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If you hadn’t guessed it yet… I’m a little bit of a travel-o-holic.

Not only is my ideal job to be a travel journalist (journalism school… my new job at wCities…), but since starting this blog, I’ve lived on Long Island and in New York City, Toronto, and Cannes. Oh… and Paris. Almost forgot.

So it should come as no surprise to any of you that I also love to take little trips. Nothing can beat living in a new place, but when I’m scrimping and saving, buying the half-off ham at our cheap supermarket, all I’m thinking is about the savings I can deposit to put towards a new trip. I travel cheap, staying in hostels and either buying food at local outdoor markets or cooking for myself mostly (OK… and treating myself to one or two nice meals out), so I can afford to go away pretty often thanks to my shiny, new student rail pass. Since starting in Paris this past September, I’ve been to London twice, Amiens, Amsterdam, and Toronto. Lucky me!

One of my favorite trips this year, though, was of a slightly more… expensive type. This was probably one of the last vacations I’ll take with my family, so I didn’t feel the slightest bit badly about being spoiled with a post-Christmas trip to Mexico, staying in a resort in the west (by Manzanillo, Jalisco) with my family and my cousins.

There was a swim-up bar. Heaven.

The odd thing? I almost missed my cheap backpacking adventures. And so, one morning, instead of heading straight down to the pool with my new Christmas books (three travel narrative anthologies… *squeal*!) I got myself a dollar to get onto the boat to Barra Navidad, the town near the resort.

I realized then that the thing I adore most about travel is the people. The real, true life. Yes, I love a swim-up bar, but even more, I loved getting my feet dirty walking along the dusty roads. It was nice that all of the native Mexicans working at the hotel had some ability to speak English, but it was so much more fun to break out my rusty Spanish on the streets as I bartered for a tiny Mexican hat to put on the Canadian’s three-liter bottle of Crown Royal, affectionately called Steve. The food at the resort was divine, but how can you beat an authentic Mexican taco, bought for eight cents at an outdoor stand? The mere idea makes my mouth water.

Yes, this is a food blog, not the story of my life, and this story, like most stories of my life, does have a food-related point: Gambas Diavolo. Devil’s shrimp. How odd, because to me, they tasted like heaven, served with the heads and tails on, a pile of napkins, and a basket full of fresh corn tortillas on the side.

I’ve been given the official go-ahead that it’s safe to tell you about my new job! I now work for a site called wcities.com, where I write Paris restaurant reviews. In honor of this announcement, I decided to post a restaurant review that I’ve been meaning to get up here for some time… Le Serpent Qui Danse.

The name of this restaurant is taken from a poem by French writer Charles Baudelaire. It’s in the 11th arrondissement, kind of far away from a lot of touristy destinations, but it’s totally worth it.

In reality, this sort of food is not very Parisian. A lot of food that comes from other places in France has somehow found its way to Paris: the Lyonnais bûchon, the Marseillaise fish house, and the Savoyard raclette and fondue restaurants. Nevertheless, many people who come to Paris want to sample “traditional” French food go straight for the pot of melted cheese… and this is where capitalism settles in for the long haul.

The majority of fondue and raclette restaurants are decorated in a typical Savoyard/Swiss fashion: as chalets. The authenticity stops there. Mostly what you get served is a pot of thinned, melted cheese and a few cubes of bread which, I can tell you from personal experience, is not what is served in the Alps.

At Le Serpent Qui Danse, the raclette cheese is brought out on a traditional melting apparatus. Basically, there are two heaters on either side of the wedge of cheese, which the diners can arrange closer or farther away from the wedge according to their eating speed. Melted cheese is scraped from the wedge onto plates of boiled potatoes, pickles and meats. This is where Le Serpent Qui Danse proclaims its authenticity.

You have a choice of meats including a pork-free and vegetarian version (not too sure what that entails…), but when I was in the Alps I always had ham, so ham is what I ordered. Our waiter, however, was certain that there was something better, and, alongside our order, he brought a free plate of dry-cured beef. He was right.

Britney and I stuffed ourselves full of cheese, bread, meat and salad that day, and while it was a thoroughly overwhelming gastronomic experience, I would most definitely do it again.

English food has gotten a bad rap. Sure, Nigella Lawson and Jamie Kennedy have started to right this wrong, but whereas people go to Paris to try some of the traditional bistro and brasserie fare and you hit Rome to sit in a trattoria with a dish of pasta or pizza (or at least hit several dozen gelaterias), visitors to London don’t really get excited about its gourmet cuisine.

The fact is, London is a bit like America, in that most of its excellent cuisine came from elsewhere (and I don’t necessarily mean internationally). For example, one of my favorite treats from London is a Cornish pasty, which comes from Cornwall. You can choose your filling (or two, one sweet and one savory, if you’re going for the traditional thing) and you pay very little to have something very delicious. Another amazing London food is curry: English food is sometimes bemoaned as being bland, but be careful ordering your curries hot in London… they mean it.

I was only in London for the weekend, and I was there with a school trip, so I didn’t have a lot of time to sample food. Eventually, I want to go to the Goulder’s Green tube stop, where food writer Calvin Trillin has touted a Chinese food restaurant, but all in good time.

Really, I just ate in two good spots. One was called, very simply, Eat. It was a prepared food store, a lot like Pret à Manger (which is excellent), except that Eat’s focus seemed to be on healthy or natural foods. I bought a hummus wrap for later and this salad for lunch… mostly because it was so colorful.

It had broccoli, edamame, peas, bean sprouts, grated beet, sweet potatoes and goat cheese. It was an amazing combination, and everything was deliciously fresh.

For dinner one night, my English friend took me to a Japanese restaurant called Wagamama. You sit at a communal table and everything is cooked to order… which means a table’s food doesn’t all come at once. It’s a pretty cool concept, although it’s a little jarring when the waitress writes your order on your placemat so that someone can bring it to you. I ordered a chicken curry dish, which was incredible. I usually like to get Japanese beer with Japanese food, but my friend wanted wine, and we actually ended up with a really good bottle of red for not too much (in London prices.)

So I guess my point is… don’t judge London food before you’ve tried it. It’s really quite delicious if you go to the right places and don’t spend your entire time eating pub food. (Although don’t knock fish and chips… I could live off fish and chips with mushy peas.)

SCENE: Evening.
You are seated at a long wooden table at a small, intimate restaurant in Paris, illuminated only by candlelight, waiting patiently for the waitress to arrive.

“How would you like it cooked?”

This is the ordering experience at L’Entrecôte in Paris, France. No, the waitresses are not telepathic; there’s just only one thing on the menu: salad, fries, and steak, cooked any way you like. And you want it rare.

This is an amazing steak. L’Entrecôte doesn’t take reservations because they know they don’t have to: by 7:30, the restaurant is full; obscenely early for a Paris diner. After the table has “ordered,” the waitresses bring by huge serving bowls of salad, simple greens, simply dressed. Quite delicious, but it doesn’t hold a candle to what you are about to experience.

The steak is always cooked to perfection, the fries are crisp and flavourful, but the real goodness? The sauce.

Lucky me, my mother fell in love with it too, and after a lot of experimentation on us, her guinea pigs, she figured it out, as she always does.

And now I’m here to share it with you! Don’t be taken aback by the pinkish hue… it’s amazing. We have yet to figure out how the Parisians acheive a more muted color… I’m convinced that it has to do with fresh tarragon. At any rate, it tastes the same, and if I close my eyes, I feel like I’m back in Paris.

L’Entrecôte Steak

Season a room-temperature steak liberally with salt and pepper. Heat olive oil in a frying pan until almost smoking, and then add the steak. Cook until desired doneness is acheived (ahem. rare). Remove steak and keep warm. Add a tablespoon of Tarragon Dijon Mustard. Whisk in a quarter cup (approximately) of good, dry red wine. Return the steak to the pan and coat both sides with sauce. Serve with extra sauce on the side.

Naturally, this can be doubled, tripled, quadrupled… it’s worth it. It’s best served with fries, but if you’re feeling lazy, as I was, some toast rubbed with garlic and olive oil will do nicely.

Nowadays, it seems to be all the rage to eat at roadside diners. Celebrity chef Alton Brown has made the concept into a show, Feasting on Asphalt, and everyone else seems to be reminiscing about the “good old days” when you could get an unlimited cup of coffee for 50 cents.

This weekend, I went on an impromptu road trip to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, and when we ate at one of these diners for breakfast, I appreciated their allure.

We ate at around nine in the morning, and the diner was still relatively empty. A table of two couples and another table with a family were the only other filled tables I could see. The service was fast, and the menu was simple: eggs, pancakes, waffles, and french toast.

For exactly $8.27, my travel companion had scrambled eggs with toast and home fries, and I had a stack of blueberry pancakes. We were also served unlimited coffee.

It’s impossible to compare this sort of food to gourmet restaurant meals. This sort of food is simply good. Unassuming. It’s the sort of food you want when you’re in an awful mood and you just want something to fill you up. The pancakes were tasty and fluffy, served with maple syrup and a smile. As you can probably see from the picture, I enjoyed them thoroughly.
The waitress was attentive and nice, arriving every few minutes at our table to refresh our cups of coffee. She seemed amused that I intended to take the “unlimited refills” literally. Anyone who knows me, however, should know that “unlimited coffee refills” is not a phrase that should be used around me. It will be taken literally.

I recently visited The Clam Box in Ipswich, MA, famous for its fried seafood including scallops, mussels, haddock, and of course, its namesake, the clam strip.

One interesting aspect of the restaurant is the fact that it is shaped like a clam box, the container in which the seafood is sold.

Once inside, one is greeted with a large menu over two windows. Each customer places his order at the order window inside the restaurant, and then the food is delivered at the adjacent window in a “clam box.” You can then elect to either eat inside the restaurant dining room, which is made up of several large, wooden tables, or to take your food out to one of the picnic tables behind the parking lot. It is a simple place with simple, good food.

When I went, I ordered the fried scallops. In retrospect, I probably should have ordered the namesake clams, but I am always tempted when I see scallops. The food is everything the restaurant promises, and nothing more. The batter is tasty and the seafood is of impeccable quality. Each dish is served with french fries, simple, but a good accompaniment. I was impressed with the quality of the malt vinegar I was given when I requested it. All in all, if you are looking for a typical clam shack and are in the area, the Clam Box is a good place to hit.

For my first restaurant review, I thought it was only appropriate to review the restaurant where I work, Dee Angelo’s. So maybe I’m a little biased, but I also know the inside scoop.

Dee Angelo’s is owned by Dee Perfido and Lenny Angelo, and is located on Main Street in Westhampton Beach, NY. The name of the restaurant comes from Pleasant Avenue in the Bronx, where Lenny grew up.

The cafe is very small, with only nine tables inside, and ten outside. We serve both brunch and dinner at the cafe. Brunch is served from 9:30 to 3:00 on weekends and from 11:30 to 3:00 on weekdays. As opposed to a typical brunch, the menu is really breakfast on one side, lunch on the other, with the whole menu being served all day. The breakfast side of the menu consists of various egg dishes including frittate, omelettes, and eggs benedict, and the house specialties, Lemon Ricotta Pancakes and “Italian” toast, French toast made from panettone, an Italian holiday bread which originated in Milan.

Sidebar: There are many stories about the invention of Panettone, but this is my favourite. A boy working for the local town baker, Toni, in the 15th century fell in love with the baker’s daughter. To win the baker’s approval, the boy invented a sweet bread with fruit and orange peel baked inside and named it after the baker: Pan di Toni.

The lunch side of the menu is mostly panini and salads. Lunch in general is pretty low key. Most people like to sit outside on Main Street during the day, or out on the side deck under the umbrellas if it rains. Lunch is generally about 14 dollars per person including a non-alcoholic drink.
At dinnertime, both the menu and the atmosphere of the restaurant change dramatically. The menu features salads and traditional Italian appetizers like Fried Calamari and Artichokes “Al Guidea,” pasta dishes, and Italian and Italian-American “secondi.” As far as specials are concerned, the chef utilizes all of the fresh fish and produce from the area to create lobster and crab dishes to combine the traditional seafood of Long Island with the typical preparation styles of Italian cuisine.

Every restaurant has its high points and low points. The highest point of Dee Angelo’s is most definitely the food, which is probably the best meal you can get in the area. As for complaints? I mostly hear three: 1. The portions are too big, 2. We don’t take American Express, and 3. Our reservation policy is… confusing. We “don’t take reservations,” but anyone who is a regular knows that they can call and reserve any table, any night. It helps if your name ends in a vowel (i.e., You’re from the boot.) What else can you expect from Italians?