Wednesday, April 30, 2008

I don't want your free food

In response to "Open Call for Free Food", let me just say, if you send me a free coupon to your restaurant, I'm not going to review it.  Seems like a great setup for corruption.

I just don't think you can objectively rate a free lunch.  So in the same way that financial reporters disclose it when they own stock in a company they're reviewing, I will state here that I will be paying for all of my meals (and sometimes B1's too).

Open Call for Free Food

If you have a restaurant in the Bay Area (Cupertino, San Jose, Santa Clara, Mountain View, Sunnyvale, Campbell, et al) and you'd like to see us review it some Monday, let us know. You'd be amazed how fast we get to a place when we have a gift certificate.

Open Call for Homies

If you're a pal of b1 and/or the King, you're welcome to join us for a Monday lunch. Feel free to tap Feddy or myself and we'll count you in. But be aware that:

* You follow the schedule we set (meaning time and place), we don't follow yours.

* We reserve the right to say something snotty about you.

In other words: you're the tail, not the dog.

Monday, April 28, 2008

I Restaurant, Cupertino

- or -

A Lunch with a Triple Play


Last week, in fairly short order, the King saw I Restaurant (Feddy: "Who would be so fucked up as to call a restaurant that?" b1: "Crazy Asians. It's gotta be Asian.") and then decided it would be a good idea to start writing about this lunch business. So when I pulled up in the continual car with Mutant Disco pumping, it was an easy choice to roll the few blocks back to I Restaurant.

Due to an over-abundance of high tech (particularly a booming Apple), and having way more money than the city knows what to do with, the streets of Cupertino are under continual modification and upgrade. So it was no surprise that the construction crew forced us to make a Pizza Hut turn at Stevens Creek and Wolfe.

The back parking lot was full, but there was a nice Hollywood spot on the side of the building. I always forget, though -- just like in LA, nobody actually walks in Cupertino. Which means there are no sidewalks.

We were forced across the lawn in front of the gawking crowd of I Restaurant.

As we entered we were quickly welcomed and shuttled to a two spot of our choice. On first entrance, it feels like a pretty nice place, nicer than the baggin-n-saggin t-shirt outfits that the King and I were wearing. But hey, this is The Valley, and here anyone can be a multi-millionaire (in fact, one of us is), so it's easy to look scruffy and get away with it.

The convention center style chairs are covered with cloth, giving it a weird I'm-not-sure-we-should-be-here feeling. I've only ever seen that once before in my life -- at a (good) Chinese restaurant in Bangalore's Hilton Hotel.

The six million people in the Bay Area have an interesting ethnic breakdown. If you bunch the broad ethnic groups together (which I don't, but census types do), the majority of the people here are Asian, followed closely by Hispanic, with whitey being a close third. There are no black people, although we do recognize them when we see them. Or in other words, if you're white, you're outnumbered more than two-to-one by everyone else.

I like it for two reasons. One is I grew up in Colorado in a neighborhood that was so white that "minority" meant you were Catholic. I felt then as a kid, and much more strongly now as an adult, that that type of upbringing doesn't give you a good feel for the world and its potential.

The other is it gives you spectacular food possibilities. Before I moved to California (over 20 years ago now!), I had eaten Japanese food once (pretty crappy) and Chinese food twice (almost passable). But out here I get "ethnic" food all the time. Multiple times a week. And it's good.

I have two jingoist rules of thumb when it comes to eating "non-American" food. The best places will:

A) Have very few (or no) whiteys eating there.

-&-

B) You should feel a little uncomfortable while there.

So I'm already happy. Because the seats feel more dressed than I do, and looking around everyone looks like they're part Mao's next revolution. Counting the two of us, there are only three non-Chinese in the place -- the other being an Indian customer (dot, not feather) who must have taken a wrong turn or something.

Feddy goes to the bathroom giving me time to fumble with the cheapie lunch menu as well as the super-huge dinner menu. As I peruse the offerings, I get approached by a super-cute waitress, twice, figuring that I can probably ask her out on third pass.

Unfortunately that all gets blown up right about the time the King returns. My cute waitress has suddenly been relieved of her table duties by a kind-yet-scary man (who looks suspiciously Filipino). Feddy's super-excited about the trash-can-that-appears-to-be-a-paper-shredder in the men's room, but I'm still fuming over my date being blown.

To put things back on level I politely explain to the King that he's buying the fricken lunch since I paid for the b1andtheking.com domain registration and order "beef with lotus root in XO sauce" (not having any idea what XO sauce is, but hoping it might mean I get the old waitress to give me a hug and a kiss). Somehow that didn't seem quite risky enough so I tacked on an appetizer of "magic flavored fish."

And a Coke.

I try to get the King to order "soya pig feet" or maybe "chicken with bones," but instead he opts for shredded something. I never listen to his food orders anyway because he runs distance races, treats his body not only like temple but a machine, has a knock-out wife (who in turn treats him like a mental patient) and as a result, he always eats healthy.

Oh, and he's a fussy eater.

Or putting it another way, we have nothing in common.

Feddy: "What the hell was that you ordered? Magic fish?"

b1: "No, magic flavored fish. It's illegal to serve magic fish. They're endangered. You think a restaurant like this can serve magic fish and stay in business? No. Magic flavored. They only taste like magic fish, but they're not."

Feddy: "Oh. So what's magic flavor?"

b1: "Hell if I know."

Feddy goes into a long discussion of how his genetically modified and blood doping son, Prince Feddy, has set (another) new course record in running and as he does I act like I'm listening as I take in the decor. Very roughly speaking, I Restaurant has the same aesthetic sensibilities as the aluminum Xmas tree I had begged my parents for (and loved) as a kid. There's a small chandelier in the ceiling that has rotating colored lights around it and like a car accident, I'm having trouble taking my eyes off it, although I know I should.

On those rare moments when I do, my eyes are drawn to a big flat screen playing Chinese karaoke. There are several dramatic scenes going by, my favorite is one where a woman is in a hospital listening to her lover playing a heartfelt rendition of something striking on a piano over a cell phone he has laid on the soundboard. At the end she sheds a tear and I think she dies.

So come on.

What's not to like? Feddy's payin'. I've spoken to a cute Chinese girl several times (without even having to jam quarters in a box to keep the window open). And I've seen enough Taiwanese weirdness to last me to the Olympics. And the food's not even here yet!

I'm loving it.

The food comes pretty fast.

The magic flavored fish turns out to be cuttle fish with peanuts. If you think "squid jerky Cracker Jacks" you're on the right page. But give it a salty bias, not sweet. I eat a few and, when Feddy averts his eyes, I'm able to levitate the plastic serving spoon with my mind. So they're certainly magic enough.

Our main courses come on big three-portion plates. Feddy points at his food, "Does this look shredded?" No. He's disappointed.

He won't be. He hasn't looked at the karaoke screen yet.

On my main course, the salad is good with a non-descript dressing. The greens include dandelions which I always find funny because I never thought of eating them in the years of my youth when they clogged our yard.

I chose brown rice and it was toothy and fine.

The lotus root I had was a tad old. Fresh stuff should taste like a very "bright" water chestnut and these were dialled away from that a notch or two. The beef was just a bit tough. XO sauce wasn't a hug and a kiss but rather something closer to a soy gravy.

We plow through it and talk. I steal a piece of tofu off King Feddy's plate. It's easily the best thing on the table.

For me the food as a whole is certainly acceptable but unremarkable. What's making the whole experience is the this-is-what-Venus-is-like-in-China ambiance.
Oh, and time with the King, of course.

At 14:00 sharp they turn off the change-y lights and deliver us our check. The tab is something like $19 and the King lays down $23. The check came with a customer comment form, which I always fill out, but, ahem, we have no pen.

So we talk. Feddy finishes his meal as we watch the second greatest video of the set so far -- it's Chinese people staging Shogun warriors (I know, I know) with the occasional spinner in modern day hot pants being thrown in for no apparent reason.

Feddy takes his time. Always. (Unless he's riding with me and I'm coasting to a traffic light, which freaks him out.) So after awhile the confused wait people bring us back the change, thinking that we're idiots and have overpaid a bill and change is the reason we're not getting our collective asses off their shrouded seats.

Uh, no.

But I do get a chance to ask for a pen.

At that point, the proprietress sees I'm going to fill out the form and just launches on us. Did we have a good meal? Did we have a good time? Do we like the decoration? We need to invite our friends. Dinner is better. You should come back for dinner. She was super-friendly and very pleasant. Dare I say "cordial."

AND WOULD YOU LOOK AT THIS: The first question on their evaluation was "Did you receive a cordial welcome?"

Why yes, as a matter of fact we did. We give them high marks all the way down and tell them there will be a review up here about the experience.

On the way out every damn person says goodbye, but in a good way, not in that yell-y, scream-y way they do it at Japanese restaurants where you think they may suddenly go all Pearl Harbor on you.

To complete the Pizza Hut turn, Hollywood parking triple play, we drive Kennedy style on the way back. Feddy comments how Asian the area has become. Noting things like the Charles Schwab across the street being in Chinese. "It wasn't this far gone in the 80's was it?"

"No, Feddy, but this isn't the bad spot." So, under his initial protest, and then delight, we take a detour to the Ranch 99 area near Homestead and Wolfe, going to the slowest possible roll through the big business parking lots there.

The King is impressed.

On our procession we see a spot. He points and I nod.

"That one. That should be our next place."

And it probably will be. But hey, you don't want me to spoil the surprise, do ya?

{But wait, there's more! Do you want a taste of the I Restaurant experience without getting off your lazy ass and actually doing something? Of course you do. Check out the Web site they had on their menus. It's probably the closest I've ever had to having the feeling of a place. I Restaurant}

Sunday, April 27, 2008

All about Here

Hi there and welcome to "B1 and the King."

The King and I have been having meals together for over 20 years -- determined mostly by whether or not we were in the same country at any given moment. Last week he suggested that we start reviewing the places we eat and writing about the experience.

I don't know if that's a good idea, but I do know that 'blogging hasn't been anything close to the bad/stupid idea I originally thought, so we're going to give it a shot. And hey, if worse comes to worst, the "delete" button is only one click away.
For the time being it looks like the context will be meals on Monday -- in the immediate Cupertino, CA, USA area. Don't be surprised if we run geographically further afield, or intellectually away from eating.

Although the primary reason we're doing this is something closely related to self-gratification, we're certainly glad you're along for the ride. Comment if you feel inspired, lay back and cruise if you don't.

Thanks for reading.

P.S. If you ever see a post that is formatted all crazy, it's because b1 is posting from his hiptop to the super-secret email address. When he does that, blogger pukes a thimble-ful. B1's too lazy to make it any better.