Poutine from the Greenhouse Tavern, Cleveland OH (photo from Columbus Underground @ www.columbusunderground.com)

A couple of weeks ago I gushed about my love for the burgers at Kenny’s Burger Joint.  One of our Sidedishers, “Kirk,” commented that they offered “the closest facsimile of poutine in the DFW area.”  When I heard this, it was not long until I found my way back to sample the Kenny’s version.  As you likely know, “poutine” is a classic Canadian dish, traditionally composed of crispy French fries, cheese curds, and a brown gravy.  The most successful variations of poutine are able to serve the fries thick and crisp, the cheese curd soft but not so completely melted that they lose all their texture, and the gravy incorporated into each bite, but not so much as to turn the whole thing into a soup or make the fries overly soggy.  However, this dish is incredibly hard to find in Dallas.  I don’t understand why this is so.  Perhaps it’s our distance from our neighbors to the North? Perhaps there are not enough Canadians here in the Lone Star State?  It really is a travesty.

Kenny's version of "poutine"

Kenny’s version was tasty but had some flaws compared to the more traditional Canadian versions. It was very heavy on the gravy, which left the otherwise exceptional fries a bit too soggy.  The melted Jarlsberg cheese was rather scant and lacked the textural chew that comes from a good cheese curd.  One of the more memorable American variations can be found at the Greenhouse Tavern in Cleveland, OH which serves duck fat fries, mozzarella curd and veal gravy.  However, there seems to be nothing like this in the Dallas area.

What gives, Dallas restauranteurs?  This is a dish I think Dallas would truly embrace.  Even a poutine food truck could work.  Anyone know where this delectable dish may be found in Big D?

Anthony Bourdain on stage at the Majestic Theater in Dallas. (photo by Elizabeth Lavin)

Last night, Anthony Bourdain fans packed the Majestic Theater. Baseball be damned, the worshipers of All-Things-Anthony showed up to lay themselves at the cowboy-booted feet of their hero.

Tony walked onto the stage at 8:10 and greeted the audience: “I am a whore. I am in every way compromised, jaded, bought and paid for, including my nice f—ing jacket.”

For the next hour and 45 minutes, the crowd hung on his every word. He was loose, casual, at ease, good-natured, straight forward, no bull. He was exactly the guy you see on TV, except, in person, you could see just how fine he wears boot-cut jeans.

After the show, we got to hang out with Tony and watch him sign books and greet his fans. Hundreds of folks bought books and stood in line to get his autograph. He walked into the VIP room and he very calmly said, “Look, I’m here and I’m not leaving until every book is signed, every picture is taken. I’m not in a hurry, so grab some food, have a drink, relax.”

I plan to write a longer report, but my day job calls. In the meantime, I’ll post the pictures that Tony most graciously allowed our photographer, Elizabeth Lavin, to shoot. Oh, and John “Jimmy Sears” Tesar was there. I mean everywhere. If you notice him in every shot, it is because he tried to get in every shot. At one point I thought he was going to start signing copies of Bourdain’s Medium Raw. He could have. That’s how he serves his burgers.

On to the show.

Bory Taft, Leena Varehese, Kim Chang Chung Lee. (photo by Elizabeth Lavin)

The Tony, The Tesar, The Brad. (photo by Elizabeth Lavin)

Linda Tucker scores a photo op. (photo by Elizabeth Lavin)

Bethlehem? No, the VIP room at The Majestic Theater after Anthony Bourdain's show. (Photo by ELizabeth Lavin)

Tesar hogs the spotlight. (photo by Elizabeth Lavin)

A Bourdain. A beer. A book. (photo by Elizabeth Lavin)

Nobody went home hungry. (photo by Elizabeth Lavin)

Chef John Tesar sheds his doucheyness and becomes Extreme Chef winner. He can run 10 miles and cook in a corn field.

Last night John Tesar played a 53-year old geezer chef on a thrilling episode of Food Network’s Extreme Chef. He faced two younger chefs: Joe, a douchey New York dude who was once a private chef for Donald Trump; and Greg, a Portland chef who couldn’t cut it in medical school so he quit and went to the CIA.

Tesar was confident from the start. “I run 10 miles a day,” Tesar gloated. After that, he works all day and night. The competition took place on a 60-acre farm in Malibu Canyon and the premise had the chefs running all over the place to source ingredients.

HEARTY BREAKFAST was the segment. To obtain eggs, the chefs had to conquer a “crop-stical course” made of bales of hay formed into various tunnels and towers. Tesar, a virtual Jack LaLane, was first to the eggs (he picked duck!) and he won the first competition soundly with his ginger and duck egg French toast. (I think there was a fruit salad and some whiskey involved, but I can’t read my notes, and I refuse to rerun the show.) It only matters that when the Simon Cowell wannabe (and lookalike) host announced Tesar as the winner, Tesar took a modest Zen-like bow. Tesar is now the master of “the unconventional use of an egg.”

No, it’s not over. There are still 45 minutes left in the show. Here we go.

EXTREME CHALLENGE! Obnoxious host outlines new rules. Through the screeching music swollen with hundreds of violins, I hear him tell the chefs they have to harvest their own vegetables from the sprawling farm dotted with cute scarecrows. PLUS, they have to roll them around in a wheelbarrow. As winner of round one, or whatever they call it, Tesar not only gets to pick his protein, he has the power to decide what meat the other chefs get. Tesar shoves Joe the pork. (We hate Joe by now and are glad to see he gets the slowest cooking meat!) Sorry, I didn’t write down Dr. Greg’s protein.

The three chefs take off with their wheelbarrows. Tesar looks like he has been pushing one around his whole life. (hidden metaphor) Joe looks like a sweaty vegetable abuser as he rips a fistful of leeks from the ground and throws them into his hot wheelbarrow. Meanwhile, Dr. Greg seems content jumping through the fields. He stops at a row of purple carrots and exclaims, “Rad!” He lives in Portland. We let the comment slide.

Our man Tesar the geezer is first chef to the pantry! I don’t know what he got but he leaves with a devilish smile as he pushes his wheelbarrow towards the prep station. HOLD THE JOHN DEERES! Dr. Greg and his wheelbarrow are sprinting past Tesar toward the prep tables. Tesar suddenly looks 63. His glasses appear heavy and dusty. OH NO! However, poor douchey Joe has just arrived at the pantry! He curses as he pick through what is left. Even though he is losing, he walks back with the arrogance of Donald Trump. Putz.

All chefs are at their stations. WAIT! Something is missing. There are no utensils. No pots or pans. No microplanes. No immersion blenders. OH MY GOD. FIRST X FACTOR! To obtain cooking utensils, the chefs have to run through a dust storm. Huh? Yes, they brought in a bunch of industrial blowers and created a whirling cloud of dust. Like bandits with red and white bandanas covering their faces, the chefs disappear into the swirling dirt. We can barely see them as they rip through crates and grab whatever they can before they choke. None of them know what they have till they get back to the prep station. (I was on the edge of my couch for this!) Tesar scores in the dark: TWO saute pans AND a sauce pan. And a shovel? Oh well, he’s got the lamb. We’re so glad Joe has the slowest cooking protein and the worst pan he could have picked—a deep Dutch oven.

Tesar, ever the glutton for punishment, decides to do lamb three ways. (Old farm joke?) He’s cocky and confident at this point. He takes out the leg of lamb and carves tartare, carpaccio, and little medallions to roast. Cue the Now-Irritating Host: TWENTY FIVE MINUTES, CHEFS! NEXT X FACTOR.

First tight camera shot goes to Dr. Greg. I think he is going to cry. He is obviously wishing he’d become a urologist. Joe is stoic. He has perfected the hateful Trump stare. Tesar is ready to play. “YOU MUST PREPARE A DESSERT COURSE,” host dude screams over the violins. “YOU MUST USE MILK FROM A COW. AND YOU MUST MILK THE COW TO GET THE MILK.”

Of course, this involves running to the barn where the cows are waiting. Ever the teat man, Tesar takes a pail and milks away like a pro. Dr. Greg is handling his cow pretty well, too. Perhaps he should have considered gynecology.  Hateful Joe is standing beside his Elsie with  a look that would scare The Donald. “Um, we don’t have cows on the subway,” Joe says. Huh? This allegedly Michelin-star chef takes a stinking subway? Besides that, why would anyone expect to see a real cow on a subway platform in New York. I figure he lost his mind in the dust storm. For a split second my allegiance switches to Joe. I think he needs the 10 grand to pay for a shrink and a few cabs.

Then, as the song goes, the cow kicked it over and winked her eye at the pathetic chef from Trump Towers. “He kicked me,” Joe said. (I screamed from my couch, “It’s a SHE you dumb ass!”) It didn’t matter. Joe claims the cow kicked him. I rewound the tape three times. Ruling: Joe shoved the pail into the cow’s leg. The cow was simply reacting to being approached by an awkward New Yorker. There was no contact. “That’s it,” Joe, the douchey chef, says as he walks off. “I put safety first.”

Then comes my favorite moment of the show. From his little stool beside the cow, Tesar looks up to the camera and says, “Look, he’s crying like a baby.” This was not a Trump moment for Joe. “He’s toast!” we scream.

Sorry, this is getting too long. The rest of the show was pretty painful. We knew Joe was gone. The only tension remained between the good doctor from Portland and Farmer John. Tesar sang with confidence when he presented his dishes. He dazzled the judges with his lamb three ways and his raw milk and chocolate creme anglaise filled with berries. “Not bad for out in the field,” Tesar said with a smirl. (Half smile; half smirk) I forgot what Greg made but it had a lot of fresh vegetables in it and the judges loved it. Mr. Not-So-G.I. Joe tried to justify his existence as a real chef by saying, “I always put safety first in my kitchen.” Judges didn’t buy it. Joe was sent back to his stop on the C Line.

Yes, there is another round. SHOWDOWN! Greg v John! Greg tosses out a taunting challenge: “I can beat that old man.” Ouch. Now, Portland or no Portland, I don’t like him. His wretched twisty hair is starting to drive me nuts. I want to whirl it in my immersion blender. Anywhoo, the two chefs have to prepare “one bite on a silver spoon” using four hidden ingredients. Of course, they have to run after a moving flatbed truck and jump on the back to get to them. As the two chefs sprint behind the truck, I begin to doubt Tesar’s claim that he runs 10 miles a day. Greg jumps on the truck like Spiderman and breaks into the case containing corn, truffles, Kobe beef, and Brussels sprouts. Hold it. A miracle: Tesar’s right by his side!

They run back to the prep station. HOLY CRAP, BATMAN! They arrive to find only a blow torch, a clamp, and a saw to work with. Undaunted, Tesar heads to the pantry and picks up some eggs. My gosh he is so confident. He wipes his sweaty brow and gloats, “I am the egg man. You can cook anywhere if you know what you’re doing.”

The Beatles reference is lost on the bad doctor and struggling chef Greg. He’s too young. Plus he is very busy sawing the fat off the Kobe beef (huh?) which he plans to cook with fruit. Again, we grant him Portland status and wait with anticipation.

The show now makes a wretched attempt to create drama during THE TASTING AND JUDGING section. Obnoxious Host with his now- grating foreign accent, readies for his close-up: “Chefs, this was the longest day of your culinary lives,” he screams. We wait while the camera moves from Greg to John and back again. “And the winner is…” Again with the panning camera. “Chef John!”

As the defeated chef (and doctor) Greg heads down a row of crops into the culinary sunset, Chef John—Extreme Chef John—hits Obnoxious Host with a quick knuckle touch before raising his fists to the skies. “Fifty is the new 30,” Tesar says. “I am the Extreme Chef.”

–DELETE RECORDING–

Noon-ish—Krista, Laura, and I walked in a little after noon. The dining room was full (with two or three vacant tables) and there were seven people in line in front of us. A handful of people waited against the front window. Not bad. We made it to the counter in 5-10 minutes, placed our orders for take-out pho, rice, spring rolls, and bubble tea, received out numbers and proceeded to the dining room to wait. I overheard a young woman saying to the expediter that she’d been waiting for 45 minutes and she needed to get back to work. I chose to ignore it. I’d been in the day before for the media opening and the food was so good that, just 24 hours later, was Jonesing for more pho.

jump to read more about the Pho cluster-cuss…

12:45— A server came to the table and explained that they had run our of tapioca for the bubble tea. He set down a to-go cup of what looked like a vanilla smoothie in front of a crestfallen Krista (a certified bubble tea junkie).

12:55—Another server arrived with my pho. I reminded him that I needed it in a to-go container. He mumbled something about the kitchen messing up again, and retreated, looking as if he had promised himself he wasn’t going to cry. I never saw that pho again.

1:15—Krista approached the counter like a woman on a mission. (Trust me, she may look like an Amish milkmaid, but she’s been known to give street cops a dressing down.) She returned, reporting that the kitchen seemed to be moving tickets of squeaky wheels to the front of the line. Sure enough, two women who’d arrived just minutes earlier received their food. Then two men. Meanwhile, we and five other tables waited in bored disbelief.

1:30—This time, I went up to the kitchen. A few stragglers still leaned against the front window, fanning themselves with their numbers. The dining room was now fairly well cleared out but the kitchen staff was still working like a house afire. Our tickets remained in limbo somewhere. I was sent back to the table with a complementary cold drink.

1:40— Krista jumped ship and went back to work. I tried to get a refund for my own bubble tea/smoothie (which had never arrived). The very sweet (and clearly dehydrated) gal behind the counter encouraged me to try a Vietnamese iced tea instead. Optimistically, I asked for it in a to-go cup. Naturally, I received in it a glass. They transferred in a to-go cop. The to-go cup was half the size.

1:50—Laura joined me at the counter. We glared. A lot. Still lots of activity inside the open kitchen even though we were two of only about 15 people left. What came next for us: lots of haggling about missing items, lots of bag rearranging, but not a lot of apologizing. A couple more cold drinks.

2:00—When we walked out with our food, it was an entirely different segment of the day from when we’d gone in. I was way late for a 2:00 meeting. The meeting lasted until 4:00. $15 worth of pho and spring rolls sat neglected on my desk. I packed it back up and drove home to (I am not kidding here) regrout my shower before dinner.

6:00— Ate my lunch pho for dinner. Enjoyed the hell out of it. Really and truly. I would eat Khanh’s pho every single day if I could. It’s that good. I just wouldn’t wait two hours for it.

The line was never that long, and the dining room was full, but not overflowing. So here is my question: What the hell were they doing in the kitchen all that time? There was so much stress and activity, but no one seemed to be receiving any actual food. The more concerning question is, how do they expect to service the downtown lunch crowd?

Khanh’s PR rep told me that they were very upset about how things went down yesterday and have figured out what they need to do to fix it. Personally, I’m going to give them a week or so to work out the kinks. By no means will we stop going. But next time we’re taking advantage of their call ahead pick-up window or their delivery service. After all, we’ve got deadlines to meet up here. We can’t be pho-king around all afternoon waiting for our lunch.

Just heard from owner Khanh Dao with this UPDATE:

We were set back initially by some mechanical issues in the kitchen which definitely affected our ability to get the food out efficiently. Secondly we did not anticipate such a huge number of people showing up for lunch at the very same time. All of our food is prepared fresh and grilled to order. Starting today, we will be prepping sandwiches, spring rolls and salads prior to lunch to save time. Today we tripled our kitchen, servers and counter staff and executed even more downtown lunch-goers and to-go orders quickly and to great satisfaction. I am very proud of the team and appreciate all of the support from downtown Dallas. We are so excited to have our doors open in the neighborhood.

In case you were a bit warm yesterday that has been fixed too. The AC didn’t seem to keep up with the heat coming from the kitchen. Alas, the repairman has fixed the AC issues and the windows have been tinted to keep out the radiant heat, so today was much cooler as well.

I want to make fun of the name; I really do.

Clearly this summer’s steamy temps (my car’s external temperature gauge registered 122 degrees yesterday) are not hindering our love of hot soups, more specifically Vietnamese pho (pronounced sort of like “fuh” but with a pitch rise at the end). A while back I attended a tasting at Pho Colonial, which looks like its finally ready to open doors on its second location, this one downtown next to the Pressbox in the base of the Wilson building. And the list keeps growing. A quick search of our directory turned up Pho Huy in Richardson, Pho Bang in Garland, La Me on Walnut, and Tu Hai in Fort Worth. Count multi-ethnic noodle houses, such as Noodle Wave off Spring Valley Road and the list gets even longer.

But it was the opening of Pho is for Lovers (on the corner Greenville and, yes, Lovers) that finally convinced me that we’re in the midst of a Pho-king frenzy.

jump to read more…

I stopped by on Friday afternoon with noodles on the brain. I walked out with a take-out order of spring rolls, chicken pho, beef pho, and grilled pork vermicelli (this is why you never shop, or order, hungry).

It feels unfair to compare Pho is for Lovers (to be referred to as PIFL from here forward) to Pho Colonial—or really any of the others to each other for that matter. While Pho Colonial benefits from Khanh Dao’s commercial experience, PIFL comes across as hip, spare, and plucky. A true start-up. The spring rolls were clearly freshly rolled, their skins stretched to the limit with fresh shrimp. Both varieties of pho came separated out with broth in one container, noodles and meat in another, and bean sprouts, lime wedges, fresh basil sprigs, and freshly sliced jalapeños in their own ziploc bag. Nothing was getting combined until we were god and ready to start eating.

As with all pho, PIFL’s varieties were a mess to eat (in the good way), and the leftovers soaked up the broth, leaving them even softer and more satisfying the next day. The entire venture was friendly, social media savvy, and clean—three essential ingredients becessary for a successful start-up in the midst of a summer as pho-king hot as this one.