Phở 27: Vietnamese, Milwaukee Style

I have been lied to for the majority of my life. My family, my friends, my co-workers have made jokes at the South Side's expense for longer than I can remember. UCLA: University of Cudahy by the Lake, Almost. South Milwaukee, Whitefish Bay, nothing smells like Cudahy. If your side of town has an equal number of bars and churches, you might live on the South Side. You might be on the South Side if you see people wearing camouflage at social events (including weddings and funerals). Bucyrus, Milwaukee Forge, and Ladisch are "Corporate America." Yeah, yeah. I get it.

Frankly, and I don't think I'm alone here, I believe the South Side has been getting an undue bum rap. More than half of our favorite restaurants are South of I 94, and I don't think that's an accident. After having been raised in Washington Heights, and moving to the South Side a few years back, I've grown to love and appreciate the weird, wonderful, happy and strange diversity and opportunity that the South Side hosts. No better do I see this tenet illustrated than in Phở 27. 

Located at what is quite possibly either the nexus of the South Side, or what happens when you try to divide by zero, Phở 27 lives in a smallish building which started life as an Arthur Treacher's, and was most recently a Hardee's (or Carl's, Jr., for you folks West of the Rockies), then a Super-A-Number-1-variety Chinese restaurant, right smack-dab on 27th Street, a few dozen feet from Layton Ave. The exterior of the building is homely:

Which we all found almost laughable, considering how beautiful and stylish the interior is:

Warm wood panelling, neat and simple wood-top tables, chestnut ceiling, track-halogen lighting, and a dining area awash in a calming glow from giant lotus-blossom pendants. A small bar area lets you get sauced before your friends arrive for dinner, and a comfortable, long banquette divides the formal seating from the bar. 

With all of these amenities, one thing you won't find in the entire restaurant is a CFL bulb. Glory hallelujah, praise be to the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Even the cans in the ceiling have PAR floodlights. Not a single speck of bad lighting in the entire restaurant -- very, very classy.

When we arrived, mind you late in the evening (I think our goal was about 8:30pm), the dining room was reasonably full. It was a Saturday night, but during a snow storm (which, really, doesn't keep people indoors anymore), and late... mind you, late. I get excited when I see dining rooms as busy as Phở 27's was. We sat along the banquette, and our bubbly, youthful waiter helped us get situated by moving a few tables together to better accommodate our food/cameras/drinks/everything else.

It should be mentioned that our orders were inordinately complicated, and we asked to have itemized, individual checks -- and our server didn't bat an eyelash. Not only that, but everything arrived as ordered, no mix-ups, no extra/missing charges. Kudos to Phở 27's fresh-faced wait staff for being on the ball!

Being that it was Pay Day, and I was blinded by my winter-break-no-school full check, I decided to order almost every appetizer on the menu. We started things with an order of Shrimp Spring Rolls:

Served with a creamy, sweet, and thick peanut dipping sauce:

As well as egg rolls (actually, two orders of egg rolls... we were celebrating, after all):

Served with a tangy sweet / sour sauce:

Everyone's favorite dim-sum staple, shrimp toast:

and Phở 27's own Saigon Wings, which, much to my disappointment, were not lowered onto the table via helicopter:

As well as a couple of pots of hot jasmine tea:

And, to be a little out there, a Mango Smoothie Boba Tea Mongrel Conglomeration:

I know, that's a lot to take in. I'll go slow. I promise.

Let's start at the beginning; the spring rolls. I'm sort of a fence-sitter to spring rolls, really. They can either taste fresh, crisp, and clean, reminding me of all of the great veggies of, well, Spring. Or, they can taste cold, insipid, and bland. Despite having a whole garden of veggies, as well as some nice, plump shrimp, the spring rolls fell short of any wow! quality. Combine them with the peanut sauce, and you have an entirely different story. With a little salt, a little sugar, and a little fat, the spring rolls come alive, and all of the different flavors of the vegetables start to sing and harmonize and become an actual composition. Ahh, finally: a dish where the dipping sauce is actually vital to the complete concept, instead of being an afterthought. Okay, the point shall be awarded to the spring rolls in this round.

Egg Rolls! C'mon down! You're the next contestant on In My Mouth This Instant. I'm sure all of my co-workers are going to make some great jokes about that one at the Staff Party this year....

The egg rolls were a solid departure from the usual wonton-wrapper variety we'd expect at a Chinese joint. Densely packed, with pork, bean noodles, minced shitake, and taro root, they were a big hit at the table. I liked mine with a little Sriracha more than with the sweet and sour sauce they were with. 

The Shrimp Toast was a complete and utter surprise: I was expecting a very staid version, and instead we received beautiful oily, crispy, savory, shrimp-y triangles of heaven. Strange but true, I kinda fell in love with the shrimp toast.

The Saigon Wings were a real mind-bender. Marinated, then coated in... sugar? Deep fried, so that the sugar? caramelizes and forms little crunchy sweet scales all over the surface of the wing. The photo doesn't really portray the actual texture: it's as if the wing were crackleur. Very, very odd. But tasty. Odd and tasty. I'm still a little miffed... as I was harried, taking shot after shot of our food, my fine Eating Milwaukee staff-mates ate every wing except the one I had on my plate: which was very tasty. I just wish I could have downed may another wing. If not, even just a drummy would have sufficed...

The hot tea had a very, very light floral scent which I will (probably incorrectly) assume was jasmine. Other than one pot tasting a bit stronger than the other, it was everything hot jasmine tea should be.

My beverage, which most would call Mango Bubble Tea, but is in fact a mango smoothie with boba pearls, made me bat my wide-open eyes like I was auditioning for a Nicki Minaj video...

A little bit creamy, a little bit icy, a little bit sweet, and a little fruity. The mango was probably just shy of ripe, and the drink didn't blend entirely smoothly -- I still hit my fair share of ice chunks and fibrous bits of mango. Nonetheless, it was tasty... just not a home-run. 

Just about the time I was able to really grasp the breadth of appetizers on the table, our food began to arrive. The run down is as follows:

Andy: Beef Cube Steak with Onions

 Adam: Rice Noodles with Lemongrass with Beef and Onion

 Lauren: Chicken with Lemongrass

 Joe: Special Phở 27

Would you still love me if I told you my heart was racing when our entrées arrived at the table? Each one of us had ordered slightly out of our comfort zone, and right then, on the snowy Friday night, after an exhausting week of work, the thrill of New Food was coursing through my veins. I felt alive.

Andy's cube steak was incredible. Tenderness beyond imagination, and a smoky, wok-fired sear coupled with softened onions -- the flavor was at the same time both very familiar and lusciously exotic. Andy had gone out on a limb -- asked our server what his favorite was -- and order, sight unseen. Thus started our gastronomic Vietnamese adventure.

Adam's noodles were a refreshing bright spot against the dark smoke of Andy's beef. Crisp veggies, chewy rice noodles, mild but flavorful beef, and crunchy peanuts. Despite the bowl being the size of Adam's head, he did an admirable job consuming the lot. No doggy bags for these gents! 

Lauren's chicken with lemongrass was spicy: I was actually a little worried at first, because Lauren likes the same spice level I do: mild plus. Bight the sunny notes of citrus and the complex, layered curry-like sauce won her over. I would say it won me over, too -- I had to take a second, third, fourth bite to make sure I wasn't imagining how incredibly tasty it was.

And then there was my Phở.

I've never had Phở. I've seen Andrew Zimmern, Anthony Bourdain, and Rachel Ray eat Phở. I've seen glimmering bowls of the concoction before. Noted how the floating meaty parts looked strangely like offal (I was right), and that the clear, lightly brown broth looked watery and flavorless. I imagined Phở to be like a lot of other so-called "National Dishes": a culinary eunuch, without any sort of will or might or shred of actual heritage or dignity.

Luckily, my Phở had balls. Pork meatballs, to be exact. Along with eye of round, brisket, beef tendon, and tripe. 

I broke a rule: I ran away from food I was scared of. The problem is, I hate tripe with a fiery passion. I know that gastronomes everywhere are now taking me off of their favorites bar in their browser windows, and the gathered masses yearning for my head on a stick all started lighting their torches and sharpening their stakes in unison. I'm sorry, guys, I just really can't stand tripe. So I ordered my Phở without it.

The broth was an out of body experience. With so many things going on, your mind disconnects from the idea of both flavor and such thin, simple appearance. Floating above the broth is an aroma; sort of a five-spice smell, there's cinnamon, maybe star anise, maybe clove. The perfume is so light, though, it's almost a whisper, almost a ghost: the spirit of spices hovering in the near-field, lending a little warmth, like the feeling of a loved one who just left a room.

Pull the beaded curtains of spices away, and there's beef: big, brassy, unmistakable beef. The beef is a bouncer at the Door of Club Soup: rippling muscles, piercing stare. You can't help but be taken in by the beef. On the finish of all of this umami-rich beef flavor there's just a bit of the barnyard, an earthy, real-bones-were-used-in-this-stock sort of flavor. Slurp a little broth, let it air out, and suddenly it turns a little brighter, flavors of the green onion snap into the foreground.

My Phở was served with a plate of a accoutrements:

Thai basil, bean sprouts, lime, jalapeño, and culantro. I shredded the basil by hand, tossed in a few bean sprouts, gave Andy the jalapeño to munch on, squeezed in the lime, and cautiously ripped up the culantro. 

The basil, lime, and bean sprouts bring freshness and green garden flavor to the deeply rich broth, the culantro just kinda tasted a little odd to me. Probably because I've never actually encountered culantro before, and I had to look it up at home purely by appearance: I didn't even know its name at the restaurant. Regardless, it has a flavor that I can't compare to anything I've tasted before: sort of medical, sort of phenolic, sort of astringent. 

The meatballs are not big, crumbly ground-meat style balls, but rather dense, tightly packed little wads of flavor, with the texture of a fresh, warm cheese curd.

By the time I actually finished taking pictures and began to eat, my rare eye of round had pretty much cooked through in the scalding broth. Which was really just fine, it was still fabulously tender and had taken on the salty magic of the broth. 

My biggest surprise of the evening was the beef tendon -- something I had, through much inner monologue, convinced myself to approach with an open mind. The gelatinous blob quivered in my China spoon, reminding me of all of the shoe-leather cuts of budget beef my father cremated on the grill when I was a child. I quelled the sighs of fear and disgust, raised the spoon to my lips, and...

The beef tendon was astounding. The texture wasn't frightening, it wasn't even odd. Sort of like a beef-flavored gummi bear -- which sounds a lot weirder than it actually was. Chewy, but giving, and chock-full of lip-smacking gelatin. I was hooked. 

The rice noodles themselves were plentiful, lurking at the bottom of the bowl like white slithery sea monsters. Giving nice body to the soup, they were nevertheless a pain to eat with chopsticks. Remember, I am Polish.

We finished off the evening with a serving of Coffee Flan:

Créme Caramel, oddly enough, does have some background in Vietnam, as a product of French influence. So much so, it has a half-borrow-word Vietnamese name: either bánh caramel or bánh flan. Say that one five times fast.

The custard was rich, with only the slightest hint of coffee in the caramel. A little like Jell-O towards the outer edge, becoming decadent and creamy in the center, the one smallish portion was perfect shared with the four of us: just enough desert to cap our food safari experience.

Epilogue

Andy said it best: Phở 27 is one of those rare combinations of incredible food, amazing prices, and exceptional service. Tucked away in an uncomely building, Phở 27 delivered surprise after surprise, from its delightful décor, to mile-a-minute wait staff, to food that is both art and tradition, craft and craftsmanship. We were all a little wired after the meal, probably from the sheer shock of the entire ordeal. From the moment we walked in the door, Phở 27 exceeded our expectations, met us with open arms, and gave us a delicious, challenging, exotic, and magnificent meal. We were able to speak with the owner before our visit came to a close, and he mentioned that business has been steady, which I certainly hope is the truth. Phở 27 opened late in 2010, and has since then impressed a number of food critics in the Mil', and I can certainly see why. My hope is that the rest of the city sees what a diamond in the rough Phở 27 really is, and has the courage to step out of their edible routine and try something just a little daring. The owners of Phở 27 have certainly done so, trying their hand at a restaurant that might have seemed a little out of place just ten years ago. Now, though, the dining room is full, and my prayer is that Phở 27 keeps serving up hot bowls of goodness for a lifetime -- I know they made life-long fans of the EM staff.

Report Card:

Atmosphere: A-

Beautiful conversion of a very homely building. Warm woods, welcoming lighting, and a chíc, airy feel. The classiness of the dining room melds beautifully with the well-executed grub. 

Prices: A+

Pretty amazing, considering the quality and care (not to mention portion sizes) of the dishes you receive. My gigantic (actually regular sized) bowl of special Phở was only $7.50. Choose only one meat, it goes down to $6.95. Most appetizers are in the $3.50-$5.50 range, and Andy's exceptional cube steak was a mere $8.50. 

Service: A

Fun, talkative, helpful, and enthusiastic about food... and about us. The young men working the tables the night we visited made our meal that much better. 

The Food: A

I want to go to Phở 27 once or twice more before I give it an A+, but I can honestly say our meal shone like a diamond. Complex, exotic, fun, and miles beyond ordinary. There wasn't a true misstep in a single item we ordered. 

The Details:

Phở 27

4756 S. 27th St. 

Milwaukee, WI 53221

(414) 282-9990

Excellent website (with menu) available at http://www.pho27.com

Tam's Chop Suey

If you've ever driven past Tam's (and, chances are, if you live on the South Side, you have), you probably thought it was for sale. Maybe even abandoned for at least a few years. The building's paint is faded in places, peeling in others, the neon signs hang precariously, and the lot has, in the summer months, weeds spewing forth from every imaginable crack.

No, Tam's Chop Suey doesn't look like much. But that's okay. Because if you've learned anything from Eating Milwaukee, dear reader, it's that looks can be deceiving.

First, let's get something straight: Tam's is not a gourmet Chinese restaurant. Don't expect any baroque ingredients, any preparations with XO sauce, or intricately carved radishes shaped like roses. Tam's is an old-school Chinese restaurant, the sort of place your grandparents would go to when they felt like eating something really exotic. Like shrimp egg foo young.

Tam's interior is simple. Walk in, and you're immediately at a take-out counter, complete with a large, mostly impertinent visual directory of some of the items on the menu. Behind the counter, a tiny Chinese sparkplug paces back and forth, waiting for her favorite customers to come in and pick up their take out. Open the door on any given evening, and you'll hear her distinct shout, "Helllloooooo!" with the tone and cadence of greeting a long lost friend.

Tam's does a very brisk take-out business. In fact, you'll see more folks sitting on the benches by the counter waiting for their take-out order than you'll see sitting in the dining room. I'll be the first to admit, I usually order take-out from Tam's, too. They offer a huge assortment of lunch specials, and due to their proximity to my workplace, my co-workers and I have been known to order lunch two, three, or even four times a week.

But this is about the dinners, dear readers, and I thought, for a change, we should dine in. So, on a cold and blustery December evening, we took the trip to Milwaukee's most haunted looking Chinese joint.

Inside, Tam's is a blast from the past. You can tell, in decades past, couples would pull up in monstrous Detroit Landyachts with Opera Lights lit, step out onto a weed-free parking lot, and tuck into a night on the town, starting with some of that mystical and wonderfully foreign "Oriental" food. Now, things are a little on the run-down side. I'll forgive that, providing that the kitchen stays clean and the food stays tasty.

The dining room is nothing to write home about, dimly lit and with a few typical Chinese décor touches. The bathrooms, well, er, just go before you go out to dinner. And tell Timmy to sip his soda. Slamming Pepsi after Pepsi is only going to get him a very uncomfortable ride home. And we all remember how that ended last time. 

The menu is lush, but easy to navigate. True to the old-school Chinese restaurant roots, Tam's menu is divided by meats, with sections for poultry, beef, seafood, and vegetarian choices. The owners are happy to accommodate, and will gladly cook off-menu for you, if they have the ingredients, and will add/subtract anything to suit tastes.

We started out with the usual appetizers for a traditional old-school Chinese feast.

Tam's fantastic peanut-butter and Chinese five-spice infused egg rolls:

Deep-fried (but also available as steamed and pan-fried) potstickers:

and Cantonese shrimp:

I think everyone I know adores Tam's egg rolls. Filled with a flavorful balance of cabbage and meat, with the wrappers at the perfect nexus of crispy and chewy, Tam's doesn't try anything avant-garde here. These are the egg rolls that I remember from the long-gone dining rooms of China Town and Peach Garden (okay, I know these places are still in business, but nothing like they used to be...). Egg rolls seem to be a barometer for Chinese/American restaurants these days: bite into one and find crunchy, uncooked cabbage and red-dyed "meat," your meal will probably leave you disappointed. Luckily, Tam's egg rolls are fantastic, and doused in their bizarre thin, watery hot mustard, and they're sublime.

I have strong feelings about deep-fried dumplings. It's kind of like deep-fried Oreos or deep-fried carrots... just things that have no business being crispy. But, Tam's makes it work. The dumplings are filled with a tasty meat mixture, and the size of the dumplings makes them manageable, but still in danger of becoming mouth-shrapnel. My advice: if you like dumplings the way I like dumplings, order them steamed. You'll be happier.

The Cantonese fried shrimp are HUGE. Freakin' gargantuan. Served with a nuclear-orange sweet and sour sauce, they're tasty, but a bit on the greasy side. Maybe I'd be more excited about them with a different dipping sauce. Maybe chili sauce?

Andy ordered General Tso's Chicken (which normally features baby corn as well, but since the great Mielke versus Baby Corn War of 1857, Andy has sworn off the tiny ears)

While Lauren ordered the multiple-mushroom chicken:

And I ordered the Hot Braised Chicken:

Andy, in keeping with EM tradition, ordered his General Tso's chicken a fiery hot. Despite this, the sauce was pleasantly sweet and sour, rich and flavorful, without being overly sugary or vinegar-y, which can be a downfall of most chain-like Chinese.

Lauren's Chicken with Three Mushrooms (not three physical mushrooms, but three kinds of mushrooms) was outstanding. I might go so far as to say it was the star dish of the evening. The chicken was tender but never jelly-like, the mushrooms (and I'm not entirely sure the varieties used) were fresh and flavorful, but the sauce... oh, the sauce! Deep, rich, and mushroom-y, salty, a little sweet, full of mouth-watering umami and the occasional crunch of fresh green onion. I would, despite not being the mushroom-fiend that Lauren is, order this again in a heartbeat.

My Hot Braised Chicken was a nice change of pace. Battered and fried chunks of chicken in a sweet and sour sauce which, strangely enough, tasted nothing like the General Tso's sauce. A little tangy, nice and sweet, with some red chili punch, not at all flavored like ketchup or duck sauce. Sliced water chestnuts, carrots and bamboo shoots rounded out the Necessary Veggie Quotient. A Hmong friend at work had ordered Hot Braised Pork at work in the past, and gave it a passing grade, so I figured the chicken wouldn't be far behind, and in that, I was mostly right. 

I think my biggest misgiving about my entrée was that the chicken was battered and fried. I'm not entirely sure where the whole "braised" part comes in, since it would appear that, save the garlic in the sauce, nothing in the dish endured a braise. Pair the battered chicken bits with a hot sauce, and suddenly the batter is slipping off faster than a soccer mom's blazer at a Justin Bieber concert. Just savor that image for a while. Lost your appetite yet?

Well, that's too bad, I guess I'll just have to eat your portion of Triple Lobster Sauce. Pictured here, with our old nemesis, Egg Roll, Photo Bombing the poor thing. 

I really like Tam's Triple Lobster Sauce. I actually kind of love it. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm addicted to the stuff. I'll order it weekly for dinner, to be sure, and every time I call, the owner knows it's me, and chuckles to herself as I order the exact same thing.

But this is fantastic. Better than fantastic. This is a rare breed: a cross of actually authentic Chinese cooking and saucemaking with the American need for More. Lobster Sauce has no lobster in it, but rather it was served with lobster. While there may be a lobster in every pot in China, we're not quite so fortunate here in snowy Wisconsin, so the more typical American preparation is shimp in lobster sauce. 

Lobster sauce is a harmony of strong, potent flavors: black fermented soybeans, garlic, pork, wine, egg, and green onion. Sure, it sounds like a nightmare. Actually, it sort of looks like one, too. But the flavor is immense and unmistakable. Dark, murky, rich, and chock full of funky rotten bean and garlic flavor. You have to be a fan of the ferment to get down with this one, but close your eyes and tell yourself it's just soy sauce you taste... you'll be in Lobster Sauce Oblivion and you'll never know those beans started life lily-white. 

Tam's lobster sauce is dead-on, probably one of the better ones I've tasted in the city (excepting my own, of course). The liquid has the right mouth feel, thick and unctuous with a little bit of fat supplied by the ground pork. The black beans give their all, making a flavor that is completely unique but instantly recognizable, even by someone who has never had the dish before. 

Of course, you can get just shrimp in your lobster sauce. But Triple Lobster Sauce makes things a little more interesting, adding chicken and beef to the mix. The shrimp are on the, well, shrimpy side, both in size and flavor, with a little more iodine than I'm fond of, but I gladly put up with it for the rest of the dish. Chicken and beef fall in line, with the chicken being tender and the beef being a bit more chewing, giving you all sorts of awesome textural contrast in each bite. 

Please, do me a favor, though... don't put any soy sauce on any of Tam's food. The owners season everything perfectly, and add soy (which, oddly, was Kikkoman, which is a Japanese product...) and you've got a veritable salt-lick on your plate. No, nothing we ordered really needed any seasoning at all.

Epilogue

I know there are faster, cheaper, and more authentic Chinese restaurants in Milwaukee. I know this. But Tam's is a pleasant throwback, a nostalgic gastronomic time capsule, a way to re-connect with some of the food that made me love food in the first place. I can remember the smells as the server at Peach Garden would, with a little bit of theatre, lift the cover off the stainless steel serving dish of my Hong Sue chicken, watch as platters of noodles and mu shu pancakes came out of the kitchen. On another day, my dad and I would walk to the Washington Park Lagoon, maybe fish for a while, and Asian families would gather on the shores with camp stoves and woks, cooking their catch only minutes after cleaning them, and those same luscious smells would waft over. 

At Tam's, I smell those same smells. I delight as my dinner is brought out in those same stainless steel serving dishes, now a little careworn with the years. I can see the same family passion for food as I saw at Washington Park when I was six, and I feel a little vindicated. Tam's is a little frayed, a little long in the tooth. But the food is what matters here, and it is an exercise in reminiscing. I'll keep going back, as long as the Lobster Sauce is still funky, and the owner still greets me as her favorite customer who works at a funeral home...

Report Card:

Atmosphere: C+

With so few people eating in the dining room these days, it sort of feels like a ghost town. Nothing is particularly pretty, but you're not there to eat the décor. Still, it would be nice if there were a few other diners around...

Prices: A-

Portion sizes are absolute huge. Food quality is good. And if you'd like, when you order carry out, you can get a "single" portion, which is enough for a large lunch or comfortable dinner with no leftovers. Most "single" portions are in the $6-8 range.

Service: A

The service in the dining room was fantastic, but carry-out is equally wonderful. I always tip when I do carry out, and the owner always blushes, thanks me, then scolds me for tipping. Everyone is always pleasant, smiling, and ready to talk your ear off. I don't think I've ever seen her frown.

The Food: B

Tam's doesn't break any new Chinese/American food ground. But it is damn tasty, and brings back a lot of memories for me. For a step above the New Super A-Number-1 China Wall restaurants that are popping up faster than Walgreens', this is a nice option.

The Details:

Tams Chop Suey

6725 W. Layton Ave. 

Greenfield, WI 53220

(414) 281-8877

Hellaciously laid out but nevertheless informative website available here

Bangkok House; or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love the Spice

I had to drive around a little while after tonight's dinner: there was a lot to process through. This has been the hottest day in Milwaukee so far, with temps maxing out at 85°, and that always brings out the crazy in all of us. Look no further than the antics down on Lincoln Memorial Drive today. We're cooped up all winter, survive spring in spurts of warmth and cold, and all of a sudden, the heat hits, and we're all exploding like Jiffy-Pop.

It is in these odd, immediate moments of change that I kind of find myself a little lost, and one of my favorite past times is to look at my beloved city as if I were a visitor... what would Milwaukee look like if I weren't a native?

So, tonight, I drove. With my delicious Thai dinner settling, I went down Howard to the Lake, meandering under big old Maples and Oaks, through Milwaukee, through Bay View, through St. Francis. I looked out over the lake and watched the planes lined up like a short string of Christmas lights, smelled woodsmoke from backyard fires, and as I headed South on S. Lake Drive, I smelled coal from factories, bacon from Cudahy, laundry soap, wet grass, and lake water. I was a foreigner. It was beautiful.

I have an obsession with feeling all at sea, it takes me out of my routine, things are exciting, different, so distant from the grind that we all face every day. In my work, I've become almost burnt out with tragedy, and when tragedy becomes routine, you need to find an escape.

I think that's why we started Eating Milwaukee; it's a way to be that famed "Tourist in Your Own Town." We can go to a restaurant we've never been to, or maybe one we've been to over and over again  (ahem, Tandoor), and live outside of our lives for a little while. It's like taking a vacation for a few hours.  Food is such a glorious reminder of culture, such an intimate way of sharing, that you can't help but love the effect a good meal can have on a bad day. Or, for that matter, how an amazing meal can elevate an already great day.

So, tonight, we went to Bangkok House.

Located in a strip mall (Hmm... Asian cuisine, strip mall, awesomeness... anyone see a trend?) at the corner of E. Layton Ave. and So. Whitnall, Bangkok House is, to say the least, unassuming. In fact, if you didn't see the very plain channel lettering above the front entrance, you would probably never even know it's there. Which of course would make you very, very foolish indeed. Because you would be missing out on a certain gem of a meal.

One thing you'll notice right away about Bangkok House is the décor. It is lush, clean, and elegant. Chandeliers hang from the drop ceiling, and busy floral drapes adorn the windows. This is NOT your average Thai joint. Even the bathrooms are well appointed and immaculate.

During the week, there is a wonderful lunch buffet:

which I highly recommend, and what's even more is that everything on the buffet, as far as I can tell, is offered on the regular dinner menu. This way, you have the opportunity to try a vast number of dishes, and be armed with your favorites and impress the hell out of your friends when you go for dinner next.

Our bubbly, talkative waitress seated us, and immediately took our cloth napkins out of our water glasses and filled 'em up. This, of course, was foreshadowing of the heat to come.

The menu at Bangkok House is extensive, and perhaps the most exciting part of it is that there are NO repeats. No cop outs, no "Chicken" section with the same dishes as the "Beef" and "Seafood" sections. Every page is filled with unique, individual selections, and most are available with your choice of chicken, beef, or pork.

Having already established the supremacy of Chicken Satay, we ordered some for an appetizer, as well as an order of Thai Beef Jerky, which we had become familiar with on our outing to the delightful Mekong Café.

The Thai Beef Jerk came with a nice garnish of carrot strings, and a sweet and sour chili dipping sauce:

The Chicken Satay, oh glory of glories, was served with two different dipping sauces: one a light, sweet cucumber-perfumed sauce, and the other, a thick, robust peanut sauce:

You may notice something here: as often as we've ordered Chicken Satay, we've never had one with the grill included! Part dinner theatre, part do-it-yourself-cooking, the point is that the chicken is fully cooked and ready to eat, but you get to put the finishing touches on it at your table, letting it char, sizzle, and smoke while all the tables around you get insanely jealous. Does it make the chicken taste any better? Sure, it adds some flavor. But it is fantastic drama, making the food interactive. It's like flambé, except far less lame. 

The beef jerky was sublime. Crispy on the outside, amazingly tender on the inside, perfectly marinated and spiced. And the sauce! Lots of Sriracha mixed in made it hot, but never overwhelming. I could have made a meal of it. 

After grilling our chicken for a while,

I was finally able to dig in. The chicken was so, so tender. You'd think being essentially twice-cooked would make it tough, but it was divine. The marinade, consisting of curry spices and coconut milk, was strong and to the core of the meat. The flavor was truly new to me, and I loved every tender, chickeny moment of it.

The sauces were equally wonderful, with the lighter, sweeter one being a nice harmony, while the thick, rich peanut sauce elbowing its way through to the top of the flavor profile. It was actually a lot of fun to switch off between the two, from soothing, easy-listening to raging death metal and back again. 

Which is one reason why I love Thai food so much: it's all about the contrast. So much is delicate coconut versus strong basil, or lilting lime butting heads with brassy curry. Soft, comforting noodles and crunchy peanuts and fish sauce. In one dish, there can be all of these flavors, all bouncing around like the balls in a lotto machine, and still, it all just works beautifully. 

We also ordered soup... which actually came out before the appetizers. Andy had Tom Yum Goong, which is a spicy, clear hot and sour soup with shrimp:

While Lauren, Sonja, and I had Tom Kha Gai, a creamy, luscious soup with coconut milk, straw mushrooms and chicken (or veggies, in Sonja's case):

Andy's soup was a scorcher. But big, bright citrus flavors of lime juice and lemongrass, and a nice, initial flame-out in the back of your throat. 

Our soup was peerless. Creamy, but not at all viscous, with big chunks of straw mushrooms and chicken:

It was the general consensus that, when we came back for the lunch buffet, we would eat nothing but the soup (since, luckily for us, it's featured daily!). Creamy coconut, fresh, herby cilantro, scallion, lime... soothing and still slightly spiced. Do not... and I repeat... DO NOT MISS THIS SOUP. 


Time for our entrées!

Andy ordered Pud Prig Khing (chicken with stringbeans with lime leaves in a chili ginger sauce):

 Lauren ordered the unfortunately named Pud Baby Corn (beef with baby corn and mixed veggies in a brown, oyster sauce):

Sonja ordered the tradition Pud Thai:

And I ordered Massaman Curry (chicken with potatoes and carrots in a thick, coconut-based curry gravy):

All of our dinners, except for Sonja's (which already had noodles), were served with Thai Jasmine rice.

Andy's chicken with lime leaves and string beans was hot at spice level three, but not unbearable. Crazy flavors, salty, sweet, and hot, with each hunk of chicken coated in a sort of sauce-paste, and the whole conglomeration bathed in chili oil. Amazing.

Lauren's beef with baby corn was equally delightful. The sauce spicing was more staid at one-and-a-half (or, One Plus, or Two Minus, on Andy's spicing scale), but had that rich dark oyster flavor.

Sonja's Pud Thai was a perfect execution, with the noodles taking all of the saltiness of the fish sauce, combined with the acidity of lime, and softness of egg, and the crunch of peanuts and dried shrimp.

My curry was delightful. Spiced perfectly and one-and-a-half, with tender chunks of chicken and potato, slices of onion and carrot, and a thick, creamy coconut gravy. The flavor profile wasn't new to me (similar to Macanese Portuguese Sauce, which I don't have a good link for, or even Japanese Golden Curry), but I do love the coconut milk, and the potatoes and carrots make it hearty and homey.

Easily one of the best Thai food experiences I've had, I can't say enough about the quality of our meal. Everything had a sense of care and craft to it, and I have absolutely no qualms about talking Bangkok House up to both Thai food fanatics and newbies alike. Our server was helpful and fast, funny and accommodating, and our food was spot on. It was the perfect Out-Of-Milwaukee experience: we could have easily been in Los Angeles, or Seattle, or New York, or D.C., and nothing would have been amiss. This is why I love dining out. And this is why we keep eating, and keep writing... finding retreats from reality like Bangkok House makes Mondays (and Tuesdays, and Wednesdays, and Thursdays, and Fridays, and every other weekend) just that much more bearable.

Report Card:

Atmosphere: B+

Sometimes, I almost wonder how the country-club interior and fabulous authentic food came together to form this one restaurant, but I certainly can't argue with success. Clean, well lit, and just a little odd, but a refreshing change of pace from some other Disneyland Asian restaurants we've been to.

Prices: B

Entrées will run you between $9 and $19, depending on your tastes. This alone is reasonable. Our soups were about $2.50, but our appetizers were a little on the pricey side, about $8 each. But, you get to grill at your table, so I guess it all evens out in the end. Can you put a price on pyromania?

Service: A

Fast, helpful, friendly. What else can you ask for? Besides a floor show?

The Food: A/A+

We all agreed: spectacular. Each and every dish is unique and interesting, you'll be looking forward to coming back long before your food even arrives, because there were ten different items on the menu you want to try. Absolutely delicious. 

The Details:

Bangkok House Restaurant

4896 S. Whitnall Ave.

Milwaukee, WI 53235

(414) 482-9838

Awesome website with full menu (with up-to-date prices!) available here.

Conejito's Place: Come for the food, stay for the hospitality

Imagine coming to the end of Sixth Street, just before the graceful, shining white spires of the 6th street viaduct. Imagine a bar/restaurant/banquet hall, bedecked with shimmering vegas-style signs, compete with a sombrero-wearing, mustachioed rabbit who, in some depictions, is sipping a margarita. This is the point at which you probably say to me, "Uh, Joe, maybe Qdoba is still open..." And this is the point at which I say, "I'm never going to Qdoba again, as long as Conejito's Place is open..."

The restaurant is hard to miss, what with easily a few hundred blinking lights and miles of neon surrounding the façade. Virginia St. offers plenty of angle parking, and the area is well lit at night. Inside, you'll find two large bar areas, a small dining area adjacent to one, a larger with the other, and if you're really lucky, José "Conejito" Garza might just be sitting at the bar, smiling and greeting guests as they're seated.


Right away, Andy says to me with all the enthusiasm you can muster for such things, "You're not going to believe the prices." Now, I had heard that Conejito's was inexpensive, but I guess I never realized just how inexpensive it really was. Glancing over the menu, I found prices ranging from $0.75, all the way up to (gasp!) $5. Right away, we ordered chips and guac, and chips and salsa. The chips and guac hit us for $3.95, and the chips and salsa a paltry $1.50.


When our chips and dips arrived, we were all a little surprised to see them on paper plates. Yes, Conejitos actually does have China. No, you probably won't have your food served to you on any. The paper plates are part of the charm, and if that sort of thing scares you, well, you've been reading the wrong blog.

The chips were outstanding: well seasoned, crunchy, but not brittle, and not overly oily. The guac was certainly different from what I was expecting: smooth and creamy, it was less of fatty mash of avocado, and more of a cool, refreshing dip. I know I tasted dairy in there... maybe sour cream? A little cool, a little tangy, a lot lighter than your average guac... it wasn't a strictly traditional recipe, but I like that. A nice, surprising twist to something that is so, so easy to screw up.

The salsa was marvelous. Bright and flavorful, well balanced between tomato, onion, and supporting players... and with more than a little heat. The counterpoint of the hot salsa to the cooling guac was not lost on us: I highly recommend ordering them together. You won't be disappointed!


Next up on the paper plate extravaganza was our entrées:

Lauren: Chicken Enchiladas (3, with beans or rice for a staggering $3.80)


Andy: Beef Steak and Bean Tacos (4, for $4.30)


Myself: White Meat Chicken Molé (a large portion of white meat chicken, beans, and rice for $5)


I also decided, just because it was $1.25, to try a pork burrito:


Andy's tacos were gone before I had a chance to sample them, so all I know is that Andy told us they were fantastic. I did, however, get to try Lauren's enchiladas, which were stuffed with chicken, cheese, and onions -- with more cheese melted over the top. The flavor was dead-on. Pungent onions, tangy cheese, perfectly seasoned chicken, all in a corn tortilla. They were absolutely delicious. And an absolute steal.

My chicken molé was sublime. The molé was dark and rich, bursting with a host of what I can only assume were freshly toasted and ground spices, with that hint of sweetness of cocoa, and the smack of toasted bread crumbs. Mixing the rice, beans, chicken, molé on a warm flour tortilla was heaven, but the chicken by itself shown even brighter. The breast itself was tender and not even close to tough or overcooked, and the amount of sauce on the plate (which was china, by the way!) was just enough for the meal -- not so much you're swimming in it, looking for the meat.

Molé, it seems to me, is like sausage is to my Pomeranian ancestors: we might call it one name, but everyone has their own recipe. Conejito's recipe is a keeper: rich and bright, with all of the cooked all day depth you'd expect, but none of the flatness that comes with slow, long cooking methods.

I was certainly glad I ordered the pork burrito. It was small, nothing particularly pretty to look at, but the pulled pork inside was incredibly flavorful, fatty, and absolutely tender. As a pre-cursor to my molé, it was a an excellent surprise. Just don't expect to make a meal of one!

As we were getting ready to leave (after paying our $26 tab -- mind you, for three people, sodas included!), I asked our waiter for a menu to take with me, and explained to him why I was taking pictures. He immediately introduced me to the owner, José, who was sitting at the bar essentially the whole time we were there, talking with diners, shaking hands, bragging about his "world famous" eggs. I immediately understood what makes Conejito's so special: it was the man behind the name.


Mr. Garza was welcoming with a passion: telling us again and again how much it meant to him to have us in his restaurant that night, insisting that we take some calendars with us, inviting us to try his Huevos Rancheros on a Sunday: his hospitality overfloweth. It became readily apparent that above the stellar food, above the unbelievable prices, that the heart and love that went into the business is what makes it thrive (and thrive it does!). The few minutes spent talking with Mr. Garza were thoroughly enjoyable, made me appreciate my delicious meal all the more. This wasn't just Mexican food: this was a man's life's work.

Conejito's Place has a guaranteed place in our top ten, and I have no doubt it will in yours, as well. We all highly recommend you find some time soon to discover "Milwaukee's Finest Mexican Food."

Report Card:
Atmosphere: B+
Some kitschy art, some random stuffed rabbits, a smattering of framed reviews, articles and pictures, and some very light background music. Paper plates for most of the food, and bare tabletops. No dancing waiters, no flaming drinks. Just my kind of place.

Prices: A+
Uh, the most expensive food item on the menu is $5. Even I could afford to eat here weekly!

Service: A
Our waiter was prompt and friendly. We had a fantastic time chatting it up with José and his staff... exactly the kind of evening out I could stand more often.

The Food: A
I think that what makes the food most delicious is the fact it's insanely cheap. Everything easily stands on its own, but food is tastier when it's not making you broke. Simple law of physics.

The Details:

Conejito's Place
(414) 278-9106
539 West Virginia Street
Milwaukee, WI 53204