Pittsburgh Dish

The Dish on Dish: 900 Cafe and Lounge

An early report

by Michael Vivar

Despite a better-than-middling location and a fabulous space, eateries and drinkeries that attempt to ensconce themselves in Allegheny West's 900 Western Avenue tend to have the life spans of mayflies. For a short while it was “too cool for you” True, a scene to be seen gay club, and then for an even shorter while it was “are we cool ye… oops. We’re closed” Nuance. With this in mind, Katie and I tried to dine at the 900 Café and Lounge before they had to scrape the logo from the window and leave under cover of night.

The décor hadn’t changed much since its previous iterations. Except for the lighting being more family friendly and the lack of shabby queens affecting Kate Hepburn, the place has maintained its minimalist style with amusing accents of Jackson Pollock-esque art on the walls (this will, apparently change from month to month). We were seated at a high table on barstools surrounded by an amusing pastiche of neighborhood folk and squealing CCAC girls.

The menu isn’t what you’d call extensive. Having been the evening of Good Friday, Katie was expecting some sort of fish special, but was disappointed. There wasn’t even a vegetarian entrée option. So she opted for a mushroom crottin appetizer to which our waitress generously added a sweet potato side dish at no extra charge when we were dismayed by their lack of land-meat free choices. Katie very much enjoyed the mushroom dish. I admit, I only had a bite, but I thought the use of button mushrooms lent too strong of a flavor and there was too much of a struggle between this and the flavor of the cheese. Her sweet potato side, though, was met with unanimous applause. The sweet potato was lightly mashed or pureed, giving it a not-too-smooth texture and was sprinkled, on top, with a sort of bread crumb sparingly sweetened with brown sugar. This portion’s mild deliciousness was a nice respite from the palate struggle of the mushroom crottin.

As my religious tendencies tend toward non-practicing, I ordered the braised beef brisket for my dinner. The strips of beef came apart enticingly with a gentle prodding of my fork, but I found it to be a little to dry. The accompanying barbecue sauce, however, was absolutely heavenly – sweet without being too cloying. It also came with a sweet potato side and some lightly seasoned tomatoes. My sweet potatoes, unlike Katie’s, were unadorned and fairly unspectacular, and I often found myself eyeing her dish enviously. The tomatoes, while very ripe and sweet, had a tart quality that clashed with the aforementioned barbecue sauce.

Altogether, the experience at the 900 Café and Lounge was relatively plain but, I have to admit, intriguing. The owner/chef was very exuberant in asking our opinion of the meal and, when comments were made, he seemed to genuinely take them into account. This is in stark contrast to the cold shoulders given by previous iterations of 900 Western. So I hope to be able to return and see what else is in store for this newly friendly and welcoming venue.

900 boasts a full-service bar and outdoor seating with heat lamps for smokers.

The Dish on Dish: Market Street Ale House

Better than bar food

by Michael Vivar

Ahhh, Market Square. A haven for transients, be they downtrodden, upscale, or perhaps a little of both. Not a place you’d expect to find an establishment with what you would call a neighborhood feel. Not so with the Market Street Ale House.

With a new job Downtown, I was looking for somewhere to lunch and rest my posterior on a chair without wheels. For the first week, morale was low. After procuring a recommendation from a co-worker, I slumped off to the Ale House with low expectations. I hadn’t noticed the place before as it has a very demure doorway nestled between the Jenny Lee bakery and the Original Oyster House. After climbing the stairs (which would rival the breathalyzer as a drunkenness metric), I was greeted with the grim and harried smile of the bartender, Roess, who is much more affable than his initial visage let on.

I seated myself at the bar and was treated to a floor-to-ceiling windowed view of Market Square. It was a sort of Foucaultian panopticon overlooking a suited freak show. I’d been told by the aforementioned co-worker that regulars even indulge in a “tow-truck parade” around 6 p.m. when vagrant vehicles are plucked from the street by salivating tow-truck drivers.

The first lunch I had was their “Steakhouse Pirogues” ($10.95). This was a generous helping of onion, portabella, and red pepper stuffed pirogues under thick slices of steak. The steak was deliciously pink with a double bock steak sauce, which was, at first a touch too salty, but this bite encouraged one to blunt the flavor with bites of pirogue that would have made a Ukranian mother weep.

A few days later, I returned to find a blackened catfish special ($10.95). This dish spurred me to stop prefacing my description of the Ale House as having “good bar food” and merely say “good food.” Though “blackened” would be an exaggeration, the seasoning couldn’t have suited the dish more. There was a peppery kick that complemented the fatty and flaking fish fabulously.

Though Downtown isn’t a place people make a point of visiting in the evenings, much less Market Square, I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend the Market Street Ale House as a destination bar.

21 Market St, Downtown, 412-745-2337

The Dish on Dish: Mio

An Aspinwall delight

by Michael Vivar

I have to admit that I tend to avoid Aspinwall as much as I can. I'm sure it's of no fault of Aspinwallers (Aspinwallites? Aspin...something?), but there's something about the area that makes me feel like a shabby hobo. So it was with a bit of trepidation and fear that shouts of, “Untouchable!” would ring in my ears when we decided to go to Mio Kitchen and Wine Bar.

Though the facade is fairly unassuming and would make one think the interior would be cramped, the dining area was actually quite spacious. We went on a Wednesday night so it wasn't very crowded, but I noticed that, with their table configuration, the place could get cramped during a Friday/Saturday dinner rush. Wrought iron adornments everywhere gave an air of elegance without being ostentatious.

To start, Katie had a Belgian endive salad ($12) with toasted walnuts, gorgonzola, orange, and sherry vinegar. The bitter endive, fragrant gorgonzola, the vinegar's bite, and the walnut's crunchiness were an absolutely fabulous flavor and texture combination. The only slight misstep was that the orange wasn't as ripe as it could have been so it lent a hint of too much acidity, but these less than perfect bites were few.

When I'd last checked their website, there were veal sweetbreads in the first course. I was disappointed that it had been replaced with equally cruel foie gras ($14), but this turned out to be an immoral delight. They were served in dainty little pink slices and were as smooth as fresh-churned butter without an overpowering liver taste. Within the slices were grains of sea salt that provided little bursts of flavor. It was accompanied by a circle of fried pastry drizzled with Nutella and a slice of stewed pear. The sweet crispy dough was a perfect complement to the goose liver. However, the pear slice was so cloyingly sweet that it masked the understated richness of the foie gras and remained mostly untouched.

Katie chose, as her main course, the braised short ribs ($32) served over creamy barley and sweet peas in a horseradish and porccini essence. The meat was prepared very simply, which was all that was necessary. Its tender deliciousness needed no fussy additions. The horseradish and porccini essence gave a dark bite to the overall dish.

My entree was the roasted Elysian Fields lamb ($39). It was a braised shoulder cassoulet that reminded one of an extremely decadent stew with just the right combination of fat and lean. It was presented over a flageolet bean puree. This merely provided an accompanying texture and did not add much to the flavor, which was fine as the cassoulet stood excellently on its own.

The restaurant boasts of an accomplished pastry chef. We found, though, that the dessert course we shared was a bit forgettable – literally. We've been attempting to wrack our brains to remember what we had just a few evenings ago, but have come up with nothing. I don't think this necessarily speaks ill of the dessert, but highlights how good the rest of the meal was.

For all the hesitance I felt about dining in Aspinwall, Mio's luxurious atmosphere and superb food quelled any doubts.

Mio Kitchen & Wine Bar
225 Commercial Avenue
Aspinwall, PA 15215
412-781-3141
http://www.mio-pgh.com

The Dish on Dish: Point Brugge

Design flaws rescued by the kitchen

by Michael Vivar

I'd like to think of myself as a worldly, well-traveled individual, but when Belgium springs to mind, things get hazy. I know that their people are fine chocolatiers. I also know that NATO had its uses during the Cold War. Finally, I absolutely abhor Jean-Claude Van Damme (shut up, 13 year old self). So, in all honesty, I expected Point Brugge, a Belgian restaurant in Point Breeze, to be filled with cocoa smeared martial artists fighting about the merits of a missile defense shield. While I was disappointed that this wasn't the case, I had an enjoyable experience nonetheless.

Let's get the bad out of the way first. With its faux wood and formica tables along with a chaotic layout of the dining areas, the place has all the charm of an Eat 'n Park. The outside wall is exposed brick and badly insulated Katie and I spent some of our shivering in a back corner. Conversely, as the dinner rush wore on (we got there around 5 p.m. and it was pretty deserted), the dining room filled pretty quickly and became stifling. With all this, expectations regarding the food were getting low, but we soon realized why so many people would suffer through the atmosphere.

We started by sharing a small moules bowl ($10), which was a pound of mussels in a sauce of white wine, shallots, garlic, and cream. The first bite rendered all outside experiences meaningless. They were perfectly steamed and tender. What really made the dish, though, was the sauce. It has to be tasted for the next statement to make any sense, but the sauce was subdued and explosively delicious at the same time. A crusty bread was provided to sop up this liquid wonderfulness, but I was constantly on the verge of sweeping up the bowl and slurping it straight, decorum be damned.

Katie's main course was a Flemish Carbonnade ($18), beef braised with ale, sweet apples, apricots, and rosemary. It was quite simple, but prepared very well. The beef just melted in the mouth. It was served with their much ballyhooed Brugge Frittes, which very much lived up to the hype. They were crispy along the edges while moist in the middle, the perfect combination of thin cut fries and steak fries.

I had their special, a roasted (I think) boneless duck breast in a sweet and sour sauce garnished with pomegranate seeds served over rice pilaf ($18). There was a half-hearted attempt to include a gourd vegetable medley along the outside edge of the plate, but they were barely worth mentioning. The rice pilaf with pine nuts was too dry, but we Asians can be geeks about that sort of thing. The duck, though, is deserving of quite a bit of praise. Medium rare and flavorful, it was a delight to the tongue. Although the pomegranate seeds added a nice tartness to a passable sweet and sour sauce, there was something about the gritty texture of the pits that robbed something from an otherwise great dish. I think a light addition of pomegranate juice to the sauce would have significantly improved the preparation.

So if you're willing to have either a very early or late supper or have no problem sitting shoulder to shoulder with your neighbors, you'll be rewarded with Point Brugge's excellent food. The only other thing that really needs to be mentioned is the stupendous beer selection. Oh yeah. That's another thing I can remember about Belgium. Drunken Trappist monks.

Point Brugge Cafe
401 Hastings St
Pittsburgh, PA 15206
(412) 441-3334

The Dish On Dish: Joseph Tambellini Restaurant

A family tradition hits the spot

by Michael Vivar

You can't swing a sweet chariot around town without hitting a dining establishment associated with the Tambellinis. The family maintains a stellar reputation in Pittsburgh as various branches of the tree have gone to flourish in their culinary endeavors. Thus, it was with high hopes that Katie and I went to the newest family offshoot, Joseph Tambellini's in Highland Park.

Walking into the restaurant felt like walking into someone's home. Though, at first glance, the tinted mirrors and proximity of the bar to the dining area reminded one of a 1970s key party, it seemed to work without feeling tacky. I feel that something more could be done to dampen the acoustics in the place because we could hear conversations taking place across the room.

It took some time for us to put in our initial orders because the wait staff was shorthanded. Throughout the evening, we were also attended to by the maitre d' and even the bartender. Don't take this as being indicative of the normal state of affairs, though, because we came in the Sunday after Thanksgiving. I think they were expecting people to still be picking through leftovers and not populating an almost full first floor. Also, what our waitress lacked in experience she more than made up for in friendliness. I think that a few months will find her navigating from kitchen to dining room with the best.

For our appetizer we shared their “greens and beans,” ($7) a heavenly mixture of braised white beans and escarole with Panchetta ham, garlic, olive oil and some Italian sausage thrown into the mix. It could have used less olive oil as after a few prodding forkfuls the whole thing coagulated and the flavors, especially that of the ham, became less distinguishable. What made the dish stand out was the sausage, a densely packed and spicy affair that went with the escarole and white beans beautifully.

Each entree came with a salad and pasta course. The former was chef's salad with the lovely surprises of crisp and crunch provided by the addition of sprouts and honey roasted peanuts. The latter was farfalla pasta with a veal reduction marinara sauce. The sauce was fantastically rich with chunks of veal that melted in the mouth. We were unable to finish our servings for fear of spoiling our appetites for the main course.

Katie ordered chicken marsala with white and shiitake mushrooms ($19). The chicken was so tender a knife wasn't even needed. It brought forth images of a large swarthy fellow beating the thing with a hammer until it was tenderized into submission. The firmness of the lightly sauteed mushrooms was a nice textural complement. It was doused in a darkly flavored marsala sauce that was so tasty for once I didn't mind the overly generous hand of the saucier.

I had the veal chop Saltimbocca ($36). It was a hearty 16 oz. bone-in cut basted with au jus. Tender and studded with pearls of fat, I couldn't stop eating even though I knew I was gorging myself. This was accompanied with spinach sauteed in, again, a bit too much olive oil but the oil they used was light with a hint of sweetness so I didn't mind at all. Within the spinach were bits of crackling garlic that teased the taste buds.

Before going out, Katie's diabetes monster was gurgling and making her grumpy so she was ready to eviscerate whatever restaurant in which we dined. Fortunately, our spectacular meal calmed the beast and the night turned out splendidly. Highland Park may be out of the way for some, but Joseph Tambellini's makes it a worthy destination for a meal out.

Joseph Tambellini Restaurant, 5701 Bryant Street, Highland Park, 412-665-9000

The Dish on Dish: Palate

Buzz kill

by Michael Vivar

For me, one thing that robs appeal from a restaurant is buzz. When mainstream outlets such as the Post-Gazette gush about a hot new “place to go,” it raises the hackles as it usually means a “place to go” full of people I don't want to be around. I do admit to a weakness for New Yorkified French cuisine, so it was with leeriness that Katie and I went to the relatively new Downtown eatery, Palate.

The first thing we noticed as we passed the place for the umpteenth time while trying to find parking (rabble scrabble Light Up Night) was how strikingly ugly the logo is. It tries too hard to be modern, but ends up looking like a 1970s version of the future. This wouldn't be so terrible if it weren't right across the classical beauty of Heinz Hall. It was reminiscent of a beautiful woman in a Vera Wang dress who has a homely friend dressed with off-the-rack Fashion Bug in tow.

Once we got inside, we immediately forgot about the garishness of our first impression. The dining area was crowded with the pre-theater set, but but the layout prevented it from seeming cramped. Its muted color scheme and lighting along with modern artistic adornments gave away the owner's New York pedigree. It took a moment to get seated as WPXI's Gordon Loesch and his chiseled jaw were there with a camera crew covering a story. The maitre d' gave us free drinks to compensate for the wait.

I was excited about the appetizers when I saw that they served one of my favorite dishes, veal sweetbreads ($12). The were, unfortunately, a disappointment. They must have pulled the glands out of a(n even runtier than normal) veal calf because the serving was quite small and dry. This was made more obvious by it being placed by an overly sized Belgian waffle immersed in huckleberries. The whole was a gastronomic monstrosity. Katie went with the day boat scallops with butternut squash and ennis hazelnut ravioli ($14). The dish suggests that the chef works better when he/she works simply with good quality base products. The scallops were perfectly seared so that they could be sliced paper thin without being tough and had a marvelous briny flavor. This was nicely complemented by the barely cooked squash and a hint of vanilla sweetness in the ravioli.

Another disappointment was their running out of venison as I hadn't had deer in such a long time. In its stead I had beef short rib and root vegetable ragout with casarecce pasta and horseradish gremolata. The meat might have been good if the chef hadn't been so stingy with it. The pasta might have been better if it weren't so slathered with a very pedestrian gremolata. It wasn't that the dish was very bad, but very frustratingly dull.

Again, Katie fared better with her repast of organic duck. Its preparation was delightful with a leg braised with pistachio and the breast wrapped in Swiss chard and phyllo then sliced. The preparation of the former gave an airiness to normally dark-flavored duck meat while the latter preparation kept the white meat succulent.

Palate is inconsistent and lackadaisical. Its French fusion adds a much needed variety to Pittsburgh cuisine and I recommend that anyone who has no better recourse for such food to try it. However, you'll have a voice saying, in the back of your mind, “This could be much better.”

Palate Bistro, 212 Sixth Street, (across from Heinz Hall), Downtown, 412-434-1422

The Dish on Dish: Geno's Restaurant

Warm, delicious and friendly

by Michael Vivar

The night was frigid and the wind tunnel effect on Butler Street seemed to give me and Katie an extra shove through the door of Geno’s in Lawrenceville. We sidled up to the bar and joined the Dish Duo for a drink and to take in the surroundings. The bar area has a cozy “slump your shoulders” feel to it with a relaxing dim lighting scheme. After the rest of the party finished their various drinks and I a perfect martini (stirred so as to not bruise the flavor), we were led into the dining room, which was a bit jarring.  After getting used to a bar atmosphere, I was surprised to enter a lovely family-style dining area. I liked that this was a place where you could toss a few back after work and bring your family.

We sat in the midst of empty tables at first, but as another hour wore on, people began pouring in, greeting each other with familiarity, which lent an atmosphere of warm neighborhood dining. 

Katie and I started with what was advertised as a baked brie. We were expecting some batter dipped concoction drizzled with fruit sauce.  What we were presented, though, was much more savory. Thin wedges of brie were wrapped in ham slices and served on unleavened flatbread. The ham did an excellent job of keeping the gooey brie goodness together. Mr. and Mrs. Dish shared an order of fried calamari. We weren’t impressed with the looks of the serving at first as it appeared to be brown and overcooked. Upon biting into the morsels, we were duly impressed by its perfectly cooked flavor and texture. I suspect that it was cooked in moderately used oil, which provided the brown color, but this method infuses a stronger taste from the fried fabulousness that have gone in before. Also a hit was the tomato basil soup; a rich, complex mixture that left us a full yet wanting more.   

Having been told that the owner of the restaurant is a native New Englander, they opted for seafood dishes. Mrs. Dish had a shrimp scampi pasta. The pasta was nicely al dente and the pedigree of the owner did not disappoint as the shrimp tasted as if they’d been plucked from the nets that morning. Mr. Dish ordered a seafood medley over pasta.  The scallops were of the same high quality, but the mussels were a touch overdone and rubbery.

Katie had spaghetti with meatballs and sausage. It’s an excellent staple dish for one not feeling all that adventurous. When I ordered a rib-eye steak, I requested that it not be trimmed too much as I prefer a fatty cut. Lisa Giguere, our waitress and Geno's co-owner informed me that they never trim their steaks as “fat is love.” At this point I was entirely won over and the actual steak didn’t disappoint. It was cooked to my discerning and bloody standards with yummy fat glistening on its edges.

In all, it was a lovely experience that blunted all of our distaste for crossing the river.

Geno's Restaurant and Big Belly Deli. 5147 Butler Street, Lawrenceville, 412-781-3432

The Dish on Dish: Oh Yeah!

The scoop on Shadyside's swank ice creamatorium

by Michael Vivar

Nestled in a cozy space on Highland Avenue, the confectionary boutique is an entirely green space. While this might conjure, for some, mental images of a hippie commune where people sit on bald radial tires and eat off of scavenged plywood and cinder block tables, the reality is a cheerfully bright space that lightens the mood of our increasingly grey Pittsburgh days. Now on to the sweet treats.

The shop features flavors and toppings that boggle the mind such as pineapple and goat cheese and beef jerky respectively. On our first outing, though, we didn’t tread too far off the beaten path. Katie bent to her Green Isle heritage and had a scoop of Irish Cream with a scoop of sugar free vanilla (Huzzah for looking out for the diabetics!) along with a sprinkling of gummy bears. I had a scoop of “five-star” chocolate, a scoop of mocha tofu ice cream, and a dash of habanero.

Before I get to the quality of our repast, let me tell you of how these flavors are mixed together. They have a machine that I can only assume was inspired by the Spanish Inquisition. It’s a large mixing drill that the ice cream slinger plunges into the dessert with the gusto of Torquemada on a heretic. The flavors are completely mixed and the process is such that every time we’ve been to the shop, every customer gets a six-year old’s gleam in their eye that says, “I wanna try!”

Katie’s concoction was divine. “Oh Yeah” gets their ice cream from “Woo City,” a company that prides itself on their use of Amish cows and unrefined sugars. We could taste this difference from dessert producers that, apparently, threaten their cows with electrical appliances. The Irish Cream was delightful and their sugar free vanilla didn’t have that chalky taste you’ll find in much artificially sweetened fare.

Mine was equally good, and surprisingly so. After having many pints of reprehensible Tofutti being forced upon me by well-meaning friends, I was glad that the mocha was sensed by my palate as being mocha and not, well, tofu. The addition of habanero gave the whole thing a hot bite that was pleasant in the brisk Autumn day.

I’ve heard criticism about the supposedly exorbitant price at “Oh Yeah!” but I say “bosh!” to that. We paid around $10 for our indulgence and I believe the quality and experience were well worth the cost. In addition, a person would pay a comparable amount at one of the ever-expanding chain frou frou ice cream concerns and would find these places laughably pedestrian compared to this home town concern. Oh yeah, they’re dog friendly, so Cora the Love Pig is happy, and that’s all that really matters.

"Oh Yeah!" is located at 232 Highland Ave., Shadyside.

The Dish on Dish: Muriel's Brunch

Michael Vivar, Dish's intrepid food reporter, swoons

I am aware that the Pittsburgh Family Dish already gave their opinion regarding Muriel’s diner, but I felt that the restaurant’s quality is such that it warranted the Asian Stallion of Food Criticism to briefly come out of hiatus and expound further on the place -- specifically its position as being poised to take the crown of “Sunday Brunch Queen of Pittsburgh.”

I admit that I was reluctant to try something new due to my short time back in the ‘Burgh and a desire to revisit the known quantity of one of my Sunday staples. It was Katie’s insistence that dragged me out of my brunchy womb of comfort. We arrived around 11 a.m., which I think was the perfect hour in the middle of this incessant heat wave. It allowed us to sit outside and not be overburdened by the harsh heat of the sun. The pleasantness of the day was compounded by complimentary mimosas being placed in our hands. While it wasn’t exactly a replacement for my beloved brunch ale, the briskly perfect mix of champagne and orange juice invigorated the senses.

Delving straight into a main course, Katie ordered Eggs Pomodoro ($6.95). It consisted of two poached eggs each served over breaded and grilled tomato, both individually given a dollop of hollandaise sauce. The eggs were just the way she liked them, with the yoke cooked solid only half-way through and a center that was slightly runny. The hollandaise sauce was extremely fresh and the cook used it merely as a complement to the other flavors without slathering the stuff on. The light breading on the ripe tomato gave a body to the meal that made the included side of toast a bit superfluous.

I had Buckwheat Pancakes ($5.95) with two slices of bacon (add $1). Those who make buckwheat pancakes walk a fine line when trying to please people who are fanatic about the dish. Too much buckwheat and it turns out too dry and mealy. Too little and you merely get something little better than Bisquik. The Muriel’s preparation walks this line with the grace of an old vaudevillian. They were hearty enough to feel satisfying between the tongue and teeth while being moist and yielding after that first chew. My only modification to the meal would have been to add one more slice of bacon or one egg. I do, however, submit to having a heightened protein preference with my meals than some.

The quality of raw materials with which the restaurant starts, along with a sense of love that permeates the atmosphere and preparation of the dishes, makes Muriel’s an absolute joy.

Muriel’s recently won first place in the American cuisine in a recent P-G dining poll. A little birdie tells Dish that a full review will appear in their Weekend Section on Thursday. Hah, Dish got there first. Eat that Big Media.

The Dish on Dish: Sassy Marie's

No first night jitters here.

by Michael Vivar

We here at Dish are a mistrustful lot, almost aggressively suspicious of that which is new and unknown. This is especially so when the new and unknown is replacing such a beloved and venerable institution as the James Street Tavern. Thus, it was with a certain degree of wariness that Mr. Dish, Mrs. Dish, Katie, and I approached the North Side’s newest eatery, Sassy Marie’s.

Our caginess was relieved as we were greeted by a familiar face, Cynthia Petno (pictured right), a staple of the Pittsburgh service industry and a phenomenal caterer (see the sidebar advertisement for Word-of Mouth Catering). Though we were previously acquainted, we noticed that her warm attention to others brought a smile to many in the place. Other than warm bodies, the tone of the restaurant hadn’t changed much since its prior incarnation. The booths and bar of rich, dark mahogany were a sight for sore eyes. The only noticeable discrepancy was the paint scheme, muted, lending a warmer atmosphere.

Be warned as the place is BYOB for another week. We had been forewarned and had forearmed ourselves with a bottle of white Bordeaux obtained at The Wine Thief, our favorite wine shop in New Haven, Conn. (screw you PA Liquor Control Board). To start, Mr. Dish and I had the Seared Big Eye Ahi ($11), which was sesame crusted with a drizzle of soy sauce and a mango slaw. We were both impressed by the quick searing and rare nature of the preparation as many tend to overcook ahi. I thought a bit of a too heavy hand was used with sea salt, but that might have been an anomaly and Mr. Dish didn’t mind. In any case, whatever perceived saltiness was dulled by the pleasant sweetness of the mango slaw. The ladies had the coconut chicken ($6), which was served in strips, covered, in a coconut breading, and served with a spicy orange plum dipping sauce. They were taken aback by the generous portion, but could not get enough of it. There was a hint of a curry spice in the dipping sauce which complemented the coconut flavor of the chicken very nicely.

For dinner, Katie had a wild mushroom ravioli ($13.50), served in a mushroom-infused vodka-tomato cream. The ravioli was good, if a bit pedestrian, stuffed quite full of portabella mushrooms. It was, however, the sauce that made the dish stand out. Rich and creamy with a dark yet sweet flavor, the ravioli were merely a vehicle for this outstanding sauce.

Mrs. Dish was served the jumbo lump crab cake ($18). At first blush, it almost tasted as if the chef had fallen into the trap of adding too much cake to the crab. But, for some reason, it worked. The fresh crab meat’s texture and sweet flavor set off the sumptuous spicing of the bread crumbs like mortar in bricks rather than the haphazard over-compensation for sub-par seafood. The fact that the meal came unencumbered by an additional starch was noted and appreciated.

I opted for a 14 oz ribeye ($20) with a dash of their signature “Sassy Steak Dust.” Normally, I cast down any such rub a blasphemy unto the steak gods, but this particular flavor combination enhanced what I found to be a too-thin (but sufficiently bloody and marbled) steak. The accompanying mashed potatoes turned out to be a somewhat dull afterthought, but perfectly steamed, crisp asparagus almost convinced me that I was being a moderately healthy bastard.

Mr. Dish had approximately the same meal, “Our Signature Cowboy Steak,” also a ribeye, but a full 6 oz heavier than mine (bone in), garnished with chipotle chimichurri and crispy onion straw ($28). Not for the first time, I was looking at Mr. Dish’s piece of meat with envy. It seemed that his was a thicker, more vigorously tasty piece than mine, but we Filipinos often have such worries.

Chef Rich Horn (pictured right), who has worked extensively in kitchens throughout the state, plans to feature theme dinners with wine flights. Horn is very discriminating about choosing choice cuts of meat, and it shows.

Sassy Marie’s first impression makes it seem rather worthy of the previous venue’s vaunted pedigree. Its menu may give the impression that it’s trying very hard to separate itself from said prior establishment, but its diligent work is not for naught. In addition, its extensive bar menu might do well in drawing the masses away from more entrenched watering holes with stagnant menus in the neighborhood.

Sassy Marie's, 422 Foreland St. at James Street, 412-246-0355; Smoking available at the bar. Website to come.

The Dish on Dish on the Road: Telepan

A hit near Lincoln Center.

by Michael Vivar

Before attending “The Nutcracker” at Lincoln Center, Katie and I dined right around the corner at Telepan. Its austere dining area belied the sumptuous meal we were about to consume. Having an 8 o’clock curtain call, we decided to attempt their tasting menu ($59 per person, prix fixe), in which we were able to choose one smaller servings from their three a la carte courses and a dessert each.

Katie began with the Autumn vegetable bread soup. It was a simple dish, but braced her for the cold wind coming from Central Park we’d be weathering. I had the roast quail served with dried-fruit sausage. The quail had crispy skin encasing moist, dark-flavored meat. Alternating bites between this and the sausage was a delight.

For the mid-course, Katie was brought a Lobster Bolognese in a shallot garlic tomato broth. The wonderfully sweet lobster tail was served within its shell with grated meat sprinkled into the broth. It was then we realized our wise choice of the tasting menu. We weren’t certain if we’d be able to finish the proper a la carte servings without feeling gorged. I’d ordered seared foie gras and foie gras stuffed apple. Frankly, I’d never had foie gras before, citing moral implications. As I bit into the seared portion, with its texture and flavor like the marrow of a fine osso bucco, I was able to quash the small PETA voice in my head. The portion that was pureed and served with apple, however, was a little too liver-flavored for my taste.

Katie’s main course was seared sea scallops finished with a blood orange sauce, candy beets, and roasted sunchokes. These were among the best we’ve had and, if you’ve been reading this column long, you’ll know that we’re experienced scallopers… scallopmongers… we like scallops. The tartness of blood orange added a pleasant bite to the mild mollusk.

For me the entrée menu posed a quandary as it featured some of my favorite staples in intriguing preparations such as roasted aged steak in an oxtail glaze and bone marrow potato cake, and seared duck breast with faro, dried cherries and duck confit. I finally settled (if you can call it that) on the rack and shoulder of organic lamb with a potato-olive gratin, black kale, and garlic-parsley oil. Again, the serving size of succulent, perfectly fatty lamb was perfect and I couldn’t imagine being able to even make a dent in a larger portion. The potato gratin was quite good, but too heavy an accompaniment for the luxuriant lamb and remained mostly untouched.

Dessert for Katie was a chocolate pecan tart and for me a chocolate peanut butter cake (Can you see a pattern in our taste?). Unfortunately, dessert was a bit rushed as we needed to get to the theater in time for the overture. Suffice it to say, their quality would have impressed even the most discerning of Sugar Plum Fairies.

Telepan, 72 West 69 St., 212-580-4300

The Dish on Dish: City of Bridges Cafe

Pre-security cuisine at PIT.

by Michael Vivar

It might have been my mood from having to leave the girl and the city I love for a period of time, but the atmosphere of the City of Bridges Café, the first full-service restaurant in the Pittsburgh International Airport, could only be described as harsh.  Fluorescent lighting cast a garish dullness on the faux wood décor that only weakly tried to hide its cheap pedigree.  The bar was littered with a pastiche of boozy salesmen telling of their conquests or half-heartedly hitting on college girls making a pit stop before returning to Alpha Delta Booty.  The view of the security checkpoint just outside the door robbed even more of the place’s cheer.

Katie, not having much of an appetite, ordered the marinated mozzarella ball salad ($5.99).  The mozzarella balls, which wallowed too long in olive oil, melted into unappetizing blobs among wilted romaine and unripe cherry tomatoes.  I had the turkey panini club ($7.45).  Served on ciabatta that was cut too thick, the turkey was dry as they had to press the sandwich longer in order to toast the bread thoroughly.  The smoked bacon, on the other hand, had a nice cured and smoky taste.  In all, it wasn’t bad for airport food, but so is the pizza if you're hungry enough.

Thus was the ignoble introduction to my hiatus as Dish Poison Taster.  I hope, dear readers, that you’ve had as much fun reading as I have eating.  I look forward to returning to you soon enough. In the meantime, see you in the funny pages.

The Dish on Dish: Double Wide Grill

Kitschy, but good. Really good.

by Michael Vivar

At first glance, the Double Wide Grill on the South Side is the sort of place I’d, more often than not, avoid like the plague. It’s a theme restaurant whose ridiculously contrived back story tells of a folksy, down-home family who owned a gas station and decided to turn it into a restaurant while huffing fumes, or some such nonsense. What it does, though, is take this half-baked idiocy and run with it like a madman, sporting hubcap encrusted ceilings, vintage cans of automobile lubricant as lampshades, staff dressed like pump-jockeys, and just the general theme of a small-town gas station. Like an ugly junkyard dog that’s really happy to see you, it’s difficult not to get caught up in the kitschy charm.

Upon browsing the menu, I realized that this wasn’t your run-of-the-mill T.G.I. Appletuesday & Erma’s. For a place that prides itself on slinging ribs, it had a surprising number of vegetarian and vegan options. So the next time you’re itching to take that ELF member you met at that one protest out on a date, you can enjoy your animal flesh as he/she glowers at you over his/her barbecued tofu kebab.

Still leery from the initial impression of the atmosphere, we shared a sweet potato and caramelized onion croquette ($8). It was brought out in a chic square plate with a sprig of parsley on top. We weren’t expecting a presentation of this daintiness. The experience of actually eating it was just as good. It was crispy on the outside and creamy on the inside with the caramelized onion blended into the croquette batter lending only a hint of flavor.

With newfound vigor, we ordered our entrees. Katie had the “Section 8” platter ($21) in which she was able to choose five items from their a la carte menu. She selected their bragged about ribs, crab cake, sweet potato risotto, snow peas, and corn bread. When she was brought her food, we concluded that people on government subsidy eat prodigiously better than we do normally. It was a massive amount of food served on an old metal prison tray, whose centerpieces were a half-rack of ribs (we were expecting a few bones) and a large crab cake. Katie was unsure as to how to attack this meal, so she fell back on her instincts as a hardened street fighter. She stuck a knife in the middle of its ribs. With amazement, we saw that these were entirely yielding, meat falling off the bone, to coin a phrase. This rendered the knife useless and she relished in the fabulously tender bones. My only suggestion to them is that they offer a wider variety of sauces. Their standard, a tasty molasses or brown sugar-based garnish with a small bite, is excellent, but some variety might serve well if we begin patronizing the place on a regular basis.

Compared to the ribs, the only other portion of the dish that stood out was the corn bread. This is no light and fluffy Jiffy corn-bread mix, but a hearty, coarse-ground piece of bread one would think was custom-baked to suit a good beef dish. This isn’t to say that the rest of the meal wasn’t good – the steamed snow peas were fresh and snappish, the crab cake provided a nice surf to the ribs’ turf, and the use of sweet potatoes was an interesting twist to a risotto recipe. The fine quality of the ribs merely overshadowed what still would have been an exceptional meal.

I ordered the “Death Row” Delmonico ($21), medium rare. I was delighted to see this on the menu as this is, by far, my favorite cut of meat. I was not disappointed by its preparation. Many places tend to out the fatty tip off of their Delmonicos for some reason I can’t fathom. I find this, along with the fatty nub in the center, to be the most flavorful arts of the cut. Here the chef did not commit such a travesty and the steak was cooked just the way I like it with a good char on the outside and a modestly warm, reddish middle. It was topped by a dark mushroom sauce and a bit of caramelized onion. I scraped these off, but I can see as to how they might be pleasing to the palates of those who would regularly frequent a place called “The Double Wide.” It also came with its own serving of the aforementioned cornbread, which precluded the need for me to steal Katie’s.

We ended the meal sharing a piece of tiramisu. The mascarpone and ladyfingers were heavier than in some recipes I’d tasted, but it seemed fitting considering the rest of the meal. Thankfully, they took this into account and didn’t present us with an overwhelming portion.

The effervescent service of our waiter, Brian, and the well-prepared food made The Double Wide an extremely pleasant surprised. We came in expecting the trailer trash antics of Kevin Federline, but were given a classy rockabilly act akin to Johnny Cash.

Double Wide Grill, 2339 E. Carson, Southside, 412-390-1111

No smoking, but they will have an outdoor bar area during the Spring and Summer at which it will be allowed.

Dish disher departs

Our food correspondent is taking a temporary job in the banking industry and will be indisposed for six months. Wanna help?

Michael Vivar, known to some as the Asian Stallion of Food Criticism (ASFC), is temporarily relocating to Manhattan—well, not Manhattan, but Jersey City, though he will pass through Gotham on his commute from Long Island. That's something, right? Though he'll be filing a few dispatches from the coast, Dish needs someone in Pittsburgh to pick up the ASFC's slack.

But before he leaves next Wednesday, ASFC intends to visit as many places his gullet will allow.

If you'd like to be the person who beats the Post-Gazette and City Paper to such dining establishments as Hyde Park Steakhouse, Richard's Smokehouse BBQ and Isoldi's drop us a line (editor@pittsburghdish.com) including a writing sample or two and a brief explanation as to why you'd like to work for us for free. One needn't be Asian to apply. Though one must, Dish repeats, must, be a Stallion.

Photo: Richard of Richard’s Smokehouse BBQ--Dish scooped Munch of the Post-Gazette.

The Dish on Dish on the Road: Pastis

Oui oui in NYC.

by Michael Vivar

In the heart of New York City's meat-packing district, Pastis’ tiled floors, vintage fixtures, and hardwood tables and chairs felt positively Left Bank. Its vaulted-ceiling dining room was packed to the gills with out-of-work playwrights, low-rent fashion models, wannabe socialites who’ve read “Bergdorf Blondes” one too many times, and faux Trotskyites sporting tatty wool jackets and Bluetooth headsets. My mother, Katie, and I were nestled at a table in the middle of it all.

We started by sharing an arugula salad with parmesan and lemon ($9) and fried calamari ($12). The calamari was cooked perfectly, but its breading was too salty. Fortunately, the fresh arugula removed some of the bitter edge.

My mother, looking like the dazzling New Yorker she is (Hi, Mom !), had the grilled mahi mahi ($21). It was richly fatty with a mild taste. Her only complaint was that the portion was too big and mahi mahi doesn’t keep very well for the next meal.

Katie had mushroom ravioli with sage, walnut, and brown butter ($15). The ravioli was home made with a love that could be tasted. The accoutrements were savory yet subtle.

I ordered linguini with cockles and garlic ($15). The firm and tasty cockles were generously strewn through the pasta, which was al dente and merely drizzled with olive oil rather than drenched, which many other restaurants are wont to do. Along with this I had an absinthe ($7). The staging was a bit off with a teaspoon rather than a serrated spoon and a helping of brown sugar rather than a lump of white. It also sorely lacking in the psychotropic thujone (along with laudanum), so I was unable to catch a glimpse of the green faerie. The fact that they served it, though, lent to the atmosphere.

Pastis is a nice, if crowded, place to have lunch during a jaunt into the West Village. Linger too long, however, and I suspect you’ll be bombarded by glossy head shots, manifestos, and stage treatments of Douglas Coupland novels.

Patis, 9 Ninth Ave. at Little W. 12th St., 212-929-4844

The Dish on Dish: Ye Allegheny Sandwich Shoppe

Chips on ye old block.

by Michael Vivar

The North Side is a-flurry with holiday spirit.  It seems that one can’t walk down the street these days without being offered some cider, mulled wine, or egg nog. It’s a time when we can indulge in camaraderie and gluttony.  While a period of joy it also feels like a period of constant transit. Time is a valuable commodity as we scurry off to a party or to cook for a party or to shop for people we’ll see at a party. Any pause that can be gleaned during the holidays is a welcome one. Ye Allegheny Sandwich Shoppe provides such a respite.  After a long night before, Katie and I were happy to appreciate it with Mr. and Mrs. Dish.

Nestled in a corner on Western Avenue in West Allegheny, the restaurant provides a spacious dining area that belies its modest storefront.  It was filled with a crowd very representative of the neighborhood. Despite the amount of people that filtered in and out, it never became claustrophobic. We were served by a pleasantly gregarious waitress who calls everyone “hon,” and offered to smack me around.That’s something for which I usually have to pay extra.

For our meal we were presented with generously proportioned sandwiches.  Mrs. Dish had a reuben ($5.95), and she was surprised to find turkey along with the corned beef. This was an interesting addition that served to give the sandwich a milder flavor.  Slightly disappointed by their selling out of the roast beef special (it had gravy!), Katie settled for the plain roast beef sandwich ($5.50), whose meat was rare and juicy.  Mr. Dish satisfied his hunger with the Dagwood ($5.95). It was so stuffed to the rafters with a variety of meat and veggies (No cheese. Such is Mr. Dish’s Achilles Heel. Remember this, future despoilers of his meals) that it would make Mr. Bumstead proud.  I ordered the cracked black pepper burger ($5.50), medium rare. My sandwich was decidedly well done, but my mouth was pleased by the sporadic bite of peppercorns.

Each dish came with thick beefsteak french fries and among us we shared an order of golden onion rings. We relished this and, with each bite, silently laughed at our compatriots in New York who have been cowed by their junk science of “clogged arteries” and “high blood pressure.”

In the midst of your holiday rushing about, you’d do well to rest your feet and refuel yourself at Ye Allegheny Sandwich Shoppe.  The name even sound kind of yule-y. While you're in the area, you might be able to find a unique gift in one of the fine stores that keep popping up on Western Avenue such as Kharisma.

822 Western Avenue, Corner of Rope Way, 412-322-4797

The Dish on Dish: Acanthus Restaurant

Food Editor Michael Vivar gives new North Side restaurant a standing ovation.

My love for the North Side knows no bounds. I am among the first to shout its virtues from the rooftops. One aspect that contributes to this affection is the Boggs Mansion, now The Inn on the Mexican War Streets. I’ve spent countless neighborhood gatherings laughing and imbibing with friends here. Despite this inherent fondness, I can say with not a hint of bias or doubt that the quality of their new restaurant, Acanthus, has robbed me of my meager ability to speak as a mature adult. OMG, dude, this place is, like, sooooo awesome. LOLZ

Our reintroduction to this beloved establishment began in their newly opened martini bar in the main house. The former boudoir had been converted to a posh sipping room that was well stocked and cozy without being cramped. The granite bar, substantial wood stools, and fine crystal had me looking over my shoulder every so often expecting a Rockefeller or other captain of industry to come glad-handing his way through the room. In the midst of our pre-dinner drinks, we were served an unexpected pair of hors d'oeuvres. Canapés filled with firm roasted and spiced tofu and savory empanadas made us feverishly expectant of the upcoming seven course meal. After an interval that whetted our appetites, we were shown through a courtyard, while expansive and striking, could have benefited from some heat lamps in a cold night. Past this was a dining room set in what wasonce a carriage house. Within were tables impeccably set with silverware and wine glasses for each course. It reminded one of a rural hunting lodge.

The first course consisted of an amuse bouche of buttery corn madeleines topped with smoked trout and crème fraiche. Merely a tasty mouthful, its status as a tease could have turned into a maddening taunt were it not for the prompt presentation by our meticulous waiter, Chris, of the appetizer, Acanthus Pirogues. Pirogue in name only, it was caramelized onion sandwiched between light and flaky pirogue pastry and potato pancake drizzled with a thick buerre blanc. It was accompanied by a crunchy triangle of baked wonton skin which we dipped into the buerre blanc. Were it not for this, we would have given in to the urge to lick the sauce directly from the plate.

The fish course was a pan-seared red snapper. Encased in a thin seasoned skin, the tender fish found a wonderfully bittersweet complement in a blood orange vinaigrette. This was the first truly substantial portion of the meal, but not so much so that our craving for more was blunted.

The intermezzo gave us a welcome pause to relish the miasma of deliciousness with which we were quite willingly assailed. A sweet jewel of frozen red grape enshrined in a wedge of slightly sharp queso blanco readied our taste buds better than any common strawberry sherbet could have.

After this culinary sigh of appreciation, Katie had her staple, filet mignon. Its caliber was on par with what we had already experienced with a fine marble. The starch of herb gnocchi with butternut squash was a trifle overdone, but the relatively soft texture went well with firm asparagus tips and a heavy shitake cream sauce.

I had the veal osso bucco, which was the only slight misstep to be found. I’m used to an osso bucco shank with marrow in. I was served very good but de-boned veal meat that was tender, but could have done with more fat. Speaking to the chef later, she indicated that a larger shank of meat didn’t really fit the spare aesthetic of her presentations. While I can understand this vision, I think in this case she should have chosen to forego form for function. This came with a chestnut risotto that had more of a porridge consistency than pasta, but it was delectable nonetheless. It was also served with brussel sprouts. I don’t eat brussel sprouts. In fact, I refuse to acknowledge the existence of brussel sprouts. So, no, it didn’t come with brussel sprouts.

Following European tradition, our penultimate course was a salad. The chiffonade of Napa cabbage, grapefruit, cashews, raspberries, sprinkled with a warm rosemary shallot vinaigrette was another bittersweet dish that nicely settled our stomachs from the previous courses and cleansed the palate for dessert.

The final treat was a chocolate mousse eased into a cornucopia topped with fresh berries on a vanilla bean sauce. Its staging in a horn of plenty was a fitting allegory for a completely delightful meal.

At $75 per person, prix fixe, this superb meal along with the fine atmosphere is a bargain at twice the price. I should also mention that Katie had the wine flight for another $25. Whoever paired the wines for each course is like unto a god among sommeliers. So what are you doing still reading this bloody ramble?

Make a reservation. Now.

Acanthus Fine Dining at The Inn on the Mexican War Streets, 604 W North Ave, 412-231-6544.

The Dish on Dish: Hot Metal Grille

So-so on the South Side.

by Michael Vivar

Blessed with beautiful weather earlier this week, Katie and I decided to play hooky from work to take a jaunt through the South Side Works. We’ve been increasingly impressed by what has been done with this development. We wouldn’t want to live anywhere near the place, but it’s the least obnoxious area to visit when one wants to indulge in mindless commerce. We decided to lunch at Hot Metal Grille, which we found on the outskirts of the complex.

We were shown to a dining area surrounded with exposed brick, ductwork, and floored with stone and pieces of metal. This industrial atmosphere would have seemed forced were it not for the drab office park next door and exposed power lines across Carson Street. I am sure these were put there to lend an air of authenticity. As we dined, we could take in this view through vaulting floor to ceiling windows.

Since we were in a bit of a hurry to catch a movie, I opted for Guinness as an appetizer. It was served in a flash-looking tapered glass that scores points for presentation, but it isn’t the sort of wide-mouthed vessel out of which Guinness is meant to be drunk. I also think the shape shorted me out of a full pint.

Katie ordered a Jack Daniels Barbecued Chicken Sandwich ($7.95). The chicken was very tender and flavorful, made more so by the Jack Daniels barbecue sauce. Within the sandwich was also a very sharp cheddar cheese, which was almost overbearing, but whose edge was dulled by the sweet inclusion of sliced Granny Smith apples. The sandwich was accompanied by tasty thin-cut onion rings that tasted like Vidalia.

I was craving something light, so I ordered a Prime Rib Salad ($8.95). I admit that I can be absentminded. After over a half-decade of living in this city, I should know that a salad in Pittsburgh is anything but light. I was presented with a monstrosity with a visage of French fries and mounds of grated cheese. Katie quipped, “Just be happy it’s not drenched in ranch dressing.” Thank god for small favors (though any god who imagined this creation has no conception of “small”).

Sifting through the mound of cheese like a prospector searching for… “not cheese,” I was periodically rewarded with tender strips of good quality prime rib and fries that were cooked golden in a light, slightly spiced batter. The actual salad, cowering at the bottom of the bowl, turned out to be under ripe cherry tomatoes and tasteless iceberg lettuce. Apparently the price of the dish was blown on some meat and five pounds of cheese when it was realized, “Oh, hell, this is supposed to be a salad,” and they didn’t have enough left even for some wilted romaine. I was able to get through about a third of the meal before I felt like I’d eaten the HMS Lusitania including the Irish in steerage.

Hot Metal Grille is an acceptable place to have lunch, but I would advise you to take advantage of this season’s early sunset so as to not have the sun’s harsh light illuminating the restaurant’s unattractive surroundings. I would also warn that prolonged exposure to Hot Metal Grille may result in fat bastardy from the quantity of food and sterility from the power lines across the street.

Hot Metal Grille, 2829 East Carson Street, 412-431-2300.
www.hotmetalgrille.com

The Dish on Dish: Willow

A suburban delight.

By Michael Vivar

Though they are hailed as the cornerstones of the American dream, I’ve never been impressed by the suburbs.  I’m even less so by the soulless developments that have been springing up in the past decade and a half with their swaths of manicured lawns encompassing atrociously designed houses. Katie and I were traveling through such an area while going to Animal Friends on Camp Horne Road. On our way, we passed the restaurant, "Willow,"which announced itself to passersby with a whimsical font design. We made an impromptu stop. My expectations were low, brought on by my stated opinion of suburbs, but what we found was a veritable oasis.

It took a few minutes for our waitress to attend to us, but this was understandable as it was the 4 o’clock changeover from lunch to dinner. After this initial impediment, she (Karen) turned out to be genial, professional, and very knowledgeable about the menu.

The menu was disheartening for a moment as it began with a list of terrible sounding drinks.  It appears that they’ve succumbed to the “old-five-years-ago” trend of mixing crap together, putting it in a stemmed glass, and calling it a martini with a witless prefix. This was remedied, however, by a long wine list and a satisfactory selection of single malt scotches. Scanning the rest of the menu, we encountered an almost schizophrenic yet intriguing list of items that pulled flavors from the southwest, the south, Asia, and continental Europe.  It all sounded weirdly appetizing.

We started with a shared appetizer of Block Island Scallops Madeira ($9).  I can honestly say that I have not had better prepared scallops since I left Long Island, New York. The alcohol in the Madeira was seared off, leaving a touch of sweetness without overcooking the scallop to rubber. We found ourselves slicing the delicacy as thinly as possible to make it last.

For an entrée, Katie had a Kansas Center Cut Filet Mignon ($28).  It was an excellent cut of corn-fed beef whose flavor was brought out even further by a rosemary finishing demi-glace. A peppercorn crust and a topping of herbed Boursin cheese gave it a sharp bite that I felt to be an unnecessary affectation, but which Katie enjoyed.

I was brought the General Tso Duck ($21).  I’m not sure if the meat was cooked too quickly or if it wasn’t fatty enough to begin with, but I found it to be a little tough. The chef was able to redeem himself with the General Tso glaze, which was sweet without being cloying and had a nice citrus twist. Another thing I liked about the preparation of this and the other dishes is the light hand used with garnishes.  Here Vidalia onions and Shitake mushrooms complemented the main flavor without hiding it.

We ended with a Chocolate Windmill cake ($6). The layers of chocolate fudge and chocolate meringue made for a dessert that was decadent and light at the same time.

The excellent food, personable service, and fine atmosphere make Willow worth traversing suburban isolation. If you take your supper early enough, afterwards you can visit Animal Friends just a few meters down the road and adopt a pet I assure you that both experiences will be fulfilling

Willow, 634 Camp Horne Road, 412-847-1007.

The Dish on Dish: Richard’s Smokehouse BBQ

A good ribbing on the North Side.

by Michael Vivar

There are two things in life for which I have a deep and abiding affection and that Katie will never understand. These are barbecue and kung fu movies. While her nanny duties kept her late one evening, I decided spend an night of bachelorhood conducting a tryst with my other loves.

Richard’s Smokehouse BBQ (nee Finger Licikin' Good Deli & BBQ until KFC sent a registered letter forcing them to change the name) is a small but clean and brightly colored barbecue shack. The eponymous “Richard” is an amicable fellow and was gregarious as he prepared my half-slab of ribs ($8.25), fresh cut French fries ($1.95), and a Reese’s peanut butter cup brownie). While I was enjoying his company and there were appointments for seating, I’m of the opinion that ribs are a dish that should be eaten away from public view. A place where one can have sauce and grease drip down one’s forearms and chin without fear of embarrassment. I took my meal home with a copy of Jet Li’s classic, “Fist of Legend.”

As I bit into the first bone, what I tasted was a changing of the guard. The North Side has been under the barbecue hegemony of Wilson’s B.B.Q. for decades. I was once quite the aficionado of this hallowed establishment. However, with the juicy flavor bomblets in each bite of Richard’s ribs, the memory of Wilson’s slowly faded. Each bone was thick with flavorful hickory-smoked meat. The fresh-cut fries were good, but were almost an unnecessary starchy afterthought beside my sticks of piggy delight. My only complaint is that the barbecue sauce was quite watery and, though I ordered hot, it had barely any kick at all. I was informed later that he doesn’t make his own sauce. While blasphemous, this information is, as yet, apocryphal since I have not been able to get confirmation. I will speak to that in a moment. After the ribs, the homemade brownie was the final blow that knocked me into a satisfied stupor. I sat back and watched Jet Li beat up every Japanese person he could get his hands on.

Unfortunately, these pleasures are hard to come by.

For reasons only known to Richard, the store closes sporadically and without explanation. There have been many times since the place opened in February when I’ve walked by and remarked to myself, “Hmm… ribs! What a fine idea,” only to be greeted by a locked door. This left me pawing the front window, softly cursing the deceitful listing of store hours. In fact, after my pleasurable experience, I wanted to return the next day to review more of their extensive menu that includes pulled pork, catfish, and beef brisket. I also wanted clarification as to the nature of his sauces. I was disappointed yet again by a building darkened 20 minutes before their five o’clock closing time. While I urge anyone to try Richard’s, I also caution them to call ahead.

Richard’s Smokehouse BBQ, 1518 Brighton Road, North Side (across from Zone 1 Police, so don’t go on a rib run in a stolen car), 412-321-3750. No credit cards accepted.

The Dish on Dish: Isoldi's on the Strip

Hip: Check. Check: Off.

by Michael Vivar

The restaurant greeted us with an unpretentious demeanor. The exposed brick and hardwood floors gave a simple yet warm ambience. Unfortunately, the human decoration left much to be desired. Perhaps because of the allure of Pure, the newest "place to be seen" nightclub upstairs, we were surrounded by loud, prattling, easily-impressed suburbanites who procured their directives of decorum from badly translated fortune cookies. This isn’t the fault of the restaurant as this is what the Strip District, an area I normally adore, becomes on a weekend night.

To start, we shared duck ravioli ($11), which were stuffed with duck confit, foie gras, and duck prosciutto and served over grilled asparagus in a porcini brandy cream. The crisp asparagus along with the foie gras’s fatty flavor and texture very nicely brought out the dark richness of the duck and porcini. It was a disappointment that we were only served three small raviolis. While delicious, the miniscule portion would have driven even only one person’s appetite to frustration. Thus, we decided to also ordered a salad ($7) and their soup of the day ($6), a roasted red pepper and artichoke bisque. The salad was a simple green variety garnished with mozzarella. All of the ingredients were very fresh, but nothing stood out to make it worth seven dollars. The soup was watery and did not have the full essence I expect from a bisque. Our very considerate waiter, Eric, remarked upon my uneaten portion. When I expressed my displeasure he apologized with convincing sincerity and removed the soup from our bill.

For the main course, Katie had a grilled beef tenderloin with lobster medallions over a black truffle buerre blanc risotto ($35). The beef was a little overdone for her liking, but otherwise it's difficult to screw up grilling a beef tenderloin. The lobster medallions were served in thick slices still in their shell segments, which was lovely from a presentation standpoint, but made the edible bits difficult to extract. The absolute star of the dish was the risotto. The pasta was al dente and the thick buerre blanc was nudged to perfection with the grated black truffle.

Continuing our masticating marathon of different species of the animal kingdom, I had rack of lamb, pan seared with caramelized onion with rosemary puree and parsley oil potatoes ($37). The lamb was from Elysian Fields (the farm in Greene County, not the land of the dead from Greek mythology), which I’ve noticed to be the main vendor of the wee beast for high-end Pittsburgh restaurants. As such, I’ve sampled it many times before in a multitude of preparations. The plain pan-searing of three large chops made for an unspectacular, but acceptable meal. The taste of parsley oil in the potatoes was an interestingly pleasant alternative to the usual lamb garnish of mint jelly.

The earnest, friendly service of our waiter on a busy night and the workaday competence of the kitchen make me loathe to brutally criticize Isoldi’s. The inconsistent quality of the food served at exorbitant cost makes me loathe to highly recommend it. We paid for “exceptional,” but merely received “pretty good."

Isoldi's on the Strip
108 19th St., Strip District, 412-434-1310

The Dish on Dish: Fuel & Fuddle

The college brunch.

by Michael Vivar

I enjoy getting into my cups on a Saturday evening. This lends to a formula of corrupting two perfectly respectable meals into that mutant chimera of dining events some philistines dub Sunday Brunch. I, as a scholar, call it, “heaven.”

Oakland's Fuel & Fuddle is an overcrowded, cinderblock-lined pheromone soup of a college hangout that has two redeeming qualities: a number of mustered beers on tap you’d think wouldn’t fit in the confines of the establishment and cuisine that curbs the hangovers of both the higher educated boozer and the truly educated tippler.

I was able to waken my lady-love at an ungodly hour (in her opinion, before Tim Russert comes on), so we were able to be seated before morning rush. This was fortunate as the place filled quickly. We enjoy reading the Sunday New York Times while eating our brunch. For this, the table was substandard. Front page was mingling with Styles. Business encroached upon Sports. It was a pandemonium of periodical.

The first step in having a bout with the “morning afters” is to give it a good opening jab with some hair of the dog. Katie had a bloody mary that she needed to spice up herself. The proper mix of hot sauce and pepper took a moment to get right, but for $1.50, it was worth the effort. I had the Spaten Oktoberfest, a full-bodied amber brew that I look forward to every year. Next came the follow-up punch of coffee. Fuel & Fuddle’s is a little weaker than we’re used to, but one can’t complain as it’s included with the price of brunch and they provide free refills.

The knockout punch comes from a hearty meal. Katie’s “Fuddle French Toast” ($5) had a decent batter, but they use thick-cut Italian bread in the recipe. This makes for a dry middle. French toast is nothing without some syrup. Unfortunately, Katie’s a diabetic and they did not have any sugar-free alternatives. While lack of sweet maple goodness is i