Pillow Status: Dining On the Slept On

I suppose it's ramen's and pho's fault that Nan Zhou Hand Drawn Noodle House in Philly's Chinatown has reached pillow status, but it's a boon for the likes of us who have limited time for lunching.  Shoehorned into a row of storefronts slanging shrinkwrapped rubber products and dehydrated foodstuffs of questionable USDA status, you might miss it if you blink.  Once inside, you're not greeted by much--a few restaurant depot tables and chairs, but looking back into the open kitchen is a sight to behold.  Just beyond the cash register, you'll see a Chinese dude tossing about an enormous blob of dough that will eventually become your noodles.  Served with your choice of protein in a bowl of broth that tastes like has been simmering since before I was born, the noodles have a just-made-this-second gummy texture (a very good thing).  You can also get them on a plate topped with either peanut sauce or "pork soy sauce," a gingery and salty meat sauce that might just be the Chinese version of bolognese.  It was exactly what I wanted to eat and I had no idea until the first bite.  All in all, a stellar find.  Before comfort food season gives way to lighter fare, it would be in your best interest to forgo the pho and the ramen to give Nan Zhou a whirl.  And if you're not in the mood for soup, just order the noodles straight up.  You won't regret it.  Buen provecho.

Nan Zhou is located at 927 Race St in Philly's Chinatown. It's a tiny hole in the wall, so be careful not to stumble into what might be an opium den behind the wrong door (or try your luck). I got a huge plate of noodles for $6 including tip.

Pick One: Are You Pho Real?; Pho-nally; or, It's About Pho-ckin' Time

In the fall of 2009, I predicted pho would be the next big thing in comfort food.  At that point, I had yet to try it, but its cult following by eaters coast-to-coast indicated that it was at a tipping point.  Even with ramen hot on its heels, I'm confident that pho will enjoy its time in the spotlight in 2010, and I'm happy to say that before this happens and I switch my beverage du jour from pho broth to hater-ade on principle--thereby cutting off my nose to spite my face--I was able to slurp back an Atlantis of noodles resting at the bottom of an oversized bowl of meaty, gingery broth.  I imagine that most of you reading this (if anyone is actually reading this) have enjoyed the experience, but for those who haven't, I recommend the following: order the special, don't question the meat involved, give it a healthy squeeze of sriracha and lime, and see how long you can make your good manners last before ultimately burying your face in the bowl and ruining your freshly laundered J.Crew button-down.  Buen provecho.

I lost my pho-ginity at Pho Cali, which is located on 10th and Arch in Philadelphia's Chinatown.  In addition to a host of mix-and-match pho offerings, they also slang banh mi sandwiches and other Vietnamese fare (stuff I've never had, but would love to try).  I got a so-so summer roll and the bowl of bliss pictured above for $10 including tip.

The Craving

I meant to write this back on 8/2, but time has certainly taken on a new meaning now that we have a new roommate.

I have to commend dear Mrs. Gastro for shattering each and every pregnancy stereotype out there, but I would be a filthy liar if I didn't say I was a little disappointed at the lack of cravings. If nothing else, it would have given me carte blanche to eat Taco Bell completely guilt free at her whimsy. But craving or not, every once in a while hunger would give way to something exotic and/or greasy. This time around, it was soup dumplings, something I haven't had since moving from NYC, and something that I sometimes miss even more than my SLC-based parents.

Baby Gastro's refusal to arrive on time left us with little do to but be angry about it. After the due date came and went, we almost felt like it wasn't going to happen, and my darling wife would be pregnant for the rest of her days (which would be kind of sweet because I'd have a permanent designated driver). This anger quickly became hunger, and before we knew it, we were avoiding eye contact with junkies and huffing gas fumes as we made our way into Dim Sum Garden, a well documented diamond in the rough and supposedly the only place in Philadelphia that serves up these gastronomic gobs of goodness.

I always find myself at Chinese restaurants during the staff lunch break, and this time was no exception. If I was in the middle of eating a three foot pile of lo mein, I wouldn't want to be disturbed either, so I had no expectations for prompt service. Besides, Mrs. Gastro wasn't going into labor anytime soon. When the waitress finally ambled over, we managed to spoil our dinner with soup dumplings, scallion pancakes, and a deep fried pork chop nestled among noodles that were more fettucine than lo mein. The dumplings were perfection, dredging up memories of the first time I ate them, anticipating a burnt mouth but caring very little as I bit into one resting on a spoon used to catch the broth, which was so rich and full of fat that it would become chewable at lower temperatures (that's a good thing). The scallion pancake was another success, a flaky crust surrounding a pastry dough interior, studded with green onions, and deceptively light. The deep fried pork chop was an afterthought, but by no means regretful. It was another rich dish, so meaty that if you told me the noodles were made of meat, I would have believed you.

What's odd about the whole experience, apart from that whole dining under an elevated parking garage next to a makeshift bus depot, is that we still can't figure out how soup dumplings even came up. Regardless, we'd go back every day if we could. Some things are just that delicious. Buen provecho.

Dim Sum Garden is located at 59 N 11th Street in Philadelphia, where the convention center meets Chinatown. It's not the best location, but your mom told you not to judge a book by its cover, and I suggest you do what your mom tells you. We got three menu items and two Cokes for $25 including tip. Cash or credit card, no booze.

Salmone a la Il Dulce

Thanks to our current economic clusterfuck, money is ultra-crappy and restaurants in my hood are getting shut down like a fat kid on a basketball court. On the positive side, I am continuing to hone my kitchen skills, concentrating on quickly prepared meals, since work has me grinding. Mrs. Mussolini being a pescatarian means I cook a lot of fish. A consistent and easy dish is baked salmon with soy-maple marinade:

1 pound of salmon filet (give or take)

1/4 cup of soy sauce

1/4 of maple syrup

1-2 cloves of garlic, chopped

1-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and chopped

red pepper flake to taste

Mix all ingredients in a shallow bowl or glass pan and marinate fish in mixture for no more than 45 minutes, flipping once. Preheat oven to 400 and bake salmon skin-side down in middle of oven for 20 minutes-25 minutes depending on desired done-ness. You can take the marinade and boil it down with a little sherry or white wine for a sauce and garnish with scallion and sesame seeds.

In the above picture (my Valentine's recession special) I've served it with a cold soba noodle salad which I tinkered with by using 4 instead of 6 tablespoons of vinegar, no radishes, toasted sesame seeds, chopped scallions and a tablespoon of room-temp, smooth peanut butter added to the noodles just after draining them, but before rinsing them off with cool water.

I like to have 2-3 glasses of white wine while making this, because then everything tastes way better than I think it does, and I'm also easier to get into the sack, assuming I don't pass out after dinner, again.