Wine snobs, like myself, have long contended that the only wine made in the USA worth drinking must come from California, Oregon or Washington state. I can not tell you I have sampled lots of NJ wines. I simply don’t give them a chance because, the few I have had, have been undrinkable, and I, like many others, live by the creed that “life is too short to drink bad wine.”

So, when someone sent me a Craig LaBan (food critic of the Philadelphia Inquirer) article from the newspaper titled “Wines of NJ Draw Fans”, I read it with a large degree of skepticism. The piece featured the Sharrott Winery in Winslow Township, just a few miles from my home. In all honesty, I have never been there and prior to the article, never even knew it existed. It seems that among the wines they produce  is a Cabernet Franc that was just awarded a Gold Medal at the recent San Francisco Chronicle Wine Competition. I also learned that it is available at one of my favorite wine stores, Hops n Grapes in Glassboro. I was impressed enough by what I read that I am planning to purchase the Sharrott Cab Franc as soon as this damn snow stops long enough to enable me to visit Hops n Grapes. I will make certain that in the next few days I provide a report on my impressions of what I have for many years felt was an impossibility, a good wine, lovingly nursed to the bottle from the vine, here in the Garden State. Stay Tuned!

I continue to live vicariously through Craig LaBan, Inquirer restaurant critic. I was reminded of that today when a friend told me I “simply must” read LaBan’s review of Chew Man Chu, which replaced Du Jour at Symphony House on Broad and Pine Streets. It’s always a treat to read one of LaBan’s negative reviews. The pen is mightier than the sword, indeed. After I finished reading this particular review, I was pierced with the overwhelming desire to find a pair of scissors and frame the thing. LaBan doesn’t just skewer. He skewers with style. Read the whole review, word for word. Just for my own learning purposes, I wanted to highlight my favorite lines.

“bland bomb of Americanized-ethnic cooking” (Note how he uses alliteration to make his prose extra punchy.)

“the unfortunately named Chew Man Chu” (Unfortunate because the food is hard to chew. Restaurant owners, be warned. Stay away from the clever puns.)

“campy purple wok-bar” (The décor is tacky as hell. Thank you Craig LaBan for pointing that out. Symphony House loses points for that one.)

“enough lacquered sweetness to make your teeth ache” (My teeth hurt just reading that. The power of LaBan wordage. I am in awe.)

“an ode to bland nostalgia” (I just like this line.)

“it makes P.F. Chang’s taste like Susanna Foo” (Hahahahahahaha.)

“mystery meat” (Instant flashback to high school cafeteria.)

“one of its least appealing cameos I’ve seen” (See back to “an ode to bland nostalgia.”)

“the dessert selection is mercifully short” (And your review is pleasingly long. For that we thank you.)

“Yum” (Can you sense the sarcasm? Can you? If you can’t, you’re not reading hard enough.)

I can imagine William Shatner reading these lines out loud. Spoken word poetry right here, y’all. To be fair, I believe LaBan is actually a rather kind, balanced reviewer. He always gives an establishment the benefit of the doubt.  (In this piece, he notes the place is “Perfect for the theater crowd,” although there may be some subtly-veiled disparaging going on there as well.)  I’m also insanely jealous because many is the time that I’ve been tempted to write a negative review about an establishment, but I feel the need to censor myself. (At the least because I don’t have the type of legal backing LaBan has.) Philadelphia is such a small town. Sigh. *cue rant

For the last few weeks, even though I have the time to write, I’ve been avoiding writing publicly on this very blog.  For one, I feel like I’m restricted to a small range of bland topics that avoid a) anything controversial, b) anything related to Philadelphia for the fear of offending someone I know related to it c) anything scandalous that comes back to haunt me in my professional career.

There’s also the fact that I am no Craig Laban. Many an English major has come to me to point out a typo or some syntax or grammar error that exposes the flaws in my schooling. Knowing that I bear the responsibility of editing myself terrifies me. I almost feel as if writing every day for the last year has made me a worse writer because I’ve started limiting my vocabulary to the same set of tired phrases. “Yay.” “Awesome.” “Check it out.” Pardon me, my slip is showing.

It’s gotten so I log onto WordPress, look at the empty page waiting to be filled and log out, even though I know exactly what I want to say and have a long queue of topics waiting to be written about. It was one thing to expose myself to the world one year ago, when I started this dinky anonymous little blog a little more than a year ago with the desire to fill gaps in mainstream media through some DIY journalism. But I’m a little older now, and (hopefully) a little more cautious, so things were bound to change. Being self-aware is a good thing. Here’s to the new year. May it bring with it a new wave of inspiration, fearlessness and blogging.

Vive LaBan!

For the past few weeks, I have been harping on the importance of knowing how to do anything possible before you leave your internship. But, I haven’t spoken about having a specialty. That is, having something you are truly an expert at, such as photography or feature stories or even straight news.

This advice is not to confuse you, it is simply to challenge you. I am not taking away from learning everything you can at your internship–I am only pointing out that it is just as important to hone your craft.

Personally, I am good at interviewing. I have an innate curiosity and it is extremely hard to get me to stop asking questions. Eventually, the right question followed by the perfect answer sneaks in.

Because I have become good at the art of interviewing, my writing has greatly improved. There is nothing like a good kicker quote at the end of an article, and I have developed the ability to find those.

But, to find your own specialty, you have to listen to constructive criticism (and a lot of it). I learned what the right questions are by trial and error and by listening to my editors and my peers. The worst thing a writer can do is think that they are perfect and there is no room for improvement. I don’t care if you are Nicholas D. Kristof, you always have room to grow.

Having a specialty will set you apart from other writers. You can  have an immense knowledge of history or politics, or be fluent in html code and be able to build a web site or create multimedia. Be able to do something that your boss at your internship, or at your future career can remember you when they need something.

I’m sure you read articles by journalists that have specialties all the time. Craig LaBan of the Philadelphia Inquirer is a nationally recognized food columnist and restaurant reviewer. He can write, and he can write well. It all started with his ability to take what he loves (food) and become a master.

So while you are learning photography or how to write under deadline–don’t forget what you are already good at. Think of it as being a well-rounded expert with room to grow.

This is not a picture of Philadelphia’s Django restaurant. Instead, the painting represents the BYOB’s artistic namesake: Django Reinhardt, France’s most influential Gypsy jazz guitarist.

The comparison is an auspicious one, for just like the real Django evoked mini-symphonies through the plucking of his guitar, the restaurant named after him creates impeccable meals from a medley of fresh, seasonal ingredients.
There was some hubbub a while back that Django had lost some of its considerable luster when Philly’s preeminent food critic, the Inquirer’s Craig LaBan, busted its rating down from four bells (out of four) to two.

Unfortunately, I can’t speak to the Django experience of pre-2006, when it was owned and operated by founders Bryan Sikora and Aimee Olexy (now of America’s most extreme form of reservation wait-list torture, Talula’s Table).

But, as for our meal, we were amazed. The dinner commenced with a complimentary bread loaf emerging almost souffle-like from what looked like a flower pot. This savory bread (and the homemade whipped butter) once again predicted an outstanding dinner.

We first ordered a seared scallops appetizer, which was served on a long plate with each scallop bookending a small dot of what I believe was aged balsamic vinegar in the middle. Both my wife and I marveled at the succulence of the perfectly tender scallops, served over what I can only describe as the best potato salad ever.

For an entree, I chose sliced New York strip steak, accompanied by a pea puree, some type of port reduction and a fantastic beef stew. The meat, ordered medium-rare at the server’s suggestion, was a treat and could have carried the meal even without its various accoutrements. The reduction and puree were tasty, although somewhat superfluous, but the stew was a revelation. Served in its own mini-crock, this was the sort of down-home, earthy stew that I could imagine eating on some cold winter night in Ireland. Although the beef was a bit tough, the spices nicely complemented the myriad of rustic vegetables.

My wife’s tuna dish was equally evocative, although thoroughly more modern. Strips of tuna were rolled around a wild mushroom and asparagus filling and presented four to the plate. In between, spoonsful of Israeli large-grain couscous filled the voids, along with more asparagus and just a hint of sauce. The fish was delectable and the couscous, though a bit overcooked, was a true palette pleaser.

While we restrained ourselves from ordering dessert, I would be surprised if there was a misstep in any of the offered sweets.

With its exposed brick walls, casual ambiance and bistro-defining cuisine, Django certainly makes an impression, and, in my opinion, more than lives up to its reputation as one of the best BYOBs in Philadelphia.

Just ask my amended Philly Top 10, in which Django has earned a well-deserved place.

Many things going on, nonexistent readers. There’s the election results for Philadelpha’s new mayor. Congrats to Michael Nutter. Well-deserved, I clearly recall reading the skepical reports of political pundits who mocked him for announcing his candidacy in July. I distinctly recall one Inquirer columnist who basically said that Nutter was a terrible political strategist for announcing his bid for mayor when the majority of his constituents were away at the Jersey Shore for the summer. Well, actually Mister knowitall, the majority of his constituents stayed right here in Philadelphia and were more than paying attention to this particular mayoral candidate.

I remember John Street’s clever campainging style. He would actually go around Broad St. with an army of Poloroid photographers and take pictures with people and their kids. I actually still have mine (blush), but for the sake of public safety, I shall restrain myself from posting it. People had just as many hopes for Street as they do now for Nutter. Here’s to hoping he’ll be the mayor Philadelphia needs at this vital moment!

Also, yesterday Temple University announced that Mayor Street is teaching two undergraduate courses in political science for them. ???? Is anyone as shocked as I am? They cite his qualifications as a graduate of Temple Law and the fact that his kids attended Temple. But seriously people, what is he going to teach kids? Good morning children, this morning we will learn how to get no-bid contracts. And don’t forget, tomorrow is a test on how to best give your relatives and significant others high-paying jobs in your adminstration. What Temple’s new president, Ann Weaver Hart was thinking is beyond me. A press release sent by the university said the following:

“We are delighted that Mayor Street has offered to share his deep experience and acknowledged expertise in urban politics and policy with our students,” Hart said.

Perhaps her lack of familiarity with Philadelphia politics has led to this. Doesn’t she have any advisors? Any student walking down Liacouras Walk could tell her this isn’t the best idea. The first misstep in Hart’s seemingly golden era.

Speaking of hamburgers. Wait, nobody was speaking of hamburgers. Alrighty well, point is Craig LaBan is my hero. If you’re not familiar with him, Craig LaBan is the restaurant critic for the Inquirer. He’s reviled by pretentious two-star French restaurants everywhere, and loved by the local Philadelphian searching for affordable good eats. Recently, LaBan went on a search for the top burgers in the Philadelpia area. (There is apparently one such burger in Ocean City, hmmph, but seeing as it is my birthplace I demure). At $4 the most affordable burger was the the one at Snow White on 19th and Chestnut. Their short-order cook, Vincent, has been working there for 18 years.

I had the opportunity to eat there yesterday. It is truly a charming remnant of yesteryear America’s luncheonettes. The menu is simple. Burgers. Fries. Cheesesteaks. Milkshakes. The prices are just as simple. None of that 3.99 nonsense. The lunch special was a cheesesteak, fries, and soda for $5. Everything is well-rounded to say the least.

Imagine my surprise at knowing the Snow White’s owners, Mr. and Mrs. Kim. They’ve only been the owners for a year, but I have been intimate family friends with them since Mrs. Kim came from Korea as a young bride. Their two young sons attend school in Glenside and are the best friends of my little brother. Astonishing how small the world we live in.

Actually, on the topic of family friends. September Farms in Morgantown is an excellent place to visit if you’re ever headed for a tour of Amish County. The Rotelle family, after extensive research into the world of cheese, has finally begun successful production of their own cheeses. The Rotelles are Italian-Americans who became Mennonites a number of years ago. Since then they have successfully operated a dairy farm and charming bed and breakfast. The cheese factory, their latest venture, is just as charming as everything else they do.

It usually takes me a little longer than my Chowhound brethren to make it to the latest and greatest Philadelphia hot spots. Nevertheless, I always manage to eat at these places sooner or later. I finally went to Xochitl, Steven Cook’s newest venture, this past weekend and had one of those experiences that leaves more questions than answers.

Let me begin with the ambiance: Xochitl pleasingly lacked the bells and whistles that new restaurants often employ to distract from sub-par service and uneven cooking. The lighting was excellent for a date and the place settings were simple and pretty.

I started with a Michelada, which may be the best beverage I’ve ever imbibed. A Micheleda, according to my waitress, was a combination of beer, tomato and pomegranate juice, lime, and other mysterious ingredients. The rim of the glass was dredged in a salt and red pepper mix, which finished each cold sip with a satisfying zing. 

Based on Craig Laban’s rave review of the ceviche de callos con sandia (scallop and watermelon ceviche), I ordered this first. Although the chilled puree was refreshing, it was a bit sweet for my taste, and the composition resembled more of a watermelon soup. Next came the gorditas de huitlachoche (masa pockets with corn fungus). These were delicious, with the rather unsightly huitlacoche happily sandwiched between light corn patties.

Although Xochitl’s menu is on the pricey side, these were an excellent value at a mere $7.00. My entree was the cazuela de calamar al ajillo (squid hot pot with a garlic and guajillo pepper sauce). I enjoyed it, but for some reason, something clashed in the holy combination of peppers, garlic, and squid that simply did not want to mesh with the rest of the ingredients. The churros y chocolate (fried pastries with chocolate sauce) were delicious as churros always are, although the chocolate sauce could not compete with the richer, thicker version served at the less heralded Bar Ferdinand. However, the pan de chocolate y pasilla, chocolate and pasilla pepper cake with sesame seed ice cream and tomatillo sauce, was resplendent. Dipping the moist cake in the tartly sweet tomatillo sauce actually made my heart sing.

I’ve been trying to put my finger on exactly why I left the restaurant feeling satisfied but not wowed. It certainly wasn’t the service or the presentation. Perhaps it was the combination of ordering two items that I found flawed. Either way, I will certainly be returning to Xochitl in the future to drink another Michelada and sample more of their intriguing menu.