Super Mister Potato Head

Tater Tots! (I ordered mine well done...)

Tiny fried crispy friends! Reminiscent of grade 4! Tater tots, in the able hands of the staff at the Waterfront location of Bar Louie, are as surprisingly great eats as were some of the other offerings we enjoyed from this little chain restaurant's kitchen. Some, not so much... but definitely not BAD, well priced, and right across from the movie theatre.

seriously?

I know that I have custom of disdain for chain restaurants, but this was decent.

seriously!

I had a black cherry mojito - which is actually more of a blackberry mojito. It was tasty but seemingly ethanol-free. T enjoyed a traditional mojito and was surprisingly buzzed after about 1/8th of it. So, ymmv. Fresh blackberries made mine tasty, though. Don't tell my mother, but I kinda pounded it, and still, nuthin.

For my main course, I ordered a "small plate" of pot roast sliders. Now, I do have a small gripe here - two, actually. gripe #1: these aren't sliders - they're a smallish sandwich on some weirdly mushy shite bread that has been cut into four pieces. gripe #2: the meat is supposed to be accompanied by horseradish mashed potatoes. Fascinatingly, this is yet another of the burgh's missing ingredients - no horseradish. As I have said before, kids, the nose knows. And horseradish is an easy one. So, the sliders were ok - a lot of bread, little meat, bland-ish flavor from the mysteriously missing horseradish, but the meat itself was tender, fat fully rendered out, and good if not stingy in portion.

BUT

I got a side of tater tots.

Which is precisely what you should do if you find yourself down at the waterworks and want a drink and salty snack. Definitely the finest iteration of this Reagan-era school lunch vegetable that I have ever seen. I suspect they're high temp deep friend to crispy perfection, and then dusted with a spice-salt mix that smells like it contains dehydrated tomato, black pepper, and I am not sure what else. Nummy. Crispy. Infantile. $3.50 bought more than two diners could down - we managed less than half. And no hair nets and lunch ladies. No detention if you throw 'em. But I wouldn't waste this junk food nirvana.

Just for completeness, T had a BBQ chicken pizza. I dislike chicken on pizza, it just bugs me. Oddly, not one but ALL except the sole vegetarian pizza have chicken as a topping! Not really a pizza, more of a squishy flatbread. Sauce was a little sweet. But T liked it overall, although he noted dough was soft and too fluffy and would have fallen into a heap if he hadn't cut and eaten it with a knife and fork.

Summary judgments for the Waterworks location of Bar Louie: ok for the price and location. Service was pleasant and efficient, drinks were tasty but inconsistent in potency, food was ok except for mystery ingredients and lousy job done in every iteration of bread. BUT a bright shining beacon of goodness, hope and youth would bring me back - go there for tater tots and beer. Seriously.

Cheesy and Wet (or, the Soggy Bloggy)

No, kids. I am not referring to a porno about tacky young things from Boca Raton. "Cheesy and wet" is the best way I can summarize the experiences that I have had at Pizza Sola (along the border of East Liberty and Shadyside) Which is sad, since it is pretty near to my apartment, the space is tidy and bright, the service is friendly, and the guy stretching dough in the window makes you think you are in for a treat.

but.

the thing is...

it is cheesy and wet.

Seriously, that dough looks perfect. But it gets overmoistened, undercooked, and ruined.

What I mean is this: there is too much cheese (something which I did not believe could be possible), and the result is that the pizza is extremely soggy. I have eaten at Pizza Sola three times. One heads up - all three times I had to add salt to my pizza, which may have had some magical hygroscopic effect and produced the deluge. So, maybe the "Hodgedonality" was my fault. In which case, instead I will criticize that the pizza, especially the sauce, is pretty to look at, but flavorless. Kinda like an ex (or six) of mine. Ahh, the "chain of fools" as a girlfriend of mine once said.

but I digress.

The first time, we ordered a whole pie, classic in style, with some veg toppings. Summary: smelled good, looked pretty, wound up tasting kinda dull, undercooked in the middle, and soggy..

Second time. I had a slice. This was plain cheese-n-sauce, reheated in the oven, selected from a wide array of gargantuanly sized, generously topped slices. This was the best pizza I had from Pizza Sola, which I have come to believe is for two reasons: 1) It was simple and lightly covered and 2) it was cooked twice, thereby preventing that dastardly undercooked and soggy center.

The third try was the tie-breaker, and sadly, we won't be going back. This time we ordered a ricotta and sausage pie (we tried something without red sauce since the prior two times I found the sauce to taste rather flat and simple. If you need a taste, you can whip up something similar at home by combining Campbell's condensed tomato soup, undiluted, with dried oregano and maybe two drops of household vinegar. Mangia!). We watched a sturdy young surfer-dude hand stretch a perfect orb of smooth white-flour dough into a lovely disk of pizza potential. It was topped and took a ride in the oven. It smelled luscious. It was served to us promptly by a friendly server. We waited a long moment. And then served it up. One taste...

and it was cheesy and wet.

soggy.

squishy.

and needed a horse-lick of salt. shocking!

I didn't manage to eat even one slice. I was so bummed out, since I love cheese (no secret) and had just had the life shattering discovery that, yes indeedy, you really can have too much of a good thing.

To make matters worse, that good thing had pissed all over my dinner. Only sorta figuratively. See for yourself.

Summary judgment for Pizza Sola: hard to wreck a pizza. They wrecked it 2 out of 3 times. Upshot: nice spot, nice service, and the dough guy is doing his job. Downside: flat flavors and moisture management issues. While it is still pizza (can't be all that bad, right?), it is pricy stuff when my neighborhood corner pizza joint is half the price, more consistent, and quite a lot better. Alas, Pizza Sola won't be my one and only. Looks pretty, though. Noneless, after three dates, Pizza Sola is out. Join the chain, my friend.

Pittsburgh is Pizza

(sing along now, everyone!)...you are what you swallow, so the next time you feel hollow, don't fill up with just any kind of treat! This goes for every kid or six-foot ath-e-lete, what you really are is what you eat! (wahoo!)

Am I the only one who remembers the little singing paleolithic Spongebob dude who would sing little songs about nutrition between Saturday morning cartoons?

If you believe the cartoon dude upstaging Picture Pages with Bill Cosby, then you know that you are what you eat. From the myriad signposts, awnings, restaurants, menus, bars, and outposts offering pizza, I can say one thing with confidence: Pittsburgh is Pizza. At least more than a little bit.

(My hometown is a pizza loving place, too, so I enjoy this)

But, while there are many decent pies available near me, I am not yet in love. Can anyone suggest what the best pizza in town might be, and why? I don't need anything fancy or whatnot, just great crust, with great sauce, and great cheese, cooked with greatness. And I am not into deep-dish. Just a preference thing. It is still pizza, which makes it not bad, but I prefer a lighter crisper texture.

Tomorrow, if I finish other things and get moving on stuff in my real life: a review of Pizza Sola. The truncated version: tried it three times, didn't love it.

Yinz needs tell Doctor, "Yinz Welcome."

Uh-huh. Rudeness in the Burgh.

It is no secret that there are quite a few small things that I find a little irritating about my being a transient resident of Pittsburgh. One such no-see-um, I swat at it but can't squish it, bugger-like-annoyance has been the Burghish variant of manners. Now, I recognize that mannerisms are certainly regional. And I am all right with the fact that there is a variant of English spoken here that I will probably never really understand (but you can read all about it other places online, or have yourself a little fun at home with your very own Yinzer doll (you should totally follow this link, btw)). But one thing that I find overwhelmingly frequent, and rude, is the prevalence and use of the colloquial, "Uh huh."

What does this rambling crap even mean?

I will tell you.

Gimme a sec.

Ok.

The local vernacular includes the use of the slang phrase "uh huh" in many situations in which others might say, "I'm sorry!" or "Excuse me!" or "You're welcome."

This might not seem like much, but after my being smacked with a grocery cart by a soccer mom, in shock I exclaimed, "Excuse me!"
She replied, "uh huh."

In a shop, if I pay for something and the clerk hands me my change, I say, "Thank you." Where I am from, a reasonable reply to this might be, "You're welcome."
But on many occasions here in the Pitt, in lieu of a respectful return nicety, I have been told, you guessed it, "uh huh."

Uh-huh, to the uninitiated, sounds dismissive. It is paramount to your saying aloud, "you owe me, bitch."

The sleeper must awaken...

I have been missing the autotherapeutic effects of venting my angst and snack-lusts here over the past many weeks. Sorry, dear friends, who actually subscribed to this blather rag, that I have left you so high and dry. More is coming. In fact, I wrote two posts on a plane yesterday, and will post 'em later.

In the meantime, I would like to suggest a local radio station that is actually good. Pittsbugh's WYEP is terrific. You can even stream it to your desk wherever you are (like I am right now) and get happy. Last night I enjoyed an hour of Bhangra in the car, and they play my not-quite-latest-but-still-great musical crush, Yoav.

WYEP is definitely something good in Pittsburgh. Enjoy.

Nine on Nine - Part Three (Are We Done Yet?)

If you know me, then you know how I like to test limits. Imagine a two-year-old with a new babysitter. Now grow her up and take her out to dinner...

and so, such is what happened at Nine on Nine.

When the waiter finally approached our table to check on the food, he clearly expected that our mouths would be too full to tell him how it sucked. But, I didn't eat it, so I was prepared to offer up my little test. I said to the waiter, “I am not going to eat this, so I don't need you to do anything about it, but if I were the chef here I would certainly want to know that the pasta is completely raw. Not al dente, but raw. This dish in inedible.” I was nice about it, but he clearly knew I thought the food was bad. The amazing part was his reply. “Oh, ok.” and then HE NEVER CAME BACK UNTIL HE TRIED TO SELL US DESSERT! huh? What kind of fine dining establishment leaves a patron clearly and obviously unhappy? I was curious what they'd do with my making their fixing it optional. And apparently, the bare minimum, aka nothing.

As I often say to my friend Kathleen, words are nice but what really matters is action. And from the folks at Nine of Nine, I got shockingly no action whatsoever.

We did not order dessert, I was too disappointed to be bothered.

Apparently, that which defines “fine dining” in Pittsburgh is your being served a bunch of free shit with your meal. In addition to the amuse and the intermezzo, we were served (with the bill) a PB and J themed sweets plate (freebie #3 for those of you who are counting). This was a cute idea. Peanut butter truffles (too big, rock hard and still a little frozen, but with good flavor albeit amateurish – reminiscent of the peanutbuttercuppish chocolates my mom made in the 80's) alongside white-grape jellies (plain and sweet) were offered. As my mother always said, there's no such thing as a free lunch. And in the case of Nine on Nine, all three of the freebies actually detracted from the meal.

The total came to about $100 for 2 drinks, one app, two entrees before tax and tip.

Now, I don't mind at all paying $300 to Ken Oringer for an occasional meal - because when he's in the kitchen, I enjoy sublime food art. But for this hoity-toity pig's swill... well, actions matter more than words, so

We don't plan to go back.

Summary judgment for Nine on Nine: not worth the time and money. Dishes are overthought and underexecuted. Some aspects of menu planning seem odd. Service was bizarre and negligent. Did a nice job with fish skin and fennel and not much else.

Nine on Nine - Part Two

This is part two of my review of Nine on Nine. Part one appears below.

So, after we had drinks (well, we ordered drinks, I will confess that mine was too unpalatable to drink, and the server took it away without offering me anything else even though it was 80% full. Frankly, it was flavorless and just not worth the calories)...

For an appetizer, we went for the “Filet on Filet” - an obvious and lame play on the name of the restaurant. We were served a sad, bland pile of macerated meat (without onion, egg, capers, lemon... ) dressed with some greens atop some slightly dried-out-on-the-edges halfway-to-braseola pieces of meat. For a mostly-vegetarian, it is rare that I order beef, but as some of you may know, I prefer my meat raw if I am going to eat it. The quality of the ingredient was there, but the flavor was so bland, I actually asked the waiter to bring me some lemon. The addition of acid really improved the dish.

Freebie #2 (freebie #1 was the amuse, in part one) was then presented as an intermezzo of “watermelon soup” which was a shotglass of room-temp watermelon puree with water and a bit of mint.

I pondered the cosmic question: spit or swallow?

It was repulsive. I admit that I spat it out at the table, manners be damned. It was that nasty.

Now for the piece de resistance: for my entree, I ordered the barramundi. By eavesdropping on a nearby table (populated by loud marble-mouthed yinzers, but hey, they got service so they clearly know something I do not) I learned from their server that the barramundi was supposed to be served with a house-made saffron-tinged pasta and kalamata olives, and topped with fennel. Right up my alley. So I ordered it. What I was served was a major disappointment. The fish was just slightly overcooked, but it was flavorful and served with a crisp skin that I appreciated. The fennel was nicely seasoned and absolutely delicious. And that is where the praise ends. Where were the olives? (I will confess to you that when I altered and reheated the leftovers – which were at least 85% of my dish, I did find one (one olive!) the next day). But the biggest let-down was the pasta. It was painfully undercooked and cold.

House-made pasta! For you at home who have never made pasta, I will share that the reason I was so stunned by this is that homemade pasta is so naturally moist, you just flash it in salted boiling water until it is heated through, and typically worry about overcooking it – so, how in the realm of the laws of physics and the culinary universe they managed to undercook it, well, I will never know. And I am no pasta pussy. I understand the concept of al dente. It just was an unflavored (not a sprig of saffron, I would testify - mystery ingredient #2), dry, cold, stiff, inedible mass. To be sure I wasn't being overcritical, I fed a bite to Todd, who exclaimed, “ew. what was that?”

What was that, indeed?

A little about me

I figure that there is little point of my blasting the blogosphere (who the hell came up with this word?) with my foodie opinions and musings about Pittsburgh without first offering a sense of who I am, and why you might care about what I think. So, here're my qualifications:

I have none.

Which is precisely why you should care. I am not paid by advertisers, I am not the e-whore of a friend in the local restaurant biz. I'm just a girl in the world, as Gwen Stefani said so many years ago. I moved to the 'burgh about a month ago from a larger, northeastern city. And I will confess to you a few truths about me: I am a food snob. I am very choosy about what I eat since I watch my weight like it's my job. I have a nature-given extremely accurate sense of smell, and as a result, my palate is extremely accurate - both a blessing and a curse. I am a self- (and mommy-) taught high-end home chef with a passion for great ingredients, and I am impressed by creativity and thoughtfulness in preparation (so long as flavor isn't sacrificed). I've been exploring "molecular gastronomy" at home. I care about the nutritional content, eco-sourcing, and integrity of the food I eat. Well, except for Cheetos. Those things are amazing, and we all are imperfect, after all.

Since moving to Pittsburgh, I have been disappointed by the restaurant experiences (as well as a few fascinating cultural and ethnic phenomena) I've had here, as a whole. I keep griping about how totally paid-off and biased the usual sources of snacktime reviews have been (as this can be the only explanation for the high-falutin' crap I have been served by strange and surly waitstaff at the purported finest of Steeltown). So I am trying to do something, however small, about it.

Up next: my review of one of Pittsburgh's top spots, where I had dinner (well, dinner was served to me, but more on that later) last night. Nine on Nine, I hope you are reading. 'Cuz dinner sucked.

Steeltown Girl on Saturday Night...

I hearken back to Flashdance and sing along... "just a steeltown girl on a saturday night..."

This newly minted Steeltown girl likes to eat out - I am just kinda lazy and am not always up to cooking. I also enjoy a leisurely dinner with friends. So when I recently relocated to Shadyside, one of Pittsburgh's more chic neighborhoods, flush with well-reviewed dining hotspots, I figured I would never lack for a hip place to eat.
but
then I started going out.
and
lots of the food here is bad.

or, worse than full-on bad. I have, to date, only had one meal in Pittsburgh's "finer dining" establishments that I felt was better-than-mediocre.

so I hope that you'll join me as I explore and offer my unbiased reviews of wine, cuisine, and a few other musings as I get to know my new home of Pittsburgh. Just wait... I am no midwestern girl, which is to say that I am not always nice.