* This is not a theatre review, though it could be.
For professional reasons I have found myself in the neighborhood of Broadway and Wellington virtually every night for the last several weeks. (
Insert the double-entendre of your choice here.) Normally I pack a snack or sandwich, but looking about me I thought I ought to do some exploring. Here, after all, appeared to be dozens of small storefront eateries of varying geographic and ethnic origins (perhaps "pretensions" would be more accurate) cheek by jowl, just waiting to be sampled.
Perhaps a li'l Lincoln Sq., a mini-Milwaukee Ave., or a diminutive Devon, just waiting to be noticed.
Certainly it's a hip, young, busy neighborhood - just south of Belmont, just north of Diversey and just between cross streets with a nice mix of rentals and expensive condos. Just the demographic mix to support exotic, bold flavors from around the world.
Not so much.
This is anything but a comprehensive survey. Even as a sample it lacks any statistical validity or integrity. It is simply the brief account of one man's failed hunt for a tasty spoonful of...anything.
The territory in question is small, but densely populated; bounded on the north by Belmont, and on the south by, whatever is 2 blocks south of Wellington. Oakley. Let's call it so and move on.
With only 30 minutes to choose, order, eat and return to work, I strode out purposefully onto the narrow, teeming, twisting thoroughfare.
I was not in the mood for the acceptable but overpriced known quantities obtainable at Stella's or The Bagel. I wanted something new, at least new to me.
New Tokyo? No way. Had a thoroughly unrewarding meal there once a while back. Random, unfamiliar, storefront sushi places decorated in faux black lacquer like 70s hair salons? Pass.
Not aiming too high. Not seeking the holy grail. Just a decent plate of something. Say, stir fried noodles. OK, there's Bamee Noodle. This had the additional attraction of my recollecting (wrongly, as it turned out) that it was part of the Program-Formerly-Known-as-I-Dine - so that I could hedge my bet with a rebate.
Clean, spacious and doing a decent business, the initial signs were neutral at worst. This could be decent, workaday Ameri-Thai. Not looking for pork neck, fish maw or Issan sausage. Just freshness and a bit of flavor.
Seated quickly. Order taken pleasantly. Ordered egg roll (because I have a weakness for anyone's eggroll, anywhere any time. I just like eggroll). And, something with a name implying that it's a signature item: Bamee Deluxe, or Bamee Special Noodle or something.
The eggroll arrive and appear to be freshly fried. Not held and warmed over. A bit greasier than ideal, but not bad. Nicely stuffed with glass noodles and bits of this and that. Nice crunch from the wrapper, nice texture from the noodles. Only one problem: no flavor. At all. None. Not just no seasoning, but no flavor of any kind. As if the flavor had been removed by some dastardly scientific process. It was like eating with your tongue still numb from the dentist. You're aware of weight and pressure; something is in your mouth. But taste nothing.
Then the noodles arrive and it goes downhill.
A generous portion of noodles with a nice quantity of medium sized "marinated" shrimp, carrots, scallion, etc. Served on a sizzling metal plate. The hot metal reduced the special sauce to a sweetish brown gum. The egg noodles are limp and slightly grainy like overdone whole wheat pasta in healthfood restaurants. Again, with the exception of the cloyng sauce, no flavor is emitted by any individual ingredient.
As I sit despondently chewing, a steady stream of people come and go, picking up carry-out. They appear to be regulars.
Who, in a city and neighborhood offering such a profusion of possibilities would do this twice, let alone regularly?
The next night, undaunted (well, maybe a little), I set out again. I look into a burrito joint. The unbelievable-in-this-day-and-age racist caricature of a sombrero-wearing buck-toothed Mexican on the sign outside is enough to give me pause. The patrons--all strapping young men with turned around baseball caps and girls talking loudly and gesticulating wildly on cell phones finishes the job. I move on.
I have a nice homemade sandwich with me, so I decide that a bit of soup would be nice. I hit The Soupbox. Good Lord. Not interested in either the fat or heavy meat content of 90% of the offerings (beef stew, lobster bisque(!), cream of asparagus), I settle on vegetable.
Again, I don't delude myself that I'm going to get Soup Nazi level soup. I do not fantasize that there are chicken carcasses and fresh vegetables simmering slowly in the back. But I am still amazed. For $5 I get 12 oz. of low-end coffee shop level vegetable soup. The broth is thin and flavorless. (I suppose the apparent absence of corn starch is a plus.) The vegetables have that slightly rubbery near crunch that marks the infinitesimal technological advance in veggie freezing since the school cafeteria mush of the 60s. For $1.99 on sale, I can get a 15 oz. can of Progresso with 5 times more flavor.
Yet a colleague, when she saw my Soup Box bag, launched into an unsolicited pean. They let you mix any of the soups you want! (Just like at Baskin Robbins.) They give you a big hunk of bread! It's so great!!
How can this be? Why? Artisinal has some nice things, but I don't always want $16/lb. Basque salami. Just a decent grilled cheese for $3.50 would be nice. A small family Thai place, even with the recipes watered down a bit - but with still some aroma, some lemongrass, garlic, ginger, basil, coriander, etc. You can buy it at the Jewel and throw it in the pan.
Why not? I say, why not?
"Strange how potent cheap music is."