Arriba's Restaurant and Lounge: A Mixed Bag

When Lauren and Andy called me, I was heading out to lunch at (gag) Applebee's with a friend after drooling over some extremely out-of-my-price-range custom audio gear at Sound Investments. They wanted to do a review, and I thought... good. Anything to redeem the day after eating at Applebee's. Seriously. Anything. Someone could have clocked me in the puss with a garden spade, and I think I'd have gone to bed laughing about it. I'm not sure there's any food experience more unpleasant than Applebee's. Particularly after seeing Waiting...

So, we decided on the Arriba Lounge, located very conveniently off of 41/45 and Hampton, on 124th St. in Butler.

BUTLER?!?

Yeah, I kind of forgot that the Village of Butler even existed. Sorry to our three readers in Butler. It's just so easy to overlook... I mean, outside of Butler Skateland, is there anything really spectacular about the Land Time Forgot?

Well, we were going to find out. Arriba Lounge is situated in two what appear to be turn-of-the-century storefront/apartment combos, linked by a small, aftermarket hallway. One side is the what I would assume they consider the "Lounge" portion, the other is the dining room. And what a dining room it is!



Cochineal walls, a fabulous pressed tin ceiling, and a number of south-of-the-border wallhangings contribute to the, "Hey, Gringo, This is a Mexican Restaurant" quotient, which always makes me a little queasy. Especially the sombreros hanging above the service area painted to look like a decrepit Spanish Mission. BONG! SANCTUARY! SANCTUARY! What? Restaurant review? Oh, right...

So, I got there late (no surprise), and Andy and Lauren had decided to tuck into the offerings of three (3) salsas and homemade chips, just in case I didn't show up.



So, we had a mild Pico, milder still Salsa Verde, and an apparently gawd-awful hot devil's breath with Habañero chili. The fresh pico was a nice blend with the super-crunchy homemade chips, but the verde had a sort of off-flavor to it. I usually expect tomatillos to have a bit of an acidic bite to them, but this wasn't so acidic... almost had a sort of metallic taste to it. We also ordered a large order of their guac, which came highly recommended by our server:



I couldn't help but notice that our large guac came in the same plastic dessert dish that the salsas came in. If that was a large, what was the small? Tucking in right away, the smooth buttery texture of the avocado gave room to a very strong aroma of garlic. I was encouraged, but that encouragement sort of fell short. Where I expected a little salt, a little heat, a little acid, I got... garlic. Even the flavor of the avocado itself was sort of underwhelming. Luckily, the Eating Milwaukee staff is a resourceful bunch: there was slices of lime on our glasses of soda!

I was elected to do the lime squeezing, but much to my chagrin, our limes were the new Florida Hybrid Juiceless™ brand. Oh, the humanity! Maybe three drops of lime juice later, and it was on to plan 'B': salt. Surely the miniature plastic Corona bottle filled with salt would help. Well, it did, a bit. But then I had a brainstorm: what if we mix in a little of the salsa verde? Brilliant! Except now, instead of a custard cup of garlicky, bland guac, we had a custard cup of salty, garlicky, metallic guac. So much for Guacamole bliss...

Andy ordered the Enchiladas Suizas with steak and Chorizo:



Lauren, the Combo Platter (Taco, tostada, and enchilada):



And I ordered the house special Fajitas de Camarones:



I was immediately excited by the description of my dish on the menu: shrimp cooked with pineapple, bacon, bell peppers and onions. Oooh! Pineapple, bacon and shrimp! This was the sort of food I could get behind.

However, when the cast-iron skillet arrived, I was hard pressed to see any pineapple or bacon anywhere. I did, however, see a mound of shrimp, onions, and peppers, studded with bits of chopped garlic. Okay, I thought, maybe I'm just not seeing the pineapple and bacon 'cause it's tucked under this gigantic mountain of shrimp. I'm sure I'll find it.

Well, try as I might, I couldn't find a single bit of bacon or slice of pineapple. So, unless the shrimp were cooked with said ingredients and then removed, I just can't find any explanation other than the recipe got changed and the menu didn't. I was a little disappointed. Add to that the gigantic pool of shrimp-juice at the bottom of the skllet, and the soggy, steamed texture of the veggies, and this was starting to shape up into a sub-par dinner. I truly believe the only saving grace was the large portion size... which in and of itself was a mixed blessing, in that I got to experience that same sense of disappointment tonight again when I had my leftovers.

Andy and Lauren seemed to echo my sentiments: good enough food, but just something missing. What was it? None of us were sure. I got to taste Andy's chorizo, which was spicy, crumbly and greasy... all of the wonderful things about chorizo. But it still lacked a certain "pop": that one aspect that takes technically sound and well-prepared food and transports it to a whole-body experience. For more on food like that, please read last week's review on Tandoor.

Was the Arriba Lounge a bust? No, I don't think so. We got more than our money's worth in portions, but always felt like we were only getting half the story from the kitchen. Maybe someone was having a bad day. Maybe one of the cooks called in sick. Who knows. But I truly believe that there's greatness lurking in Arriba's menu, they just have a little bit of tightening up to do.

Report Card:
Atmosphere: B+
Is it possible for a Mexican restaurant to try too hard? Yes, yes it is. Ask Chi-chi's. Ignore the sombreros hanging on the walls. They're just there waiting for the next installment of Nacho Libre to be filmed.

Prices: A
Big, big plates of food. Hot, and not stingy with the proteins, either. Most dinners range from $8-$15

Service: B
We ran out of chips a little too often, and by the time we got more, we had our entrées. Not a big beef, I know, but when we go out to eat, timing is everything.

The Food: C+
And it does hurt me to not give a glowing grade, but I just can't in good conscience shout from the hilltops about this one. You're better off with Taco Thursday's at Grebe's. Now that's a value!

The Details:

Arriba's Restaurant and Lounge
(262) 783-7630
4753 North 124th Street
Butler, WI 53007

Tandoor: Indian Dining Bliss...

Waxing poetic about the symphonic wonderment that is Indian Cuisine is sort of like writing a love song: it's all been done before. Ask any foodie about their opinions on Indian food, and they'll promptly melt into a puddle of mewling goo, expounding the virtues of the spicing, regaling in the perfectly cooked meats, rich gravies, and lavish rice. Oh, we all love Indian food. But I'll let you in on a little secret: if you want the most perfectly food-gasmic Indian experience possible, you're going to have to make a field trip over to Tandoor, in good old West Allis.

I think it probably shows a bit of bias that I haven't really even written a word about the food itself, and I'm already calling Tandoor the best destination for Indian food in the city, if not the state. But the fact of the matter is, I've dined at almost every Indian restaurant in every major metropolitan area in Wisconsin, and I can honestly say that Tandoor has delivered the goods, time and time again, always leaving me immensely full and awed at their culinary abilities. That said, let's talk Indian food for a moment, shall we?

Tandoor immediately greets you with a warm, comforting blanket of spiced air the second you open the door. There's ginger, coriander, cumin, garlic... the smell is heavenly, and sets the stage for what's ahead. The restaurant itself is a bit odd, consisting of a bar side (which, to be honest, I don't think I've ever seen anyone sitting at), and a dining room side. It's positioned at one end of a row of businesses on Highway 100, just about a block north of Greenfield avenue. The interior is spartan, with some traditional tapestries hanging on the walls, simple tables and chairs, and just a little Asha Bhosle piped into the dining room, to never let you forget how close Bollywood is to taking over the world.
The restaurant is always clean, well lit, and well attended, but I've never had to wait for a table. During the week, Tandoor has an exceptional lunch buffet, and the dinner menu offers all of those options and more.

You may notice that the interior of Tandoor is a bit, well, homely... you'd be correct in your assessment. And as far as I'm concerned, that's okay. Actually, more than okay. I would venture to say that the combination of humble space and extraordinary food is what makes Tandoor such a find: this place is all about the food. No pretense, no out-of-body decorating experience... just absolutely breathtaking food. Tandoor is one of the few restaurants in my short list of favorite places that has no "environment" column, just because I think it's sort of irrelevant: you go for the food, not the décor.

Tandoor is, of course, named for the Indian clay oven used for a number of dishes. Tandoori chicken, which is probably the most well-known of these, is a perennial favorite on the menu. While none of the Eating Milwaukee staff ordered it on our visit, we've all had it before, and it certainly is worth the praise and reputation which follows it. Tender and lightly spiced, with that nuclear-red color so traditional, it's the perfect solution to both boring American barbecued chicken in the Summer months, and pale and bland baked chicken in the Winter. But, I digress: as much as I love a good hunk of yard bird seared in a rocket-hot clay oven, there are other, less pedestrian treats to behold. Let us then progress to the run-down, shall we?

You should be aware that when you are seated, regardless of your dining choices, you'll be treated to a plate of Papadum: and a triumvirate of chutneys... mint, tamarind, and onion:

There are certain things you have to do when visiting Tandoor. One of them is order appetizers. Tandoor's appetizer offerings are not only expansive, but genuinely interesting, bypassing so many of the "filler" appetizers we're all used to. All types of Pakoras (fritters), breads, soups, and superb Samosas adorn the offerings. We ordered four deep-fried treats:

Shrimp Pakora

Chicken Pakora



Paneer Pakora



And Samosas



The chicken pakoras are always a personal favorite. Loving referred to amongst the staff as "Indian Chicken Strips," the pakoras consist of chicken thigh meat, spiced and breaded in a chickpea batter, and fried to GBD perfection. The shimp and paneer (a home-made, fresh farmer's-type cheese) are given similar treatment. The batter on each gets super-extra crispy, and has a wonderful spice and saltiness to it -- not too strong, not too bland, but balanced in a way that is so typical in Indian cuisine. The samosas were the stars, however, with a crumbly, crispy pastry shell, and smooth, spicy filling consisting of potatoes and peas. Lauren, not being a potato fan, was a bit leery. However, upon continuous egging on from the rest of the staff, she finally caved, and quickly exclaimed, "You can't even tell it's potato!"

One of the things that always amazes me about Indian cooking is how a basic stable of spices can be re-combined in so many different ways, yielding different results each time. Most of the dishes that form the foundation of Indian cuisine use the same basic spices, yet when combined in different proportions, sometimes omitting one, sometimes the other, different dishes can take on completely unique personalities. Taking advantage of this, many Indian dishes spawn from a number of basic sauces (something like French Mother Sauces). Regardless of whether Tandoor uses this strategy in their kitchen, I can say with all confidence that each and every item on their menu has such a specific and unique identity, they all taste as though they have been made individually, specifically to order. I like that.

We each ordered a different curry, with the break down as follows:

Joe: Chicken Shaahi Korma



Lauren: Chicken Makhani (Butter Chicken)



Andy: Garlic Chicken and Shrimp



My Chicken Shaahi Korma was beyond reproach. A smooth, creamy gravy, filled to the brim with plump, sweet golden raisins, and spiked with half cashews, it was both sweet, salty, and incredibly well spiced. The chicken chunks were tender, big, and plentiful. Combined with the large amounts of Basmati rice served with dinner, and the copious amount of fresh-baked garlic nan, the effect was amazing. Andy's Garlic Shrimp and Chicken was awe-inspiring, with a gravy so garlic-heavy it was almost too strong. Please note the operative word there: almost. For those who love garlic (me), this was just at the nexus of strength and flavor. For those who abhor garlic, well, good luck finding Indian food without it. Having had the garlic shrimp and chicken before, I was familiar with the basic flavor. However, Andy ordered his at a Medium hotness level, as opposed to my typical wussified Mild heat, or the iron-tongued Hot heat (sorry, I had to use red text somewhere in here). With the dish at medium heat, flavors seemed brighter, more pronounced. The garlic seemed less heavy, less oppressive, and had a pleasant heat augmented with the chili flavor.

Lauren's Chicken Makhani was typically delicious, with a rich, thick gravy heavy with tomato, garlic, ginger, cream, and butter, with a sweet set of spices that immediately made me think clove, cinnamon, and cardamom. The chicken tikka in her dish were tiny, tender cubes that were the perfect compliment to the delicate sauce.

There isn't much else to say that may expound the virtue of Tandoor, other than to say that every time we've visited (often) in the last seven years, we've been wowed, and honored. We always find ourselves thanking the accommodating staff, over and over, and from my point of view, it's because I feel sort of privileged to be able to eat with them. It feels like you're welcomed into their world, seated at the kitchen table of their home, and served their dinner, as opposed to going to some mock-Indian theme park that specializes in Americanized food that bears little to no resemblance to actual authentic cooking. It's a treat, and albeit one that cannot be over-used: I think part of the wonderment of Indian cooking is the fact that I can't, no matter how hard I try, re-create it at home.

I love Tandoor, always have, and always will. The wait staff is inviting and fun, very attentive and engaging. The menu is immense and comprehensive, and the food... well, the food will leave you smiling in such a way that is normally reserved for more, ahem, adult activities. Visit soon, and visit often, as any of the Eating Milwaukee staff will tell you.

Report Card:
Atmosphere: B
Is this really important when you consider the food? I mean, you've got nice linen napkins, Asha Bhosle, and the smell of a thousand spices in the air. What more do you need?

Prices: A-
Certainly fair, although not the least expensive I've seen. When your food arrives, give in to the panic that you aren't getting a whole lot in that little metal bowl. Dump some curry on a pile of rice, and then tell me you aren't going to have enough to be full... especially as you pack your left-overs in a to-go box. A little goes a long way, and portion sizes are plenty big. Most entrées fall into the $9-$14 range.

Service: A+
Fun, smiling, and pleasant. And oh, do they make sure your water glass is full!

The Food: A+(++++)
Exceptional in every way. Order anything you want, you'll be happy. No heap of praise will ever explain how much I love Tandoor, you're just going to have to experience it yourself.

The Details:

Tandoor Restaurant
(414) 777-1600
1117 S. 108th St.
West Allis, WI 53214

Online menu (danger! out of date prices and offerings!) available here.

Benji's: A Classic To Some, News To Me...

I was watching the Food Network the other day (because I don't have enough to fill my time with as it is...), and the show they were running was something along the lines of, "The Best Thing I've Ever Eaten." This skinny, kinda witchy looking brunette whom I've never seen on TV before starts yammering on about her favorite desert... some sundae (probably in LA or Seattle or San Francisco) where they take Schokinag chocolate ice cream (elitist golf claps), and top it with sea salt, whipped cream, and -- get this -- bergamot infused olive oil. Oh, what has the food world come to?

We can't even be satisfied with a premium chocolate ice cream any more. We have to tart it up with all sorts of non-dessert stuff, slather olive oil, sprinkle sea salt... I mean, there's all sound culinary knowledge behind those additions, but I have to ask... is it necessary?

I'm being unfair and small-minded, I know. But with my monthly operating budget shrinking by the day, the simpler, tried-and-true treats I know deliver on their promises become more and more attractive.

Take, for instance, Kopp's vanilla custard. Simple. Consistent. Hasn't changed in the past 40 years. But when you really strip away the hype, it's absolutely entrancing, deep and dark, sweet, fatty, creamy, eggy, with this smooth gloss of cooked custard flavor that just screams home-made. No designer chocolate, no crazy savory ingredients. Just a half a century of tradition, plopped in a plastic bowl with a little cookie crisp, just how it's always been. There's comfort in that, particularly when it's a little shaky if I'm going to have enough gas in the Focus to make it to next payday.

Which I think is why Benji's has enjoyed such continued success for so many years. The food served is simple. The setting is spartan. And the experience is consistent.

On our latest outing, Andy, Lauren, and our latest staff member, Adam, took a trip to Milwaukee's (the North Shore's, to be more precise) authentic, honest-to-G-D, New York style deli.

Benji's is a no-frills affair. There are small tables, banquettes, a counter, and a couple of coolers. A few pictures on the wall, a few road signs for good measure, and that's about all there is to the interior.



The menu is straightforward and succinct. With a variety of deli fixtures, we've always been to Benji's for either lunch or dinner (although I hear breakfast is to die for). Selections run the gamut of what you'd expect: cold cuts, corned beef, traditional Jewish deli fare.

We started out our dining experience with a cup of chicken soup with a Matzoh ball:



or a bowl of the Mushroom and Barley soup:



Since I did not order the mushroom barley soup, I have a hard time assessing it properly. However, I did delight in the tradition of matzoh ball soup, and feel dually qualified to comment on the treat.

Benji's matzoh ball soup is safe: no surprise. That may seem a little drowsy, but there's a time and a place for everything, and I believe the soup matches the restaurant. The salty yellow chicken broth reminds me of the chicken stews my Grandpa Al used to cook for the family. Little drops of nuclear-yellow schmaltz adorn the surface of the soup, and the matzoh ball, like a pale, pasty set of ass-cheeks looms over the broth. The flavors are familiar, delicate and comforting. The matzoh ball is smooth, firm but still creamy, with a tight skin on the outside and a giving, only faintly grainy interior. It's fluffy, it's buttocks-shaped, and it's marvelous.

Sandwiches at Benji's, as a rule, are gargantuan. For proof, take a look at this traditional Corned Beef sandwich:



Or, this Reuben:



Or, particularly, my Hear-O Israel:



The Hear-O Israel is made up of a menagerie of meats, including Corned Beef, Pastrami, Salami, and Peppered Beef. Add oily cole slaw, swiss cheese, and Thousand Island dressing, and you have indigestion on a plate.

The meats are massive. Like, I'm not sure how to properly describe them in words massive. In fact, I had to make sure to get a super-extra close-up shot of the meat, just to demonstrate how the different strata are clearly visible:



The meat component is sublime: salty, spicy, tender, and chewy all at once. The cheese is relatively mild, a bit player (actually, hardly necessary, but then... when is cheese ever unwanted?), the cole slaw both sweet, crisp, and a bit oily, and the thousand island dressing... well... thousand-islandy. Served with chips and a pickle spear, it is a completely filling dinner, and a lunch that will certainly yield leftovers.

Benji's doesn't parade around as something it's not: this is simple recipes, probably generations old, prepared and served in a loving but unadorned manner. It has become a favorite in my group of friends for Sunday afternoon Dunch. Or Linner, depending on how you look at it. Consistent, tasty, and a little on the pedestrian side, Benji's delivers the kosher goods again and again.

Report Card:
Atmosphere: A-
Kitschy, simple and fun, Benji's reminds me of the sort of places my dad would take me when my mom was working late. A great example of mid-50's lunch counter, Benjis' hasn't changed much since then.

Prices: B-
Prices, despite what you might think, aren't shockingly low. My Hear-O Israel set me back almost $12, and that's before you factor in a cup of soup and a drink. It's a damn good sandwich, and you get a stack of meat that would make R. Lee Ermey quiver, but you do pay a little bit for it.

Service: A
Quick, courteous, and not too invasive. Everything I like in wait staff.

The Food: A
A taste of childhood, of Grandpa Al's chicken stew and Grandma B's Matzoh balls (oh, we're Polish Catholics, so they were always dumplings to us, but the same thing, nonetheless). With so many of the old recipes dying with the Matriarchs and Patriarchs who held them, Benji's is a lifeline to foodways that are on the endangered species list.

The Details:

Benji's Restaurant and Deli
(414) 332-7777
4156 N. Oakland Ave.
Shorewood, WI 53211

Menu available online here

Kyoto Sushi Bar: It's not just for breakfast anymore...

Before I grew a pair in college, I wouldn't have touched a plate of sushi with a ten-foot cattle prod. It seemed to be reserved for the food elíte, the group who would use créme fraiche and truffles. Adventuresome, odd, and marginally disgusting, I would have never even considered it save for the fact that some of my fraternity brothers used it as a sort of masculine badge-of-honor. At that point, I realized what I needed to do: I needed to choke down some sushi, and act like I liked it.

Of course, choking it down became savoring, and acting never really took place at all: I immediately gravitated towards the perfectly zen mix: salty, sweet, sour, bitter, crunchy, soft, tender, chewy, creamy, oily: a sensory overload that is as much pleasure as it is challenge, even a little pain (bringing in Sriracha and Wasabi).

Finding a flawless sushi restaurant is a daunting task, and one I'm still chugging away at. My default was always Nakashima's in Appleton: as far as I'm concerned, despite the silliness of the hibachi, the combination of ambiance, food and service still place it among my favorites.

As the American palette warms to more authentic flavors from the East, we're being treated to more and more sushi bars in the Metro Milwaukee area, and lucky, lucky us! The sushi aficionados from such cultural melting pots on the Coasts would probably scoff; that's fine by me. True, we're landlocked. Fresh fish to us is anything that came out of the ocean in the last week, not the last few hours. True, a lot of the flavors, presentations, even the names are botched and gringo-ized, but I accept that. One thing about American culture is that it has the ability to absorb outside influences, reconstitute them, mutilate and meld them, and output something both old and completely new, a hybrid of American sensibilities and external traditions. We don't routinely ape other cultures, we assimilate. Good, bad, or otherwise, this is the nature of the nation.



Kyoto Japanese restaurant in Greenfield is one of those sort of multiplexed animals: recognizable for it's semi-traditional Japanese fair, but also distinctly American, and there is no better example of this than the all-you-can-eat made-to-order sushi extravaganza known as Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday nights.



The restaurant itself is situated in a strip-mall only a flew blocks away from Southridge Mall, tucked in with a salon, and Stan's footwear. An unusual location for a sushi bar, to be sure, but it seems to me that the best restaurants are often located in strip-malls like this: lower rents mean more resources to spend on staff, decor, or better yet: better ingredients and lower end-user costs. Either way, I've reconciled the fact that it isn't housed in a fancy, stand-alone box, and find the whole situation kind of charming, in a kitschy way.

The interior is spartan, with a basic drop-ceiling, formica wood tables, a few wood booths, black urushi lanterns, and a wall lined with the sushi bar itself. The space is filled with canned koto music, punctuated from time to time with the dulcet tones of "Happy Birthday." The whole operation reminds me a bit of old George Webb restaurant. Certainly not the most luxurious of environments, but I'm learning to embrace the idea that a coat of paint and some Ikea light fixtures does not a perfect restaurant make. The best food, it seems, comes from the most unlikely of surroundings.



The menu for this distinctly American twist on sushi is extensive enough. A full page, tightly packed, is laid out on the table before you, listing off Nigiri, Maki, House Special Maki, and Appetizers, to start. The appetizers include some old standbys, like Edamame, Gyozo, Shrimp Dumplings, and yakitori.



The AYCE sushi includes a cub of miso soup and a salad, the former most likely being the instant variety, the latter being standard iceberg lettuce with a ginger dressing. I can stand to live without the salad, but I can't pass up the miso soup. There's something about the salt-acid of the miso, slick and slippery seaweed, crunch of the green onions, and squish of the tofu cubes that puts me in the mood. Call me a simpleton. Kyoto's miso is of the white variety, and isn't anything out of the ordinary, but it is tasty as far as miso soups are concerned, and I'm okay with that.



I started the extravaganza off with chicken yakitori. Which is sort of a misnomer -- while marinated and skewered, I'm pretty sure that's where the similarities to the traditional form end. My yakitori was deep-fried, resembling more the teriyaki chicken you'd get from a Chinese take-out place than true grilled yakitori. Is this laziness? Is this necessity? I certainly didn't see a charcoal-fired grill anywhere in the restaurant, and I'm guessing there wasn't one lurking somewhere back in the kitchen, so this might be a case of substance over style. Regardless of the reasoning, it was still incredibly delicious... only mildy salty, with a hint of soy, garlic, and sesame oil. Crispy on the outside, tender and juicy on the inside.



We stuck with mainly maki rolls on this visit, ranging from the very basic (shrimp tempura or spicy tuna) to the more baroque (spider roll, with softshell crab, or fried oyster roll), to the downright silly (magic roll, dragon roll, snow white roll, which are all in essence just re-arrangements of shrimp tempura with different slices of tuna, salmon, or eel). Each roll arrived arranged cleanly and simply on the plate, some with a dusting of toasted panko, some with a squirt of eel sauce or spicy mayonnaise.







Instead of focusing on each individual roll, I think it's a lot easier to understand some sweeping generalizations. First, some of Kyoto's ingredients aren't the best out there. A few pieces of fish I ate were stringy with connective tissue, the shrimp can be a bit, well, shrimpy, and I once had a red clam nigiri where it was so painfully obvious that the red clam had been frozen and thawed multiple times that it was almost impossibly to chew. However, many of the fillings in the rolls are top-notch, and their combinations/ratios are spot-on. One clear winner for me was the fried oyster roll -- not something I would necessarily consider as "true" sushi, nevertheless it was insanely decadent, the oyster having a wonderful crunch on the outside, a smooth mild creaminess in the center. The salt of soy sauce brought the whole roll to another level, achieving that wonderous gestalt effect when everything comes together all in one small bite.

I happen to be a big fan of spicy tuna rolls, too, however it's been my experience that one spicy enough for my tastes is hard to come by. Kyoto, however, has hit the sweet spot for me -- I could actually see a few flakes of red pepper mixed in with the chopped tuna, and though simple, the roll's flavors were big enough to stand on their own, keeping my attention drawn, and making me want to eat the whole roll in one sitting.

From Magic Maki, to Boston Rolls, Tempura Shrimp, and everything in between, the sushi just kept coming... except when it didn't. You see, there's a lot of wait staff running around the restaurant. And a lot of little tables to watch over. And it would seem to me that none of the wait staff actually have their own tables... all the staff works all the tables, which resulted in some of our sushi coming in only a matter of minutes, some (like Joe's Snow White roll) taking nearly 15 minutes to be delivered. Meanwhile, at least three individual waitresses asked if we had gotten the roll yet.

Add to this confusion the fact that all the sushi for you table is put on the same plate, and it can be, at times, very difficult for you to understand the wait staff, and you have a recipe for disaster. I'm no sushi expert, and there are times that the House Special Greenfield Roll looks exactly like a Dragon Roll to me. Hell, most of the time I can't even remember what I ordered by the time it arrives.



These are not major gripes, mind you. But in what already seems to be a slightly chaotic atmosphere, these little trip-ups lead to me to wonder if the back kitchen is as loose as the front of the house.

Of all of the dozens of different kinds of sushi Joe and I consumed on our trip, I think my only two disappointments were the rolls that never had any right to exist in the first place: the chicken teriyaki roll, and the chicken tempura roll...



Both rolls were stuffed to the gills with thin slices of white meat chicken, a generous wedge of avocado, and drizzled with eel sauce. The teriyaki chicken had brief flashes of that brilliant concoction of soy, ginger, garlic, and mirin that I love so much... but those flashes were mostly trampled upon by the gummy texture of the chicken itself, and the pasty fattiness of the avocado.

The chicken tempura roll was an equally large let-down: the moment the plate came to rest on our table, I noticed something was awry: tempura is a thin, barely browned deep-fried battering technique, and the chicken forming a sort of crown on the end-slice of my roll had been dredged in panko bread crumbs and fried. The first bite confirmed my fears: too-crunchy, mouth-shearing crust, coupled with fryer grease, all rolled up with avocado. There was very little flavor, save for the fattiness, and what was there wasn't particularly pleasant.

However, I felt compelled to eat the whole roll, as there is a very important rule to be followed at Kyoto's AYCE soiree: any sushi left on the plate will incur the market price for that roll being added onto your bill. So, even if you don't like it, for the love of Pete, choke it down. Or at the very least, have someone sweep it into their purse when the waitresses aren't looking!



Kyoto isn't the most chic Japanese restaurant in town, or the most authentic. It's not the cheapest, nor the most reliable, nor the most delicious. It's America's favorite, though: instant gratification, and lots of it. Order, eat, repeat. It's quick 'n' dirty sushi for competitive eaters. It's an opportunity for your mom to try the Roll of A Thousand Mysteries in a semi-safe environment. It's a chance to have all your favorites, but pay the price of a quarter of them. I'm not saying Kyoto isn't good: quite the contrary. I absolutely love it. But, like most things (or people) in my life that I love, I also am willing to accept some flaws. If nothing but the best will do, well, good luck finding it in Wisconsin. But, if you have a hardcore sushi craving, and it's a Sunday, Monday, or Tuesday night... well, Kyoto might have the only cure for you...

Report Card:
Atmosphere: B-
Loud, cramped, and from time to time, a little like living in a tenement with paper walls, but it has its charm. At least we get nicely-wrapped silverware, a cloth napkin, and a warmed, gigantic wet-nap to engage in the proper hand-cleaning ritual before we eat.

Prices: A+
Oh, gripe all you want. A $23 meal isn't cheap. But if I told you that you could buy a new BMW for around $5k, would you gripe, because $5k is a lot of money, or would you see it for the enormous deal it is? Come hungry, eat like crazy, watch as your bill would have ordinarily added up to way more than $75 a plate. $30/head with tax, tip, and a bottomless soda is just about as good as it gets when sushi is involved.

Service: B-
While the entire wait staff was attentive, they were also mildly absent-minded. Be prepared to do a lot of guesswork when your food comes to your table, and just keep reminding people if it seems like that Snow White roll is taking a little too long...

The Food: B+
With a few bummers here and there, I can't give it a perfect score. But I also can't complain all that much, because despite the lackluster chicken maki, there were some stellar rolls which more than made up for it (namely, the oyster roll).

The Details:

Kyoto Japanese Restaurant
(414) 325-1000
7453 W Layton Ave
Greenfield, WI 53220

The Triumphant Return of Eating Milwaukee

I know, I know, I know.

It has been over two months since we've posted a new review, and that's completely my fault. Well, not entirely.

We here at Eating Milwaukee have had a bit of a run of bad luck lately, with some family challenges, job loss, new jobs, housing loss, new apartments, and the occasional cat-related disaster:



But enough of excuses...

We'll have some new reviews up for all of you who haven't forgotten us, and for those of you celebrity followers (you know who you are, cough, cough) we'd like to thank you for taking the time to read our humble, less-than-consistently-updated blog!

We recently took a field trip to El Paisa in Bayside, and the review *should* be posted by this time tomorrow, barring hell, high water, or a hot date (my money is on the high water). They had some fantastic home-made guac:



And we even had Dinner And a Show when the Bayside Police pulled over a Prius in the parking lot next door!



So, in conclusion, we're back, and we're hungry. Thanks for not giving up on us!

Shahrazad Restaurant

I don't know of a more perfect cuisine for a warm Spring night than Middle Eastern. When Milwaukee thaws… and I mean, really thaws, there's a sort of electricity that's unique to us. We've weathered another winter, came out alive, with most of our appendages still intact, and we're ready. Ready for what? Well, the sweltering, humidity-laden, mosquito-buzzing, thunderstorm-over-the-lake, tornado siren symphony we call Summer.

It's during these numbered days that we bask, driving with all the car windows down for the first time in months, pulling out old playlists in iTunes, riding around with that same energized feeling we had when we were teenagers. It's like the weather sets us free.

It was with this liberation that we decided to take a trip to Shahrazad tonight, with the hopes of stoking the fire a bit more.

Shahrazad is one of those places a lot of us have known about for years. It's a sort of a fixture now, co-existing on Oakland with a small army of other restaurants, but seemingly against all odds, it persists. I'm glad. I've been there a few times, my first visit being in 2002.

Shahrazad is kind of murky when it comes to corralling its cuisine: described as "Middle Eastern and Persian," that leaves the door open for quite a bit. It's a sort of cultural buffet -- a little from Lebanon, a little from Turkey, a little from Indo-Pak traditions, a little from Iran/Iraq, a little from Saudi Arabia. What's important is that despite all of the influences, nothing is ever steam-rolled. The menu is terse but diverse enough to satisfy nearly every taste, and you get the distinct feeling, sitting in the dining room, that those cars passing outside might actually be camels, and the slightly warm temperatures inside might actually be cooler than the scorching desert air outside. The illusion is never Disney-esque, it just allows you to drift away from the Rust Belt, and land somewhere near the Fertile Crescent. I like it.



The interior of the restaurant is whimsical, without being heavy-handed. The beautiful Moorish plasterwork on the ceilings and crown moldings is lavishly painted, and every corner is softly lit by metal filigree Moroccan lanterns. There is an immediate whiff of spices upon entering, but nowhere near the heady, almost vaporous scent of an Indian restaurant. The tables are topped with elegant green marble, and white linen napkins sit folded at the ready at every place setting. Music is playing somewhere off in the distance, creating a wonderful sense of place, but never barging in on conversation.

I started off with a glass of my absolute most favorite drink in the entire world: rosewater lemonade. Shahrazad's is heavy and strong, very sweet and with the dark, almost erotic scent and flavor of roses in the forefront. With any other food it would be too sweet, probably cloying, but paired with the subtle heat and spice of Shahrazad's entrées, it's ideal. Cooling, exotic, and refreshing. The one thing I've always pined for is just a little garnish -- a food-grade rose petal would take the tall, fragrant glass to the stars. Just a little something for the eyes to tell the brain what's about to follow is going to be a little more interesting than plain ol' Minute Maid.

We then ordered some Hummus Bin Tahini:



And some falafel:



The hummus was marvelous. After our previous hummus debacle (please see here), I was a bit nervous, but my fears were unfounded. Creamy, smooth, rich and delicate, garnished with sumac, whole chickpeas, parsley, fresh pickled beets and cucumbers, and olive oil. Served with flatbread (and more, and more, and more, as our kind server kept bringing us basket upon basket of the warm carb goodness), it was the exact opposite of the hummus at Lulu's.

The falafel was also a pleasant surprise. Lightly spiced, the chickpea meal was coarse and airy, fried crispy and brown on the outside, and taking on just enough of the frying oil to make it indulgent and tasty without being greasy or heavy. The falafel was also garnished with the pickled beets and cukes, as well as a tangy dipping sauce. Lauren was particularly fond of the falafel, which was a wonderful shock for me: I thought she might be the one at the table to pass. When Andy asked her if she wanted the last one, her reply was an enthusiastic, "Uh, yeah!"

As for the entrées, well, here's the run-down:

Lauren: Shawirma sandwich...



Andy: Lamb Shish Kabab...



Myself: Couscous with Chicken...



With each of our dinners, we had the option of either side salad or a cup of the house Lentil soup. Andy and Lauren went with the salad, while I opted for the soup:



The soup was nice way to jump-start my taste buds. Gently spiced, with just a bit of heat, but still entirely recognizable as a legume-based soup, the texture was thick and satisfying. At no point would I have mistaken it for my Grandfather's bean soup, but at the same time, it was never heavy-handed with flavors.

My couscous with chicken was equally delightful. The couscous itself was cooked perfectly, neither rice-fluffy nor oatmeal-gummy, and with a slightly sweet flavor that kept making me think, "creamy." Not sure exactly what it was, but it was tasty, all the same.

The veggies, despite being stewed with a wonderful tomato sauce, held together perfectly. Carrots still had a delicious resistance to them, the potatoes were fall-apart cooked, and the zucchini firm but giving. There was also a yellow, onion-based sauce served, which was lightly spiced, but the tomato sauce was clearly the star of the dish.

The chunks of chicken breast had been skewered and grilled, apparently over an army-surplus jet-engine. The exterior was lightly scorched, but the inside was just done enough, juicy and tender. My only regret was the portion: lots of couscous, lots of veggies and sauce, but only four pieces of chicken... guess you can't have everything...

Andy's lamb was divine. And, in the interest of full disclosure, I'm not a lamb fan. Sure, I like gyros, and lamb curries, and I certainly love my Döners as much as the next guy. But something about straight lamb meat just doesn't excite me: there's a sort of metallic gaminess to it that to me tastes more barnyard than anything. Andy's lamb, however, exploited this flavor, with a strong, spicy marinade, and the high-heat grilling, the distinctly lamb-y flavor was amplified, but also tempered. I'm not sure I could eat an entire plate of it, but then again, I'm not a lamb guy. Please, let this not deter you from ordering a lamb dish: I'm the worst person to review anything with roast or grilled lamb!

Lauren's pita was filled to the brim with grilled chicken breast, diced fine, along with a salad of tomatoes and lettuce, dressed with a tangy and sublime tahini-based sauce. America, if you're reading this: COOK WITH TAHINI. All it takes is a little tahini, some lemon juice, crushed garlic, salt, and maybe just a dash of hot sauce. BOOM! The world's most perfect summer-grilling-sauce.

All in all, our pre-summer visit to Shahrazad was a fun experience, indeed. Everything we ordered exceeded our expectations, the atmosphere is casual and relaxed, and our server was prompt and accommodating, if not a little flustered by the amount of tables she was tending to. I have full faith in recommending Shahrazad, knowing the consistent service and awesome food we've had in the years I've been going. Certainly not Milwaukee's only choice for Middle-Eastern, but without a doubt one of the best.



Report Card:
Atmosphere: A
From the moment you walk in the door, you know you're not in Milwaukee anymore. Clean, with low, moody lighting, and a soft soundtrack, the inside of the restaurant belies the basic storefront exterior.

Prices: B+
Dinners range in the $11-$18 range. A filling, delicious dinner can be had for under $20 for one, including a drink with one free refill, and even an appetizer.

Service: B
Certainly no complaints here. Our server was there when we needed her, but didn't hound us while we were eating (bonus points). My only regret... my soup spoon, MIA!

The Food: A
Authentic, fun, and something for everyone. While certainly not as complicated as a French sauce, or layered as an Indian curry, all the dishes have strong foundations in their preparation methods, and exotic flavors that satisfy novices and experienced foodies alike.

The Details:

Shahrazad Restaurant
(414) 964-5475
2847 N. Oakland Ave.
Milwaukee, WI 53221
http://www.shahrazadrestaurant.com/

Cold Spoons Gelato

Happiness is a small spoon, and a small dish filled with gelato. There, I've said it.

Sure, you'd like to think you're immune to the stuff. But you're gonna have to face it, you're addicted to that smooth, creamy, sweeter-than-custard treat that is so hard to come by in this city.

I believe the blame rests squarely on the shoulders of the custard stand. And I certainly can't fault them. In Milwaukee, custard is king, and I don't have a problem with that. I have my favorite, just as I'm sure everyone else does. But gelato is a different animal. Colder, lower butterfat, less air, and no eggs... it's sweet, rich, and comes in about every flavor in the rainbow. And there's very little room in Milwaukeean's stomachs for it.

Luckily, Cold Spoons Gelato opened up in my old neighborhood of Washington Heights. With this smallish, owner-operated stand comes some dessert bliss that so many other people already know about.



Cold Spoons offers a number of traditional gelato flavors (the flavors rotate, so you'll always be surprised), in addition to fruity "sorbetto" flavors, as well.



The interior is well-lit, open and airy, with a sort of fun-but-not-kindergarten feel to it that makes it both sophisticated and family friendly. Keeping with most custard and gelato stands, ordering is done at the counter with the freezers full of gelato in front of you, tempting you from the frozen depths. Customers are encouraged to try any flavor they're unfamiliar with, and trust me, you'll find yourself doing this at least twice, if not a few more times. You have the option of doing two, three, or four flavors in a single bowl, topped off with a crunchy half pizzelle.



I opted for the sampling of three flavors, including Pistachio, Caramel, and Panna Cotta.



The pistachio was a complete surprise. The flavor of the nuts was strong, cutting through the dairy like a knife. It immediately called to mind the potency of Amaretto -- maybe it was the nuttiness, maybe the clarity of flavor.

The caramel had clear notes of burnt sugar, and I was immediately relieved by this. No gooey dairy-caramel here, only strong, slightly bitter browned sugar, with just a little vanilla creaminess.

The panna cotta was the most delicate flavor, with a smooth, comforting note of cooked milk, with the smack of macerated strawberries mixed in.

Gelato isn't an every-day dessert, by any stretch of the imagination. The first time I had it, in Europe, I was surprised by the small portions and even smaller spoon, but I now understand: the richness, the strength of flavors, and the variety require tastes, not gobs. It's a dessert to be savored, not devoured. Cold Spoons brings a taste of Italy to Milwaukee (finally!), and does it with class and attention to details. We'll be going back.

Report Card:
Atmosphere: A-
Clean, bright, and family-friendly. There's plenty of space for lots of patrons, and you can always eat old-school out on the sidewalk!

Prices: B-
A three-flavor dish will run you $4.50. Not a cheap date, but not an everyday item, either. It's a premium product, I'll let the prices slide.

Service: A
The counter staff at Cold Spoons was smiling, quick and talkative.

The Food: B+
Lots of flavor options, and each one of them a victory in their own right. I would like to see a few more adventurous flavors, though...

The Details:

Cold Spoons Gelato
(414) 727-9457
5924 W. Vliet St.
Milwaukee, WI 53208