The first restaurant in America I can truly remember going to was one of those so-called Mongolian barbecue joints that I presume were something in the early-1980s. You know, perhaps, the type: you grab a plate, wander around the buffet of veggies and meats and maybe noodles, swing by the sauce bar and then hand it all over to a guy behind a flattop grill who does his thing. It was sizzley, fun, and offered just enough exoticism for my tween tastes.
I wish I could tag those trips as the beginnings of my love of food and restaurants, and good cooks, and all that followed. But no. It took still some years before I got beyond restaurants as the place to get the flavors and fats I wasn’t getting at home. There was a place in that vein—name of course long forgotten if truly ever known—in Oceanside California, that had an all you could eat surf-and-turf special on Friday nights. I was eating most of my meals at the DFAC on Marine Corps Base Camp Pendelton, and an opportunity to overdo (and perhaps even pretend to some sort of luxury) was welcome. But it wasn’t great food.
It was at university that I got serious about food, and still another three or so years after that before I got serious about cooking, and writing about, food. In the thirty-years plus since, in locales far-flung and familiar I’ve managed to eat at some truly memorable places. Not necessarily critically-acclaimed, or wildly popular, or even moderately well-known, but all stand out in a mind full of pleasure and novelty.
Herein, are the first five of a modest list of fifty, that I think are worth remembering again. Some still exist, some don’t. All made their mark. You should ascribe no value to the order in which they are presented.
Melisse (Santa Monica, CA US). Just down the street from our wonderful little condo was this perfectly executed California/French masterpiece. Founded by Josiah Citrin, it went on to become one of the area’s most storied restaurants, always to my mind well and above the hype-focused efforts that made up a lot of so-called fine dining in that part of the world. Yes, Citrin got a couple of stars, landed in the top X of a huge number of lists, and so on. But it was our neighborhood joint.
Four things still stand out for me. The first was the wine program and the sommeliers. This was where I learned about California wines (long ago, now, largely abandoned), and was the first time I had a sommelier refer to a bottle of wine as, ‘absolutely kick ass’ (as down-to-earth and straightly-shot as you can get, a characteristic that my favorite sommelier friends possess as well…well mostly you, S).
The second was the dover sole. I mean, I can still see and smell this beautiful dish. Every drop of Citrin’s French training came through on that plate. I’ve never had a better one.
The third was the caviar service. The standard against which I evaluated all subsequent efforts, and the inspiration for my own. Impeccable.
Finally, there was the cheese cart. It was Melisse that educated me on proper serving temperatures, and the creativity that goes into offering just the right combination of milks, textures, and tastes.
Xiaowang’s Home Restaurant (Chaoyang, Beijing CN). Impossible to find, but easier than the Sichuan Provincial Government Restaurant (also notable, both for the quantity of cigarette smoke therein and the utter shock in the faces, and the absolute silence that fell on the place, on seeing a couple of Americans wander in), Uncle Xiao made what is still to me the apogee of salt and pepper ribs. I remember nothing else about the meal aside from a seemingly neverending train of these things arriving at the table. And the immeasurable joy of each bite. With the local beer, natch.
Jimmy’s Café (Albuquerque NM, US). A respect for the glories of green chile sauce, the casual acknowledgement that sometimes you do need a cheese burger thereof for breakfast, outstanding pancakes, and an affection for the fire and police services made Jimmy’s a constant destination for years. More a diner than a restaurant, Jimmy’s possesses a certain legendary status amongst the breakfast congniscenti. Nothing fluffy, overdone, or overwrought. Glorious serving staff.
Market Inn (WDC, US). Now unfortunately defunct after 50 glorious years, the Market Inn in Southeast Washington DC was long an institutional lunch place of politicians and those who wanted their attention. A place of banquettes with high walls, tables tucked away, it was old DC in a way that hardly exists any more. I went with a university professor friend who was for a while chief of staff for a well-known congressman. At his recommendation I had the she-crab soup. And for years thereafter I never had another thing from the menu, except once—riven with fever and feeling like I needed something more substantial—when I supplemented the soup with a soft-shell crab sandwich—which still remains one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.
Korean House (Astana KZ). Astana—Kazakhstan’s capital—has remarkably good Asian food, which serves as a nice break from all the horse and vodka. Korean House is one of six restaurants from the same company spread between the capital and Almaty (which really—come on guys!—ought to be the capital). Specializing in Sura sun and Hansik cuisines (one royal and the other very traditional), it is over the top blingy, but with a no-nonsense menu of outrageously interesting and very good dishes. Our party of four managed four orders of dumplings, a variety of stir-fried meat and vegetable dishes, and a soup or two. Great—really great—bathrooms.
I don’t know if there is a through line here, weaving in and out of memories as much culinary and gustatory as markers of some period of my life, of this continuing adventure of mine (of us, of all of us). It’s clearly not just about the food. The experience is what really mattered, continues to matter.
If we are fortunate enough to have enough food to live, then everything after that—the flavours, the textures, the atmosphere, the fold of the napkin, the snark of the server, all of that—are nothing more and nothing less than our human ability to appreciate pleasure, novelty, and ultimately, one another.
These five restaurants, and the remaining 45 I’ll get to eventually, are signposts, ways of way finding the way back to my life—not the imagined future or the nostalgic past, but rather those places that shaped me today.
KZ made the list! That was a surprise! 🙂 Glad it stuck with you. Looking forward to more, sorry to miss Market Inn. 😕