El Jefe Luchador – Deerfield Beach, FL

I used to live in a little college town called San Luis Obispo, CA, and in this town, at a small fork in the road, sat a sandwich shop named Ben Franklin’s. This cozy little joint, with psychedelic dragons painted all over it, was my go-to eatery, the first place I thought of when my stomach started calling. Even now, four years after leaving, my order is fresh in my mind, “large #7, no pickles, no lettuce” I would say, “hi Jimmy, it’ll be ready in about 10 minutes” came the answer. In the time it took me to drive down Higuera St., all 21″ of lunch and dinner would be waiting for me, taking up two full sandwich sleeves. At face value, Ben’s is nothing special, it’ll never win any originality competitions, it’s just another sandwich shop in sea of them in that little town. But it my expert opinion, they did it best, and that’s what matters. The point of my story…is this, wherever you live, you’re not truly home until you’ve got “your place”, THE place, the one you suggest when your friends ask where to eat when they’re in town, the place you crave when mealtime rolls around, the one restaurant you’re always in the mood for. I’m happy to say, I think I may have found my latest haunt, El Jefe Luchador.

After Ben’s, I was resigned to the fact that I’d never find a place that single-handedly made me feel right at home. So far, Jefe is doing a darn fine job of it. First impressions were superlative, killer music, cool atmosphere and enough lucha libre paraphernalia to make Nacho clench in his stretchy pants. However a restaurant needs more than hip accoutrements and Mexican wrestling schtick to impress, they need to step up to the plate with some fresh ingredients! (I take it you all know when to invoke Nacho’s voice) El Jefe has this part down pat. Their menu is jam-packed with primarily traditional Mexican fare with a nice Asian pile-drive to the face or a punch to the face. Of course the “Asian/Latin” fusion thing has been done a million times before, some good and some bad. The trick is in the balance and not getting too cute with the combinations, and Jefe gets it right. While they may tread dangerously close to kitsch with items named El Chicharron and El Don Hamburgueso (all right guys let’s settle down with these names…I’m just kidding I love ‘em!), the food backs up the crazy theme and brings it all together.

Tacos with heaping piles of steaming carnitas get body slammed with a hoisin salsa and kimchee slaw. There’s an interesting KFC riffed taco with “OG” recipe fried chicken, pickled onions, salsa fresca and queso Americano. They’ve got six different street style plates including tacos, burritos, tortas and nachos that you can customize with your favorite preparation like al pastor, barbacoa and the like. It doesn’t stop there, with special tacos, tortas and quesidillas, you’d be hard pressed to try everything in a year. From my experience the absolutely insane El Chicharron will rein you in and hit you in the mouth like Mascarita Sagrada doing the Hurracanrana. This taco literally has 1″x1″ cubes of solid pork belly. Who am I kidding, it’s nearly straight pork fat, and dear lord do they fry it perfectly. They top the lardo chunks with ancho smoked tomato, salsa suave, guacamole and cabbage slaw. They keep it crazy with barbacoa quesidillas drizzled in truffle crema, feel like a torta, how about El Borracho, consisting of a fried egg, beans, cheese and chipotle salsa? And this egg is no lie, it just might give you eagle powers.

Throw in Mexican sodas, microbrewed beers and seasonal sangrias and you’ve got the makings of a true campeón. In my relatively short time in South Florida, I’ve come to love this strip mall taco shop. Will it rise to Ben’s fame? Only time will tell. So don’t you want to taste the glory? See what it tastes like? Of course you do! Get down here and put El Jefe Luchador through its paces.

Rebel House – Boca Raton, FL

For something to make an indelible impression on my mind, a truly impressive feat has to be achieved. I am speaking, quite cryptically, about my experience at Rebel House in Boca Raton. It was a momentous occasion indeed, and though it was over 3 months ago, it still resonates in my lobes, both cerebral and the fatty lobe my liver has been transformed into. A transformation that would cause a rag-tag gang of mutants to assemble to fight for the greater good of mankind.

So here goes an attempt to wax poetic about something that happened such a long time ago. An evening in which I have no historical, pictorial, electoral or maybe even pectoral data for that matter, to back up my braised and brazen proclamations of excellence. Luckily, James was there to document the occasion.

The beef essences that transferred from popped corn to lips, was an amazing introduction between two new acquaintances, myself being the lesser in the relationship of human and tallow. I had studied this menu online for months, to the point of obsession. Ever since Rebel House opened for business, I had eyed it as a potential food suitor. However the daunting three hour drive stymied our would-be affair. But if you want something bad enough, all you need is an opportunity. To get just one foot in the door. Who knows what could be if distance didn’t separate us?

The table ordered around 12 dishes. We were all drawn to the left side of the menu that harbored the smaller plates meant for sharing.

I will say that I wasn’t blown away by my first taste of voluntarily ordered food (the beef popcorn was a gift and a welcome amusement). Homemade tater tots filled with cheeses of varying viscosity. I feel in hindsight they were ordered more for the little man at the table. They weren’t completely ready to come out of their hot oil bath, but things drastically rocketed skyward when my Korean BBQ lamb ribs arrived. With each bite, the thick sweet soy heavy sauce struggled valiantly to remain on the bone with caramel-like tension. The meat had no problem. It was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. As I often do, I was mindful of the techniques and time it took to achieve such complex flavors. Though lamb ribs are a protein usually forgotten, this dish bestowed it with a distinct personality. That, along with the rice vinegar quick pix (pickles) that served perfectly as a pairing to the ribs, I quickly forgot the miscues of the first course. I was then tapped on the shoulder due to excessive pondering. Next course, sweetbreads with citrus, frisee, and fennel. There hasn’t been an odder couple working so harmoniously since the powerhouse duo of Sylvester Stallone and Estelle Getty. I have to say, Rebel House is quite the flavor matchmaker. The tart citrus sliced scimitar-like through the rich, crispy morsels.

Then came the fried rice. In the back of my mind I was worrying. I worry that restaurants sometimes stretch themselves too thin. Giving me too many cuisines to choose from in one meal gets me nervous, as is my eyes will rebel against my better judgement resulting in a muddied dining experience.

The fried rice at rebel house is a complete meal all on its own. I may not have appreciated it as much as I should have, based on my fullness level at that point. The combination of the fresh springtime vegetables, with crispy bacon, a fried egg oozing a spellbinding golden yolk all over the plate, ribbons of spicy mayo intertwined with crispy fried red onions being the last bow atop this mound of mouth-watering magnificence. I mean, you can’t find it this in any modern Chinese establishment. Stop looking, it’s over Johnny. Some other items we sampled were a dish of grilled asparagus, drizzled with hollandaise and shaved cheese, pork potstickers in a sweet hoisin-like glaze and a dish of ravioli with snap peas, roasted mushroom ragu and shaved parm.

The table enjoyed two amazing ice cream desserts for our last cattle call. It was just about time to go to slaughter. These marvels of modern science in sundae form were presented to us in gigantic goblets fit for King Ralph.

I can’t exactly remember what they were but one had chocolate, praline, pretzels and candied almond. While the other, had a cinnamon roll at the base with bacon bits, caramel, and walnuts swarming the perimeter.

You have to try this place if you are ever within 50 miles of Boca Raton. It’s worth the drive. This place has gotten a lot of buzz as being stiff competition to its counterparts over in Miami, and for good reason. And when you do go, because you will, bring your story of rebellion back to your hometown and demand that a place like this find its way into your city streets.

Rebel Yell: Not Just Idol Chatter

Special thanks to the extremely competent Carly Powell for putting up with us at Eataduck and co-writing this piece.

Lock, Pops and Two Frozen Barrels

Summertime in Florida is nearly a year-long event. It’s May, but the temperatures are creeping up higher and faster than Macklemore’s rap “career”. We’ve been flirting with nearly 100° afternoons lately, so there’s only one solution to combat the threat of flesh-melting heat. Popsicles!

I had an assignment recently for the Lakelander magazine that, among other things, involved creating a couple of options for flavored patriot missiles. There was a Mexican theme, so I came up with a horchata based pop with some golden raisins, as well as a play on a Paloma, which is a grapefruit-centric cocktail though I nixed the alcohol since there were children partaking. To combat the often harsh, sour notes of grapefruit, I macerated some strawberries in sugar to make a sweet red mash of red bliss. They were a hit. The only thing left was a pool of pink on a serving platter, that lay dormant waiting for a certain adult-sized kid to pick it up and give it a shameful licking. That didn’t happen, but I saw a guy contemplating the consequences of such an action.

There’s no real recipe here, just an easy set of guidelines. Such as, the thinner the liquid, the quicker those suckers are going to melt. So, try not to use straight juice unless you mix it with some solid fruits or a purée of your liking. A general rule, use 2 cups of liquid for 1 cup of purée or thickener (i.e. condensed milk in the horchata pop). Below is my latest concoction, a peach-lemonade pop with fresh minced apricots.

Makes 8-10 Popsicles

2 cups lemonade
1 cup peach purée
3 peeled, then minced apricots

That’s it.

 

Mix the liquids. Spoon equal parts of the fruit into the bottom of the Popsicle molds, then pour the liquid over the fruit. Everything will swirl around and mix in a NATO way. Yeah in a North Atlantic Trade Organization kind of way. Thanks Siri! Enjoy if you dare to defy the United Nations!

Vizcaya Restaurante – Tampa, Fl

I haven’t been getting out as much as I used to. So many things pull us in different directions these days. We always say that being so busy takes away from what we really want to be doing. But really, don’t we all deserve to take a moment to let things slow down? To get back to ourselves, just for a night? Recently, I’ve noticed a huge shift in how I choose to enjoy a meal. Actually, this choice is really an observation I’ve gleaned from the restaurants I’ve visited. Small plate concepts are being thrown at my head as if Randy Johnson decided to trade pitching for cooking. It’s no small thing (at least here in the States) to say to a prospective diner “there’s no rush, just take a seat and stay for a few hours”.

I arrived late to an event held at Vizcaya by my newfound friends at the helm of TastingTampa.com. Not really knowing anything about the food, the chef, the space or even the location, it was a bit of an unknown for this Lakelander. The only thing I knew at this point was the word tapas. But as many of you know, this can mean many things to many people.

Almost immediately I was greeted by a long narrow plate of gigante Langostine wrapped in bacon and dressed with toasted almond, arugula, crimini, what I believe to be a sprinkling of feta and then a final light shower of balsamic. Was it feta? Sweet and creamy with a twist of tang because of the goat’s milk cheese, it was a surprisingly well thought combination for the enormous, what seemed to be, U-1 prawns.

 

I should say at this point, that I finally realized that the meal would be a selection of the chefs choices as they came out steadily. Next came a beautifully contrasting dish of lightly pan-fried sea bass, with over easy fried egg, red pepper coulis, chorizo oil. It reminded me of my mothers arroz con pollo with the flavors of red pepper and saffron. The chorizo was so slight that it almost felt like it was my imagination, like it wasnt really there, but I knew it was. It was a clever way of putting classic flavors together in a peculiar way.

Grilled octopus with cauliflower purée, paprika oil, buttery, viscous and tender with little to no bounce back. I’m used to my octopus sharing the texture of a kickball. Well, my milk toast strength teeth eviscerated these tentacles with the ease of a berserker barrage. Mellow flavor not too charred lingered for a few minutes until I cleansed it with a mellow Spanish white.

Plates were being dealt to the table at such a rapid pace I thought I was at the World Series of Poker!

Oxtail stuffed piquillo peppers with bechamel. Very rich and creamy with a beautiful “gravy” made with the oxtail drippings. One of the best things I ate but not as complicated as many of the seafood presentations.

Squid ink “risottoesque” paella had great spice. The pepper lingered on the tongue. There were spikes of spicy, yet in a way, floral punches of pepper that brought things to a crescendo at every other mouthful. The rice was expertly cooked, with some contrasting texture with some of the grains crisp but not burnt on the bottom like some paellas tend to be.

Iberico pork cheeks, rioja wine gravy, cheese grits, fatty fork tender, the richness of the gravy along with the cheesy polenta was like a blanket on the tongue, leaving my head floating. I’ve never been to the Basque region but I’d imagine many farmers would choose this as their last meal. I was ready to die. It still lingers. You can tell the chef’s heart still lies in España. He wasn’t afraid to aggressively season the food, and we as diners, deserve that attention. I get the feeling that if I were to be a regular at this place, this would be my go to dish, and quite possibly be my cause of death when the paramedics arrive to wheel me out.

The final touch of brilliance came when we were presented with a small plate of dates stuffed with house made ricotta, wrapped in bacon. Like little crispy devils on horseback galloping down my esophagus. The slight burnt sugar and that not so easy to explain perfection, dinged in my brain as if a perplexing question had just been asked, and the sweet salty morsel was obviously the correct answer.

Pubbelly – Miami Beach, FL

With a name like Pubbelly, it must come as a surprise to many of our readers that this sanctuary of sumptuous snacks has taken so long to appear on this storied space. Well allow me remedy that. Pubbelly touts itself as “the first Asian inspired gastropub in Miami”. I’m not here to say who came first, I’m here to report on great food, which I found many times over at this little outpost on Miami Beach. The three young guys running this outfit are all chefs and hospitality pros in their own right, and have joined forces to create a truly food-centric eatery. That may sound strange, “aren’t all restaurants food-centric?” you may ask. Well yes and no. They may serve food, but the other half of the equation is the passion. Just like how you can hear the passion in a great song, when you are presented with a beautiful plate of quivering pork belly, with its golden crown and pearly outer garments, you can tell whoever created it is just as excited about cooking it as you are about eating it…well almost.

Luckily for me, the trio of Pubbelly and I have similar leanings when it comes to food. On the menu you’ll find, all manners of cured meats, various pork products (the words belly, bacon and short-rib occur many times throughout), a whole section devoted to dumplings, noodles, a raw bar, and everything in between. The atmosphere is casual and the staff are well versed in the menu, which will stay with you for the duration of the meal as you’ll likely be ordering in waves as certain items catch your eye.

I arrived a tad late to the gathering, just in time to catch a couple bites of the pastrami & sauerkraut dumplings. I’m usually not such a push over, but this dish gained my loyalty immediately. First of all, I would have probably never ordered it on my own as I’m known to hate sauerkraut and caraway. As I’ve stated countless times before though, everything is delicious when it’s done right, and these dumplings were no exception, tangy, salty, the perfect start. The duck and pumpkin option was another winner, with a very autumn sounding sauce of orange, almond, cinnamon and soy brown butter. The only issue I found was having to fight the temptation to order another plate instead of branching out. Happily though, cooler heads prevailed and we continued.

A charcuterie plate was summoned, a long mound of Mangelitsa ham lay opposite slices of toast slathered with goat butter and truffles. Delicious, but not to be outdone by its brothers cooked a bit more vigorously. A pair of plates arrived featuring one of our favorites here at Eat a Duck, pork belly! The first was pork belly with kabocha (a type of Asian winter squash), butterscotch miso and corn powder. It was nearly solid fat (not a bad thing in my book) with a slim layer of flesh at the bottom. It came sliced like a loaf of bread and literally disintegrated in your mouth. The second was cochinillo with sour apple purée, roasted brussels sprouts, cinnamon and soy. This was a crisper more solid take, but no less tasty. A nuclear colored apple purée added a sour note and the subtle presence of soy brought your palate back to Asia.

Back on the raw side of things, was a short rib tartare with apples, quail egg, green mustard, tobanjan (a spicy paste made from fermented broad beans) and pine nuts. This was a truly beautiful dish. I requested more goat butter truffle toast as a vehicle, that was one of my better decisions. But it wasn’t all pork all the time, not that there’s anything wrong with that. We were on Miami Beach, so we ventured into the sea with bay scallops bourguignon in shiso garlic butter and sea salt with a crusty baguette on the side. I imagine the chefs creating this dish to appease a close friend or relative who was squeamish about snails and finding it was not bad on its own. Escargots are one of my favorite dishes, but the sweet, tender flesh of a scallop was a wonderful substitution on the classic recipe.

Of course dessert followed. After all the dinner party included my dad and sister, two people who have been partners with me at some of my most memorable meals. After consulting our waitress, we arrived upon the chocolate brownie sundae and butterscotch crème brûlée. Both were gone in moments and were as luxurious as they look. For a chocolate fiend like myself, the brownie hit all the right buttons, though the crème brûlée had it beat in refinement and balance of flavor. It was by no means a blow out on either side.

It proved to be another successful meal. The food at Pubbelly is impressive to say the least. As you know, we here at Eat a Duck strive to write only about those establishments doing something truly special, and I believe the trio at Pubbelly are doing just that. So if that’s not enough motivation to visit, just peruse the menu yourself.

The Dutch – Miami Beach, FL

There was something very comforting about the time I was able to spend living up in New Jersey. Being born in New York must have imprinted some sort of regional familiarity on my mind. Moving back down to Florida after almost a year of hanging out in and around Manhattan was not easy. There’s no need to list the innumerable facets that make the atmosphere in the city so unique. Unsurprisingly, one of the things I miss most, is the access to amazing food around every corner (not that much of an exaggeration). Luckily for me, my destination, not far from Miami, also happens to be the nesting ground for many uncompromising Manhattan snowbirds, weary of the frigid winters but unwilling to sacrifice the food, even for a few months out of the year.

Naturally, this migration brings with it the demand for said food. Thankfully, many Manhattan eateries have followed the flock and set up shop in Florida to sate the appetites of the hungry expats. One of these, from chef and restauranteur Andrew Carmellini and his partners Josh Pickard and Luke Ostrom , is The Dutch. The Miami outpost, at 2201 Collins Ave inside the posh W Hotel (along with another New York institution, Mr. Chow) opened just seven months after the original.

My family, all very attached to New York City in some way, made plans to visit The Dutch together on a recent weekend. Despite all my time in the city, even passing The Dutch on the way to work day after day, I never was able to partake. Here though, was my chance to remedy that. It was refreshing to see that they didn’t try to create some false “New York” atmosphere with the decor. It manages to tread the fine line of chic Miami style without straying into Florida kitsch. We took a seat in an outdoor booth on the patio and dove straight into the menu.

The first thing to catch my eye were the offerings from the raw bar. 2013 has been the year of the oyster for me so far, Garde Manger started the trend and The Dutch kept it going with incredibly fresh bivalves by the dozens, we secured ourself a dozen each of P.E.I’s and Kumamotos. The oyster selection changes often based on what’s fresh or in season, so it pays to visit multiple times if you want to sample other varieties. Joining the oyster tower was a crispy lamb, squared and perched on a landing strip of cous cous with tomato, olive and caramel. Classic corvina ceviche with avocado and fresno chile, sides consisted of creamy parmesan polenta with bacon bits and green onion and a cast iron skillet overflowing with roasted mushrooms, garlic crouton and parsley.

You could tell that each dish was constructed with care. That same care was taken to make sure that the flavors were balanced. The tomato and olive didn’t overpower the subtle gaminess of the lamb, and the cous cous lent an added texture and creaminess. The ceviche, which could have easily been ruined by a heavy-handed use of chile, was spot on. The fish was fresh and bright paired with the avocado that brought a silky mouth feel. Roasted mushrooms and polenta are always sure to bring that cozy home cooked aspect to any meal, the green onion and bacon bit accoutrements gave a slight nod to the classic baked potato.

For the second course, the group split between choices from land and sea. The mature individuals at the table chose the more sensible dishes, namely a steamed red snapper in a coconut curry broth with mint, and Scottish salmon with beets, horseradish crema and caviar. Us foolish young’uns went for the more audacious choices, a fiery Jamaican jerked chicken with peas, rice and pineapple chutney and ravioli formaggi with mushroom bordelaise, and blanketed by freshly sliced winter truffle. As you’d expect, the truffle dish was mine, after all, I have a reputation to keep.

 

The consistently fresh and balanced flavors continued through with the entreés. Both fish dishes were perfectly cooked and broke into smooth flakes at the touch of the fork. The salmon was especially tasty with its beet “relish” and horseradish crema. I’m a notorious loather of cooked fish in most instances, but my motto continues to hold up, when it’s done right, everything can be delicious. The guys and gals behind the scenes at The Dutch are proving that point on a nightly basis.

As usual, the time came where our waiter left us with that difficult question…dessert? Were we full? Yes. Could we leave without trying their banana cream pie and homemade dark rum donuts? Of course not. Both were delicious, the donuts winning out slightly over the pie for me, simply because of the bowl of fresh raspberry jam. I allowed everyone a small dunk after which I hoarded the rest for myself to greedily slather over the remaining donuts. I’m a raspberry whore and I’m not afraid to admit it.

As we left satisfied, I felt that familiar feeling wash over me, like a piece of New York had broken off and planted itself in the south, awaiting my arrival. Not to take anything away from the amazing eateries Miami calls its own, but The Dutch fills a specific culinary void that I felt when I first moved down. Hopefully other New York establishments will see the demand and follow suit, opening up their own branches south of the Mason-Dixon line.