THE BOILING CRAB: BOIL IN THE BAG IN ALHAMBRA

As I worked on EATING FOR BRITAIN, the impact of trade and immigration on the cuisine of our nation became more and more apparent. Without Phoenician traders Cornwall would not have clotted cream or saffron. Without Portuguese Jews and Belgian Huguenots being tossed from their respective lands we would have no fish and chips, and without the British Empire, we would have nowhere to go to after half a dozen pints on a Friday night.

America too has its own legacy and in the late 1970’s the US extended their hospitality to over 800,000 Vietnamese Boat People. Many of these refugees were settled in the Southern states where, over the last thirty years, they have begun to assimilate with the local communities with some interesting culinary consequences.

There is a point to all of this, in case you were wondering, and that point is The Boiling Crab, where Sybil and I along with our friend Amanda had lunch on Sunday. The Boiling Crab is a small chain of eight restaurants, which originated in Seadrift, Texas and now also has four locations in California.

The owners are originally from Vietnam (ah, there’s the link) and have combined their own traditional take on seafood with the “crab boils” which are so popular throughout the coastal towns of the South. In the short time they have been open, the restaurants have become incredibly popular and, with their no reservation policy, tales of the waiting time to get a table, are legion on local food blogs.

We headed East to Alhambra, an area that like its neighbours, Arcadia and Monterey Park is home to large communities from across South East Asia and consequently to some of the best restaurants representing their cuisines in the city. We arrived early enough to be first in line, but soon found ourselves heading up a queue of little short of a hundred people.

It wasn’t the orderly sort of line we are used to back in Britain, and I have to admit to being a little uncomfortable as people milled around not following the norms of good queuing that have been inculcated into Brits over generations. However, it all seemed to work in its own chaotic way and, after taking our names a short while before opening, we were the first to be shown to a table as soon as the doors were pushed back.

The Boiling Crab is no fine dining establishment. The tables are covered with paper, rolls of Costco’s finest kitchen towel are the only adornment and, as soon as I took a seat, a waiter arrived with a plastic bib for each of us. The menu too is short and, Amanda being Amanda and Sybil Being Sybil, they already knew what we were going to order by the time I returned from a visit to the bathroom.

The restaurant, as its name suggests is all about seafood and ordering is simple. You choose your variety (from Shrimps, Crayfish, Lobster, Blue Crabs etc etc), which are boiled in a bag along with a range of sauces and at different levels of spiciness. We ordered ours in a medium hot sauce and also added a couple of side dishes and a portion of catfish. We then sat back to sip on our drinks as we waited for our food and watched the floorshow as the rest of the small restaurant began to fill up.

The first part of our order arrived about ten minutes later. A plastic bag filled with a lurid orange sauce was opened to release a waft of savoury, spicy seafood steam. The sauce was coating 1lb of shrimps and we immediately fell on them sucking the heads to remove all the fat. Sybil and Amanda peeled their shrimp carefully, I on the other hand ate them shell and all. It is something I have always done and so do most of my family. I think it is a texture thing.

By the time we had finished half the shrimp leaving a mound of shells and heads on the table, our next orders arrived. The catfish was freshly fried in a breading crust and piping hot as it nestled on top of some spiced up fries (there is a theme here) and we tossed chunks between our hands until they were cool enough for us to break apart releasing the white flakes of fish underneath. We dipped them in the bag mopping up the remaining sauce from the shrimps.

Then came the next bag, this time containing two blue crabs. I was less taken with these and not just because I have barely been able to look at a crab since I spent seven hours projectile vomiting on a crab boat off the coast of Cromer last year. The truth is that crabs are often found wanting when it comes to the “effort:reward” ratio. These were no different and, while Sybil and Amanda seemed to enjoy the effort of smashing the claws to release tiny, sweet shreds of flesh, it all seemed like too much of a faff for me and I picked at a pile of sweet potato fries while finishing off the last few remaining shrimps.

Regular readers of the blog will know that there does not appear to be a word for “ample” in Tagalog or, if there is, Sybil has never bothered to learn it. So, no sooner was she wiping her mouth clean of crab juices, she and Amanda were waving over the waiter to place orders for more seafood, in this case an extra pound of shrimps and pound of the most expensive items on the menu, King Crab Legs.

Like the Blue Crab, the $17.99 a lb limbs of the King variety left me cold. However, as the pictures show, they were greeted with considerable glee by Amanda who was happy to leave the new bag of spicy shrimp to me to polish off and then use as a dip for the remaining fries.

Less than an hour after we arrived, we had laid waste to over four lbs of seafood and the waiter came to clear our table with an approving nod and a shout of “Good Job”. Bear in mind however that while our efforts were laudable, he also informed us that single diners have been known to polish off 5lbs of shrimp or crayfish in one sitting. No doubt this induces some form of seafood coma similar to the one we felt as we waddled out to the parking lot.

The line seemed to have doubled while we were in there and I can certainly understand why. The Boiling Crab serves up tasty food and a fun experience for a ludicrously cheap price. Our whole meal was less than $30 a head including drinks and tip, representing excellent value for some wonderfully messy silliness.

I am not normally a fan of fusion cuisine, but after one visit to The Boiling Crab, Vietnamese Cajun is marked down as one of the more unlikely successes.

Who knew?

TRE VIET: SO SORRY TO HAVE BOTHERED YOU

Ever been to a restaurant and felt like your presence is a bit of an inconvenience? Ever felt like the staff resented you daring to set foot in the place, as if the very act of crossing the threshold was some insult from which they might never quite recover?

It doesn’t happen very often these days, thank God. The current economic climate means that there are lots of people who could take the job of a surly server and the worst I can say about some restaurants recently is that their wait staff have been friendly but clueless.

However, during a recent lunch at Tre Viet, one of the Vietnamese places that dot the length of Mare St in Hackney, it was hard to escape the thought that our choice of their establishment for a meal was all a bit of a faff and that they were hell bent on doing the best they could to get us out of there as quickly as possible so they could return to their own lunch at the only other table where bottoms were touching seats.

We arrived just as they opened and, as HP rightly observed, the lengthy menu should have given us pause. But, we had walked all the way, braving Columbia Road Flower Market en route and deserved at least a decent meal. So,we navigated the plentiful options and soon placed our order.

Fast food is one thing, but it took less than one minute for our first dish to turn up, a cast iron platter of goat meat sizzling along with lemon grass and chilli. It looked harmless enough but its arrival was slightly disconcerting given that we had also ordered four dishes from the section in the menu marked “starters”

Now, I am no expert of Vietnamese culture, but my understanding of the word “starter” is that it implies something to begin the meal and not, as began to happen, the random appearance of dishes at five-second intervals until everything you ordered was on the table at the same time.

More dishes arrived in rapid succession and in no recognisable pattern, including one we didn’t order.

“Yes you did” argued the waitress, looking over her shoulder at the staff table where her soup had been placed and where she would obviously much rather have been.

“No we didn’t I replied” looking at the plate of sesame prawn toast in almost complete certainty that I had not even eaten such a dish since the mid-80’s and certainly would not have been ordering one in a Vietnamese restaurant in Hackney.

She took it away with a sigh and then joined her colleagues, already enjoying their lunch. A great pity then that they were the only ones in the restaurant to be doing so. The roulette delivery system might not have mattered so much had our food been as good as theirs obviously was, but it was patently prepared with as little care and attention as it had been served.

Summer rolls were tired and lacked freshness, beef in betel leaves the same and even the usual fail safe way of gaining DH approval, deep frying did not manage to persuade us to finish a plate of oily frogs legs in enough turmeric to cause a panic in New Market, Calcutta.

Add to this a droopy green papaya salad and the fact that in her rush our waitress brought us plain rice rather than plain rice noodles and our meal took its place as the most dispiriting Vietnamese we have experienced since we last went to Song Que Café on The Kingsland Road.

Twenty-five minutes after arriving, yep a whole twenty-five minutes, we managed to attract the staff’s attention to get the bill of £44. For once, we both decided that we would not leave any tip for service. We never do that usually believing that a bad meal is rarely the fault of the server, but in this case as we had not received any service at all did not feel obliged to acknowledge it. We just left while they continued enjoying their soup and they paid us as little attention as they had during the meal.

I doubt the owners know or care what a bad experience DH had in Tre Viet , but if they do by any chance happen upon this blog can I just say, I am really terribly sorry we disturbed your staff’s lunch.

Don’t worry, it wont be happening again.

PHO SWEET BASIL: NOT AT ALL FAULTY

Sometimes the old taste buds become a bit jaded and need something to perk them up a bit. For Dos Hermanos that’s where having a few Vietnamese restaurants in the nabe comes in handy. Our original plan had been to visit one on Mare Street but the torrential rain weakened our resolve and found us traipsing up and down Kingsland Road waiting for somewhere (anywhere) to open. The people inside Pho Sweet Basil saw us looking at the menu and, contrary to our usual experiences, smiled and immediately flipped the sign on the door from Closed to Open, so it would have been rude of us not to have entered.

Like many of the Vietnamese joints on this strip Pho Sweet Basil is more cafe style than restaurant and if you've visited any of its neighbours the menu will be pretty familiar as well: a mixture of Vietnamese dishes with a fair smattering of Chinese thrown into the mix. We stuck to the Vietnamese starters with a couple of more substantial dishes. We had fancied the Green Papaya salad a regular in many places but they were out of Green Papaya, a bit odd given that the number of ethnic greengrocers dotted around. Our second choice, Mango Salad, drew a blank as well.

What was available wasn't bad though. Summer Rolls had a slightly thick covering but were fresh tasting. Soft Shell Crab had a rather thick batter and came in a gloopy tamarind sauce but tasted good. Marinated beef came wrapped in Betel leaves for further wrapping in Lettuce with Rice Vermicelli, Mint and a nice dipping sauce and was rather nice. Another DIY roll was some decent prawns with more of that vermicelli and some basil leaves. Best of all though, were the frog's legs which came in a light crunchy batter that was well seasoned with a good chilli kick. Better, I think, than those we had at Le Bouchon Breton the other night.

Pho had a rather lightweight stock – although HS tells me this is echt - but the promised rare beef wasn't and there were only a few pieces scattered around. Disappointing. Another dish of Lamb came with even more of the Rice Vermicelli (can you see a pattern here). Like the beef in our soup the lamb wasn't very impressive and only a few overcooked slivers nestled amongst the noodles.

We'd also ordered a dish of Catfish Hotpot which was the staff had forgotten about. Luckily for us as we were stuffed. With only a couple of soft drinks and a couple of beers we somehow spent almost £50 including service which seemed a bit expensive but then we'd ordered like greedy guts (yes, really),so maybe normal people would find it more reasonable.

If you’re after the less run-of-the-mill main course specialities then one of the other nearby restaurants may be more suitable but if you’re happy to stick with the starters and a few beers then Pho Sweet Basil should do the trick. It did for us, anyway.

MIEN TAY: NEW OLD SCHOOL ON THE KINGSLAND ROAD

Supper last night with my new chum, wine guru, Ashika.

After a few too many reasonably mixed Martinis at The Hoxton Hotel, we swayed gently along Old St and up The Kingsland Road to Mien Tay a brand new Vietnamese restaurant on the site of the short lived Tang Loi

It may be only a few weeks old, but unless you knew, you would assume it was one of the old stalwarts of this street of popular cafes and on a quiet Sunday night there were already diners who, by their conversations with the owner, were repeat visitors.

The menu too is comfortable with many dishes reflecting a strong Chinese influence and all the regular favourites on offer. We began with a decent green papaya salad with shrimps which had the pre-requisite crunch and fire, followed by meaty grilled quail and a couple of soft shell crab on which the batter was a shade too thick and over powered the soft seafood inside. All fairly standard and all competently cooked.

It was good to see goat on the menu and a char grilled plateful spiked with fried garlic and chilli had us fighting over the last scraps of flesh before the best dish of the night was brought out, a whole deep fried sea bream served with lemon grass, chilli and ginger. The skin was crispy, the flesh moist and cooked to a perfect flake.

The bill for two came to £31 + tip for service which was friendly if a little eccentric. The charming waiter asking us if we wanted to taste the bottle of Alvarinho, which Ashika had bought at The Grocery next door. The owner was in full effect and very keen to know what people thought of the food.

Well, he doesn’t have too much to worry about. On this early showing, Mien Tay is a welcome if familiar addition to the Vietnamese neighbourhood.

NEW YORK: MAI HOUSE (AGAINST ALL THE ODDS)

Some places have everything stacked against them from the start and you are predisposed not to like them before you even set foot in the place.

Mai House was one of those, but, despite my preconceptions, I have to say that it offered up one of the more enjoyable meals in New York so far.

My friend, Cathy, who is “in the business” had made a reservation for me and told me that we would be well taken care of. I didn’t doubt her, she is a woman of her word.

However, I had my doubts about the place. The name for a start. Quite the most abominable name for a restaurant I can recall. Now, I love a pun as much as the next man unless the next man happens to one of the cast of “ I Am Sorry I Haven’t a Clue” but the name MAI HOUSE is just shameful.

Next was the room. When we walked in from the blustery, wet Fall evening, the welcome from the front of house may have been warm but the room left me stone cold. It is cavernous with no sense of intimacy at all looking more like a gallery space than a place where you would sit and break bread or, er crackers.

Finally, and this is more my prejudice than their fault, the chef in charge of this “Vietnamese” restaurant hails, not from Hanoi, but from Cleveland, Ohio.

Oh, this did not bode well apart from the potential of a coruscating review about “whitey not being able to sing the blues”

But, damn them, the meal turned out to be really rather good with said chef, Sean Scotese, showing a light clean touch and an understanding of flavours which, apparently came from spending six months in Vietnam prior to the opening of the restaurant.

It helped that, because of their fondness for Cathy, they sent out quite a few extra bits and pieces, but none of that would matter if the food was rubbish. It wasn’t

A complimentary starter saw a large, perfectly medium scallop on top of a layer of rice noodles in a broth made with just enough fish sauce to give it tang.

Mushroom spring rolls were crisp, dense and chewy (that’s a good thing by the way) and two salads both displayed interesting combinations of taste, texture and presentation. A raw artichoke salad was, perhaps less successful than rare beef with pineapple and pomelo and cuttlefish were cooked to an ideally tender consistency.

Given the extra courses that we were being treated too, they served the main dishes in two waves. First fish which included a large chunk of citrus infused black cod (a nod, I guess to their sister restaurant, NOBU) and, better in my opinion, lightly battered chunks of red snapper served pleasingly surrounded by the deep fried remains of the scaley creature involved.

Meat dishes, as so often is the case these days, were a weak point with a slightly overcooked duck breast sitting in a sauce of “duck hash” that showed no signs of the advertised kaffir lime leaves.

Side dishes of noodles and sticky rice, were however, both well worth the glycaemic spike their ingestion inevitably causes.

Considering that we were, by now, in full “bye bye belt’ territory, we had to engage the second stomach to cope with the array of desserts that appeared. All of which did exactly what they were supposed to. Sorbets were sharp and refreshing, a panna cotta, soft and yielding and two cakes ( one almond & banana, the other yucca) slightly too heavy to finish.

The bill, which in no way reflects the amount of food we ate, came to about $140 including tip, which was well deserved for attentive and efficient if not over effusive service.

Given the fact that my chum works for the restaurant involved and that the chef spent a good chunk of time chatting to us, I would probably have had to be nice about Mai House (did I mention what a fricking awful name that is?) anyway even if it had turned out to be execrable.

Fortunately, despite my initial reservations, I don’t have to be polite. I can genuinely say it is a good restaurant with a chef who knows what he is doing.

Who knew? Perhaps White men can play The Blues after all.