds much more appealing than one consisting of Albumen (this is only used as an example, I find this concept itself a travesty). I have myself realized, and not again repeated, the mistake of offering a friend a luscious bite of Sea Urchin Roe, now opting for the more sexy japanese translation of Uni. Sales of Squid soared in the US when some marketing genius decided to use the plural form of the Italian word for the chewy cephalopods, Calamari.

I realized one day that I truly appreciate the fact that a favorite treat of mine has never met such dilution. Mofongo is a Puerto Rican dish that’s origins can be traced back to Africa. Based on fried and mashed plantains, Mofongo is traditionally studded with chicharrones - crispy pork skin. Thank God for pork skin.  My favorite way is to have it served along side stewed goat. I drench the Mofongo in the rich stew and tender meat before giving everything a good stir up and diving in. The best place I have found in Charlotte is on South Blvd called Punta Cana which is, ironically, a Dominican restaurant. The Dominican Republic does have a variation on the Puerto Rican Mofongo called Mangu, made from mashed green plantains that are first boiled, not fried, but Punta Cana seems very content, and quite skilled at, serving the PR interpretation. It sort of has the texture of a dry stuffing with deep earthly flavors of starchy fruits, garlic and pork. The dense plantain mixture is moistened (cue the aforementioned cringing) by the stewing liquid, which it not-so-much absorbs but carries. You still can distinguish two distinct foods, they just happen to be eaten at the same time. The Stewed Goat is a marvel on its own. Falling apart and sticky with melted collagen its like pot roast times 12. This is a truly delicious combination.

But, being called Mofongo, it is not the easiest of dishes to get people to try  and the fact that I also order mine with Goat probably doesn’t help my cause - but I am stubborn like that. Bringing to mind things that could possibly grow on trees in a very humid climate or even a monster from the deep that lurks in the closest of five year olds after bedtime, Mofongo seems to have a name that only a native Puerto Rican could love. 

But I say,  forget your Boudin Noir and Morcilla, just accept your love of Blood Sausage. Shout out your appreciation for silky Duck Liver, you have no need for the French fuss of Foie Gras!

However, for heaven sakes, canned meat is no Treet to me, no matter how you spell it.

Punta Cana

5230 South Blvd

Charlotte, NC  

p.s. I am aware that the above is completely contradicted by the wide use and acceptance of the term Pork Butt when referring to the shoulder, but that’s a different post.

Southern Exposure

January 17th, 2011 (last visit)

Charlotte, NC

I am a Southerner. I was born in the South, Eastern Tennessee specifically. I was raised in the South, upstate South Carolina. I am, by right of birth, a connoisseur, an expert, a professional appreciator of the cuisine commonly referred to as “Comfort Food.” I was weaned on the kinds of eats that are imitated and re-interpreted in restaurants and homes all over the country, but were created and perfected (at least in their original form) in my region of upbringing. 

Baked Mac n Cheese, Collard Greens cooked with Ham Hocks, Chicken (or what my grandfather was famous for, Ham) n Dumplin’s, Fried Chicken, hell - fried anything. I could fill a book just listing the host of dishes I devoured every Sunday afternoon at my grandparents house, church potlucks and the occasional family reunion. Not to mention the plethora of gravies with which to smother everything on your plate. And the biscuits, oh God the biscuits. That salty, fried, warm, fatty goodness that just always seems to remind people of home, or at least of someones home. 

These were what I first saw cooked. I would sit in my grandpa’s kitchen and watch him, from memory, cook 6 different dishes for 12 or so people and probably not spend more than 15 bucks. That’s the best part and without question why it endured. Good Southern comfort food is by necessity, or at least it was by necessity, inexpensive. The ability to take some of the cheapest cuts of meat, some hearty vegetables and grains and make filling, tasty food enabled generations of rural, poor farmers and mill workers to sustain and raise families. Families who appreciated the fellowship that surrounded that food on those tables. People in the South, of all background, take pride in that. I’m reminded of that court scene in My Cousin Vinny where they talk about how long it takes to cook a grit. That was funny to everyone who watched it; but to the Southerners, it was funny because it was true. 

These foods help shape who I am...which is what brings me to my current quandary. It doesn’t seem to do it for me anymore. Now don’t get me wrong, I still love to debate the rules of what makes the best Mac n Cheese. I see the Bojangles Chicken Biscuit billboard on the side of the interstate and almost drive off of the road. I will pour my heart out to a stranger, preaching the holy healing qualities of a single slice of lightly fried livermush (note to self, write about livermush and save the world). But those days when its cold and grey, when I feel a little under the weather, when I’m just in a bad mood - I no longer drive straight to the Coop for some livers and gizzards or a 1/4 dark “sandwich.” I don’t find the nearest “meat and three” and pile on the country fried steak and a trio of casseroles. And I no longer hit the grocery on the way home from work to grab ingredients for pinto beans and cracklin’ cornbread. These days, and for much longer than Anthony Bourdain has been going on about it, I head directly for the nearest bowl of Phở. A dish born in the North...North Vietnam.

Now before anyone brings it up, even though I am new to this blog thing, I would assume that writing two posts in a row about dishes from Vietnam is pretty much as bad as having two songs back to back on a mixed tape by the same band. But the way I see it, it’s my blog so I’ll do what I want and no one is reading the damned thing but me right now anyway. Also, Soup and sandwich are like Bonnie an Clyde so let’s just look at this as a very brief series on what is quickly becoming, from a food sense, my favorite country in the world.

My love affair with Phở began over 10 years ago in Charlotte at a now closed little restaurant in a strip mall I lovingly used to call the “mall of many nations.” Home to a great indian buffet, mexican mercado and this Phở joint, among others, it is, oddly enough, less than half a mile from my current place of rare beef noodle soup nirvana. At the time I was barely out of high school and very much into food, but mainly for the entertainment value. I had food ADD so unless there was some form of hands on activity I wasn’t hanging around long. I think my favorite restaurant at the time was The Melting Pot if that gives you any kind of insight. Luckily enough, the little plate of garnishes - mint, Thai basil, sliced hot chilies, bean sprouts and limes, that you add to the soup yourself was enough to keep me focused.  What can I say, I was a 19 year old from a small, South Carolina town; I was easily entertained. I went to this restaurant for a few years with group of people that I worked with almost every week. As the years passed and I moved away from Charlotte and then back again I was able to try several new and different Vietnamese restaurants, all serving Phở, but all slightly different from one another. 

I was, thankfully, introduced to my favorite soup shop of all by a good friend and fellow food fiend. Vietnam Grille on South Blvd in Charlotte it the temple of enlightenment. This is my new comfort food fix. Soup is, in and of itself, instantly comforting. Within the first few slurps (that’s how I do it anyway) of hot broth, you are warmed all the way through. Its like getting a bear hug from the inside out...ok, too far. 

But the base of this Phở is not just any broth. This is not some out-of-a-can, mommy-my-nose-is-running, powder-cube in water crap. This is the most rich, unctuous, lip-smakin’...In The Elements of Cooking, Michael Ruhlman quotes author Harold McGee: “We value cream above all for its feel. Creaminess is a remarkable consistency, perfectly balanced between solidity and fluidity, between persistence and evanescence . It’s substantial, yet smooth and seamless. It lingers in the mouth, yet offers no resistance to teeth or tongue, nor becomes mealy or greasy.” Thats what I think about when I taste, no, feel this broth. Screw cream, give me this broth and leave me the hell alone for about 3 hours. 

Ok, Im back. Quality, fresh ingredients that introduce every imaginable texture; soft rice noodles, beef that has been just slightly cooked by the broth, crunch from the onion and bean sprouts; the blend of sour lime, spicy Sriracha chili sauce, pungent fish sauce all added to that wonderfully savory broth to my liking. That is comfort. That can bring be back from the edge. That, when I am not, is what makes me whole again. Nan, Pop, I’m sorry.

Perhaps my upbringing is what has allowed this to happen in the first place? Maybe I became so accustomed to the food of my childhood that it, somehow, became old hat - leaving me susceptible to the calls of a dish from a country very far from my own? 

I was never the one, when growing up, to say “I can’t wait to get out of this town.” As happens often it seems, thats exactly what I did, while most who uttered that statement once a week still live there to this day. But, looking back, I can now see that even in my early years I was, without knowing it, looking past the common cuisine of my heritage. Unconsciously saying, “I can’t wait to try something else. Anything I’ve never seen before. Anything new.” 

Vietnam Grille

5615 South Blvd.

Charlotte, NC  28217

Around the World...

Hi, I'm Brady.

Below you will see the first blog post I have ever written. I have been talking about writing this for more than a year but I had that small problem of constantly making fun of other people for blogging. But, hypocrisy not withstanding, here goes.

A few things about me. I am a married to a wonderful, understanding, patient woman. I am father to a beautiful, awesome, adventurous eating little 2 year old boy. 

I love food. I love the food experience. The challenge of making something laborious or elaborate for the first time. The excitement of trying something new and, especially, something weird. The fun and pride in the moment of serving someone a dish that I have made and seeing that they truly enjoy it.

Im a big Alton Brown fan as well as a fan of quoting movie lines. I mention this as a warning. Should I continue this blog you will most likely notice the influence of both.

I will be 30 years old in Feb of this year, 2011. I plan to drink something older than myself on one the days prior, a whiskey I would imagine, so I will stick to this at least until that point - so that I can write about it. Ironically, that will be about the 30 day mark from this, my first post, and I've heard people say something about if you do something for 30 days then you stick to it - or something like that.

My favorite place on earth, currently, is Sullivan's Island, SC.

As incredibly not-smart as she is, I have a cocker spaniel named Lily that I love very much.

The point of writing this blog, Around the World in a Million Bites, I guess is to show that even within the confines of a region, state or city, it is still possible to discover wonderful food, people and stories from around the globe - no passport necessary.

That reminds me, and those who know me can attest, what I love more than most things is to tell stories...

The Perfect Sandwich

Jan 13, 2011 (first visit)
Greensboro, NC

To define a perfect sandwich is a difficult task. There is no one characteristic that can elevate a sandwich to perfection because, like so many things in life, a sandwich is both wonderfully simple yet drastically complicated at the same time. If there is one constant, however, in the search of the perfect sandwich, it is that the perfect sandwich must be made by someone else. That's just sandwich law. The rest is completely left to individual interpretation. 

My search led me to Banh mi Saigon Sandwiches and Bakery on High Point Rd in Greensboro, NC on an icy day in early January. I had specifically scheduled a sales call in the area because, having read a blog that was written about this restaurant the same month a year earlier, I was dying to sample their crafts. 

Ban mi is located, as I have found so many awesome restaurant finds to be, in a non-discript strip mall that I, for any other reason, would have never entered. This one along bustling High Point Rd that I had passed without noticing countless times. 

You realize immediately upon entering that the owners are strictly there to serve food. No decorations, posters or flamboyant murals on the walls. No mood music droning on in the back ground. A cooler on the right with a mix of American sodas and Asian canned fruit beverages. Straight ahead, the counter where you order is flanked by a refrigerated case holding various pre-made items like sausages, desserts and pickled vegetables, half of which I have never seen before - though I do hope that by my next visit I have built enough courage to buy and try the frozen durian that sat taunting me from inside. The menu on the wall has about ten items. I  take all of this as a good sign, "we don't do much, so we can focus on what we do and make it great." Which is exactly what they do. 

I order the #2, a Banh mi Saigon dac biet (Special Saigon style sandwich). My search was over. I have had this sandwich before, from two separate locations in Charlotte, and always enjoy them very much. But this sandwich, in this restaurant, on this day...

First of all, these things are beautiful. The bright greens and orange against that earthy backdrop. As simple as it sounds, and we have already touched on the simplicity of a sandwich, it just looks delicious. 

As soon as you sit in front of it you breathe in the aroma of fresh cilantro and the jalapeños. 

Every texture imaginable is felt - warm, freshly baked baguette is crispy on the outside yet soft and giving inside. The crunchy vegetables - perfectly twangy pickled carrot and daikon, slightly hot jalapeños, cooling cucumber and a little shaved onion - not overpowering, just in the background somewhere. The lovely, chewy give of the pork roll, vietnamese ham and pate. The “special” mayo adds a creamy, sweet note. 

Thats all 5 senses involved in eating a simple sandwich! Think I left out hearing? I already mentioned the lack of elevator music, leaving just the crunch of the Banh mi Saigon ringing in your ears.

All of the ingredients, all of the flavors compliment each other in a perfect balance. No one is fighting against another. That sounds like a trite, over-stated comment, but its actually true. I believe it was Alton Brown who said that a good sandwich must have “a perfect balance of texture and a perfect balance of flavor.” This sandwich scores a perfect 10 in all categories. 

Lets quickly review, shall we. This sandwich is crunchy, soft, crispy, chewy, sweet, salty, tangy, creamy, spicy, refreshing and layered with OFFAL-LADEN SLICED MEAT! 

And after all of that complicated explanation and description, all I can say its that it was simply the perfect sandwich.

Banh mi Saigon Sandwiches and Bakery 

3808 High Point Rd

Greensboro, NC


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