Sportsman’s

Back in college, I watched Grey’s Anatomy and was all into it like nobody’s bisnazz. Then there was the episode where the code black was called and the bomb exploded in the hospital but no one left the hospital because only the SWAT team guy died, and no Meredith. Suspension of disbelief: SHATTERED. Nevertheless, I was still a naive teenager when I watched the show, and romanticized the life of the surgeon: performing surgery, saving lives, and then going to the local bar where all the other doctors gathered after work to down a couple beers with all my MD buddies after a hard day’s work. I believed that was the surgeon’s life. It was awesome.

Now that I’m a few weeks into my third year of medical school, living a similar life style to real doctors, I now know that my romanticized, school-boyish dream is not how real life is. Life is tough. Not just omgIhavetowork9to5MondaytoFriday tough, but OMFGWTFIhavetowork6AMto7PMsixdaysaweek tough. Plus call schedules. And I’m not even on my surgery rotation. Just how am I supposed to have the energy and money (I am paying $40k this year to work in the hospital) to knock back a couple brewskies with my residents and attendings? Not to mention time?

Revelation: real life is not like TV. Nobody finishes work at the hospital before 5pm, unless you’re post-call, in which case you will be going home to recoup your 30+hour sleep debt. Everyone else finishes after 5pm, and from what I’ve observed, goes home to their families. They don’t go to the bar after work. Scrubs and white coats don’t flood the bar for happy hour. And maybe that’s a good thing. Patients would probably shit bricks seeing their doctors chugging beers at the bar. Probably. At least that’s what all my hours in patient-centered classes in my first two year of medical school would lead me to believe.

So there is no “hospital bar” where all the doctors hang out after work. That kind of blows. But Sportsman’s is the closest thing there is to my romanticized fantasies of youth. At least that’s how my friends and I treat it. Not that we go there everyday and drink, but it’s a suitable option whenever we want to gather for an impromptu dinner with a beer or two. Since the only other patrons are…actually, I have no idea what the other patrons do–but they’re not doctors, and they’re not students. Anyway, I don’t feel like a tool when I’m there with a white coat or scrubs.

The menu itself is unapologetically mainstream: burgers, salads, chicken. They somehow have the same fried catfish dish at two different prices, too. I’ve even heard stories of failed health inspection tests. But I don’t go there for the food. You may want to decide for yourself if you want to go there food, too. However, I will still go, just because they have 2-for-1 beer specials and it’s an ideal hangout spot during 3rd year. Also, it’s the closest bar to the hospital–I’m not counting Vanderbilt’s undergrad pub because I would definitely feel like a tool going there in scrubs and all. So…yeah…Sportsman’s is “aight.”

Sportsman’s

Nashville

Montana Ted’s Wild Awesome Adventure

Comfort food is awesome. Screw fine dining. I hate hoity toity stuff. I could eat burgers for days and days in all shapes and combinations. Ted’s burgers are one of the tastier burgers I’ve stumbled upon in Nashville. I don’t know what it is. Maybe the patty, which could be more tightly packed and held together, but only because there’s so much meat juice flowing that it runs down the side of my arm and I have to suppress urges to lick the grease. George Foreman and his grill can eat it. The grease and juice make the burger tastier. In fact, it wouldn’t be comfort food if it wasn’t unhealthy. Add a slice of cheese, some mushrooms, maybe onions–even a FRIED EGG!–and look what you have: breakfast, lunch, and dinner combined into one sandwich, ideally eaten in one sitting. I didn’t order the “kitchen sink” burger, but I do give the place thumbs up for offering the fried egg topping. The fried egg needs to be accepted and embraced as a burger topping. In fact, I believe the addition of an egg to any item should automatically qualify it as a comfort food. Omelets.  Ramen. Oyakodon. All of the previously mentioned are my comfort foods, and all have eggs. But you know, I understand people have differences of opinion. Comfort foods as a concept is like philosophy: it should be up for interpretation by anybody; there shouldn’t be comfort food tyrants who dictate what is and isn’t a food of significant comfort. Or maybe I’m just thinking too much, and my ill resentment towards my college philosophy class is resurfacing. Whatever. Burgers are great!

This tomato salad wasn’t worth $4. I should’ve bought a bag of prunes instead. Or Metamucil.

I also forgot to mention that the “wild awesome adventure” part is due to the fact that they serve bison meat here–more adventurous than beef, less delicious than veal.

Ted’s Montana Grill

West End

Nashville, TN

In-N-Out Battles Five Guys

This is as epic as it gets. The topic starts so much fire under so many people’s asses I can smell the barbecue through my compooter. In-N-Out? Five Guys? West Coast? East Coast? Which is better?

(And no, I will not be mentioning the phrase “I’m dreaming of California” anytime soon, though my obvious choice for burger champion screams “California rocks!” Maybe I’ll twitter about California in the future. You know, when I get popular and people start paying attention to what I say.)

I don’t know how much I really need to add to the topic. Each aspect, from burgers to fries, all the way down to the crunch of peanut shells on the ground and the red-and-white outdoor umbrellas, have been analyzed into minisculfinity (miniscule + infinity = confabulation or confabulous?). To be honest, I don’t care for fries from either establishment. Checkers has the best fries in all of fastfoodland. Until one of the chains decides to have sweet potato fries or duck-fat-fried fries, Checkers will remain indominatable amongst nutritionally-devoid fried sticks of  starches.

I can comment, however, on their burgers, the other main point of contention. To compare the baseline characteristics, I’ll make it easy by comparing some basic categories.

Five Guys

1. Size: excessive is the word I’m thinking of; while I try to not get food over my face when eating (not that I care), it inevitably happens. The burger to mouth ratio doesn’t match
2. Meat: it tastes tough and dry, kinda reminds me of fancy microwave burgers without that microwave taste
3. Toppings: again, excessive; I’ll inevitably get something on my pants (and again, not that I care, but people don’t like to be seen with me afterwards)
4. Cost: $6 for a double cheeseburger is out of my league, even if it does come with free peanuts

In-N-Out

1. Size: the double double just barely makes the clearance height of my mouth after a bit of smushing together
2. Meat: it really does taste different, dare I say fresh? To describe it in at least some sort of helpful way, I’ll say that there’s the dash of umami that all meat lovers are craving, which complements and even enhances the toppings, which brings me to…
3. Toppings: ANIMAL STYLE – lettuce, tomato, grilled onions, cheese, and special sauce. Simple. Euphoric. Like cocaine or heroin. Mmmm…
4. Cost: $3 for a double double. I can use the leftover cash and buy another burger and bask in some gluttony

So that’s my comparison. Simple, if not crude. It gets the job done though. Are you dreaming of California yet? They even have Neopolitan milk shakes too!

Tucker Max Is A God

I haven’t really been eating out a lot lately, since I probably blew a couple Benjamins while eating out in Los Angeles. However, I have been reading Tucker Max’s I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell, and, quite frankly, it has made me re-evaluate 90% of my life and has inspired me to become a better man. Those of us who have read it can understand after finishing the book. My definition of “better” is probably different than yours (and some may hope different than Tucker’s), but I don’t think any man can finish reading the book without becoming a better man for it. But to make this post food, related, here is just one reason why I think Tucker is awesome:

Halfway there, in some shit0bag cow town called Barswtow, Junior tells me to exit the highway and pull into a place called “In-N-Out.” I was not impressed:

“Dude, where are we going? This place looks like shit.”

Junior glared at me like I had turned down sex with Penelope Cruz and said nothing. He insisted that we go inside, as he said that one couldn’t properly drive and give these burgers the attention necessary at the same time. He ordered me the Double-Double, and looking at it, I was still unimpressed. It’s just a fucking hamburger.

I have only fallen in love three times in my life, and the first bite of that Double-Double was one of those times. The crispy bun complimenting the cool lettuce, the special sauce accentuating the fresh tomato, the sweet meat mixing with the salty cheese, all of it coming together in a harmonious medley of flavor thus far unseen on the American fast food landscape–I was smitten. It was the single greatest fast food meal in the history of civilization. Even though I was full, I immediately ate another Double-Double. I was nearly in tears at this meal, it was so transcendently excellent.

So I guess I really wanted to say that In-N-Out is the best fast food restaurant ever, and I would go here over hundreds of real restaurants. And Tucker Max is indeed great.

P.S. I have an exam soon so I’ll probably be eating out every day for two weeks. Hopefully I’ll go to a variety of places so I won’t have to post about Panera 10 times.

Los Angeles Day 4: LA Mill Coffee and Chano’s

I’m running out of witty or creative titles, although the title does explain what the post is about, at least. What I do have in plenty of supply, though, are pictures of food! Oh, glorious sustainer of life!

LA Mill Coffee wasn’t really on the top of my list, or the middle of my list, either. It was kind of a snap decision that I decided to see if the coffeehouse/cafe/restaurant really did live up to all the hype. Even on a Monday morning at 10:30, the place was pretty packed. I figured that people worked odd hours that allowed them the luxury of free mornings, or they were just jobless. But the menu is quite expensive, as I will explain, so unemployment really isn’t conducive to eating here. Another possibility is that people were spending money that was earned by more important people.

Enough with the digressions; there’s plenty to discuss about LA Mill. As anyone can see from pictures on the interwebs, this place is pretty chic with its bold color combination and un-indie furniture. What you won’t see, though, is that they serve water in glasses that look like they were washed with sand and dried by sand. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but since the place obviously caters to a poshier clientele (with its faux(?)-alligator skin seats and GIANT chandelier), I figured they would pay more attention to the nitty gritty. Or maybe that’s the way I was raised and edumacated while working at my parent’s restaurant; it’s all in the details. Also, I figured that I would get nicer water glasses for a lunch that cost almost $60 for two.

Anyway, let’s move past the speckled glasses. We drink coffee, afterall. Not water.

I ordered a Blanco y Negro, which contained coffee granita, madagascar vanilla bean ice cream, vanilla scented, and chilled. By chilled, they meant shards of ice in your coffee. I like the presentation of it, fitting of a $6.50 drink, but the drink never hit the spot. I’ve been drinking black coffee for the past 2.5 years, only making a few exceptions for cappucinos–why did I order this all of a sudden? It was the atmosphere. I was caught up in the hype. The specialty drinks were calling my name. Damn you fancy menu! It doesn’t lie: the drink was coffee and ice cream. But that was the problem. I like coffee. I really like coffee. I like ice cream. Just not together. I should’ve ordered a black coffee.

My partner in crime had a Pink Lady, which had sweetened berry hibiscus tea topped with soda. Actually, I’m not sure she had this, but the description matches the picture. And now that I know the red stuff is hibiscus, I think the drink did have some hibiscus flavor in it, though it wasn’t the disgusting flavor of jamaica, but rather real hibiscus–sour and medicine-like. I didn’t have much, but it looked nice!

We started out with a butternut squash soup (I couldn’t find it on the online menu) with sourdough croutons. A server came out and poured the soup in front of us, mixing soup from a pitcher and some sort of cream in the bowl. It also came with ground pepper on the serving plate. Huh. Interesting. The soup was delicious, though, and the croutons were tart and squishy, soaked with buttery goodness. This was a winner.

I ordered the much-talked-about ABLT, or Asian BLT, with pork belly, arugula, tomato, and preserved black bean. The meat was fatty and flavorful, but I just couldn’t take the taste of black bean and pork in a panini. I needed rice. Call me Asian what have you, but black bean sauce only goes with rice, and maybe noodles, not bread. I would also like to note that I did not get the preserved cippolinis and assorments of olives that were supposed to come with plate. Again, we paid almost $60 for lunch. I have some expectations when my meals exceed $25. Not trying to be whiney, but…strike two.

Gina had an order of vegetarian hen eggs with mushroom. It was an average breakfast, only it wasn’t served in a gargantuan portion that breakfast houses are notorious for using–the dish wasn’t coma-inducing. The bread did have the texture of something stale. It didn’t sit quite right with us. Maybe it was the way it was toasted/baked (no sign of toastage), or maybe I’m not into bread that much. I still finished off the dish for her when she didn’t want anymore because that’s what fatties do: they try everything, and then they finish everything because they don’t want starving kids in Africa to eat their food (I’m greedy).

Overall, I would say, “Color me not impressed.” “Not impressed” would probably be an ugly color, like olive or puce. A lot of people probably LOVE the place. Frankly, I wouldn’t pay that much for the food or coffee. I can find better quality everything, sans turquoise aligator seats, in a lot of places in Los Angeles. Hell, we even have a $10,000 espresso machine at EMW Tea Co! We could make stuff like that and charge exorbitant amounts of money. But maybe that’s why I don’t like LA Mill: they do something different and get praised, hyped, and actually get customers. I’m jealous. We try to do something like that in Fresno, and the tea shop gets the stink eye from most people who pass by the window. Yes, it’s true that I’m envious of LA Mill’s ability to attract many customers who pay $10 for a pot of tea while EMW Tea Co has trouble selling pots of tea at $6. But(!), I still think $60 for lunch is way too much for the quality of meal/service/amenities we received.

At dinner, we had Chano’s and Cup of Joy, two staples of my undergraduate dining. It’s food that’s cheap and tasty, and even more delicious when drunk. I won’t say much, except for that each item was meaty and savory, the way all food (with or without MSG) should taste.

Popcorn chicken from Cup of Joy. Nothing compared to the tobasco rim jobs one will receive after eating at Prince’s, but maybe that’s a good thing.

Minced mushroom and meat on rice combo. The English translation of this Taiwanese dish is offensive to both cooks and customers. I with Taiwan would come up with an official translation for my favorite dish from childhood.

Carnitas tacos. My first exposure to real Mexican food in over a year. I’m speechless. My stomach cries acidic tears of joy when eating this, though.

Mix-up burger. It’s a cheeseburger with pastrami. Not really Mexican, but I had an urge to get something really unhealthy, but not deadly like their nacho plates.

I also got a large cup of horchata. I thoroughly enjoyed each sip of rice, cinammon, and sugar, and then passed out from food coma. It was what I could consider a good dinner.

Los Angeles Day 2: One Ramen To Rule Them All

I woke up Saturday with a glimmer in my eye. I knew it was going to be a great day because lunch was going to be at Santouka, which is widely known as one of the best places–if not THE BEST place–for ramen on this side of the globe. Santouka isn’t really a restaurant per se; it’s more of a stall tucked away in the corner of a food court inside of Mitsuwa, a Japanese supermarket. My fall break’s success relied largely in part on slurping ramen from Santouka; it was a ramen pilgrimage–after flying from Nashville, driving across town to West LA, navigating the supermarket’s overcrowded parking lot, and creeping for an empty seat in the food court, I was finally able to sit down and drink from a broth that was nothing short of incredible. In fact, I ordered two bowls of ramen. Who knows when I’ll visit next?

My first bowl was a large order of shio ramen. While shio means salt in Japanese, to call this soup a salt broth is a gross injustice; the flavor of the soup is an intermingling of salt, meat, and seafood, which creates one of the most complex assortment of molecules to ever elicit tastes on my tongue. I had to let the soup sit in my mouth for a moment to determine everything I was tasting. Salty, meaty, seafoody, umami, and even sweet. This is a bowl of noodles that needs no accessories. The pieces of fatty pork, fishcake, seaweed, and scallions were all an afterthought. As for the noodles: some would describe them as al dente, others would say they were Q (or QQ). As long as they weren’t soggy, it was fine for me.

Even though my stomach was bursting to me, I decided to ignore my body and order another bowl of ramen. My next visit might not be for another couple of years. So I ordered a bowl of shoyu ramen, which had a soy sauce base. The soup was also delicious, just not delicious to the max like the shio ramen. After eating, I only had two options for afternoon activities: have my stomach pumped so I wouldn’t throw up, or go take a nap. So we went to the beach and took a nap.

Traffic was at a standstill because of a large hillside brushfire. It sucked because we were stuck for a good 30 minutes, but we at least able to see helicopters dump water on the fire. Seeing it in person is way more exciting than watching on TV.

For dinner, we went to Father’s Office 2.0 in Culver City. The space accommodates a lot more than the first Father’s Office, but there are still a bunch of people there, so it’s still difficult to find a place to sit. Like at the Mitsuwa food court, we had to creep around a bit before finding a table.

Father’s Office is known for having one of the nation’s best burgers. There aren’t any gimmicks like wagyu or kobe beef, or truffles, or foie gras, or gold flakes; it’s aged beef, caramelized onions, arugula, and bleu cheese. Each ingredient added a different dimension of taste to the palate. In short: get in my belly.

The sweet potato fries, like all sweet potato fries, were crunchy morsels of sweet, starchy goodness. You can never go wrong ordering sweet potato fries. The beer was also good. I’m not a beer connesseur–I don’t know how to order anything other than a Blue Moon–so seeing the selection of over 100 beers was a quite intimidating. My friends ordered the beers, and I drank them. That’s how I usually order alcohol. How have I made it this far without getting roofied? It’s probably because I’m not a very noteworthy conquest.