There are more than 900 entries in the most recent edition of Road Food. (I'm not going to count the exact number. Whatever.) Here's the official tally of the ones I've been to. (Note: It probably goes without saying, but in order for these to count, I must order at least one item on the menu. So it doesn't count if I go when it's closed, or if I just walk by the place.)
Maine
Dolly's - Frenchville
The Lobster Shack - Cape Elizabeth
Becky's - Portland
Cole Farms - Gray
Maine Diner - Wells
New Hampshire
Hart's Turkey Farm - Meredith
Bishop's - Littleton
L.A. Burdick - Walpole
Friendly Toast - Portsmouth
Vermont
Wayside Restaurant - Berlin
Baba-a-Louis - Chester
Mrs. Murphy's Donuts - Manchester
Curtis' BBQ - Putney
P&H Truck Stop - Wells River
Mill at Quechee - Quechee
White Cottage - Woodstock
Dot's - Wilmington
Chelsea Royal Diner - West Brattleboro
Massachusetts
Woodman's - Essex
Durgin Park - Boston
Toscanini's - Camridge
Kelly's Roast Beef - Revere
Connecticut
Clamp's - New Milford
Blackie's - Cheshire
Pepe's Pizzeria Napoletana - New Haven
Pennsylvania
Jim's Steaks - Philadelphia
John's Roast Pork - Philadelphia
Leo's - Philadelphia
Pat's King of Steaks - Philadelphia
Tony Luke's - Philadelphia
Jimmy's Hot Dogs - Easton
DeLuca's - Pittsurgh
Enrico Biscotti Co. - Pittsburgh
Original Hot Dog Shop - Pittsburgh
Primanti Bros. - Pittsburgh
Robert Wholey & Co. - Pittsburgh
Maryland
Chubby's - Emmitsburg
Faidley's - Baltimore
Seaside Restaurant & Crab House - Glen Burnie
G&M Restaurant and Lounge - Linthicum
Crisfield - Silver Spring
Randy's Ribs & Barbecue - Hughesville
St. Mary's Landing - Charlotte Hall
Copsey's - Mechanicsville
Jerry's Seafood - Seabrook
The Narrows - Grasonville
The Breakfast Shoppe - Severna Park
Suicide Bridge Restaurant - Hurlock
Delaware
Capriotti's - Wilmington
Charcoal Pit - Wilmington
Hadfield's Seafood - New Castle (50)
New York
Gus's Restaurant - Plattsburgh
McSweeney's - Plattsburgh
Clare and Carl's - Plattsburgh
New Way Lunch - Glens Falls
Carnegie Deli - New York City
Katz's - New York City
Second Avenue Deli - New York City
New Jersey
Rutt's Hut - Clifton
White Manna - Hackensack
Charlie's Hot Dogs - Kenilworth (60)
Harold's New York Deli - Edison
White House Sub Shop - Atlantic City
West Virginia
Ruby & Ketchy's - Morgantown
Coleman's Fish Market - Wheeling
Virginia
Weenie Beenie - Arlington
Dixie Bones BBQ - Woodbridge
Allman's Pit Cooked Bar-B-Q - Fredericksburg
Goolrick's Pharmacy - Fredericksburg
Southern Kitchen - New Market
Mrs. Rowe's Family Restaurant and Bakery - Staunton
Wright's Dairy Rite - Staunton
Stuart's Fresh Catch - Richmond
Do-Nut Dinette - Norfolk
North Carolina
Tomato Jam Cafe - Asheville
Allen & Son - Chapel Hill
Dip's Country Kitchen - Chapel Hill
Sunrise Biscuit Kitchen - Chapel Hill
Jay-Bee's - Statesville
Bridges Barbecue Lodge - Shelby
Jarrett House - Dillsboro
Bill Spoon's Barbecue - Charlotte
Penguin Drive-in - Charlotte
Tennessee
Ridgewood Barbecue - Bluff City
Litton's - Knoxville
Pancake Pantry - Nashville
Prince's Chicken Shack - Nashville
Loveless Cafe - Nashville
Georgia
Mary Mac's Tea Room - Atlanta
The Varsity Drive-in - Atlanta
Texas
Good Co. Texas Bar-B-Q - Houston
Threadgill's - Austin
Hut's Hamburgers - Austin
There you have it: 92 total destinations from the 2011 edition. Of course, some of these are no longer listed, but I count them anyway. Almost one ninth of the way through my quest!
Monday, April 6, 2015
Sunday, February 22, 2015
Woodside Creamery
Location: Hockessin, Delaware
Date: August 20, 2013
We live in Baltimore and my parents live in New Jersey, so we regularly drive through Northern Delaware on trips to and from their place. On the way back from one late-summer trip, we figured we would make a quick detour to Hockessin. It wasn't quick. Although on the map, it looked close enough to Route 95, it turned out to be almost a half hour detour. Although a lot of the greater Wilmington area seems like one strip mall after another, Woodside Creamery is essentially located in the middle of a field. And that's precisely the point: the cows, grazing quietly behind a picket fence, make milk that is immediately converted into ice cream. No middle-man required. Or, as Jim Mitchell, whose family has owned this land since 1796, so memorably puts it in Roadfood, "Two weeks ago, our ice cream was grass."
There are plenty of flavors on the board, and some of them are a little wacky. (I hate to spoil the party, but the whole "bacon-flavored novelty dessert" trend is entirely played out. Does anyone actually order this?) One of the weird big-ticket flavors is called "Motor Oil," and features a swirl of green caramel. The six-year-old me approves. Really though, the ice cream speaks for itself without relying on excessive toppings or fillers. There is absolutely nothing wrong with ordering something as vanilla as... mint chocolate chip. That's what my wife usually tries first at a new ice cream place - to her, it's a good barometer of the ice cream's overall quality. I had pumpkin, because I pretty much never miss an opportunity to eat something pumpkin-flavored. I'm not sure I can describe the ice cream any better than the Sterns, so here are their words: "It is wonderfully normal ice cream, by which we mean it is not sickeningly butterfatty or cloying." Couldn't agree more. I'm reminded of a trip to an ice cream parlor in Charlottesville, Virginia a few years ago. Maya and I both ordered our own cone and had taken a few licks when the punky guy behind the counter asked us if we wanted to know the secret ingredient. We said sure, but almost immediately wished we hadn't when the guy proudly revealed to us that he had used twenty percent butterfat. I think we each ended up throwing out half our cone. All of which is to say that sometimes when it comes to ice cream, there is virtue in restraint.
Maya and I ate our cones on a bench, under an overhang, in view of an old motorcycle and a story hour group for young children and their moms. (The story hour is kind of a stroke of genius, actually: who else but kids and parents show up for ice cream on week day afternoons?)
Verdict: DO IT. Woodside Creamery is only open from April to October (as you would expect from this kind of place), but I know this is a detour we'll be making again.
Monday, February 16, 2015
Dot's
Location: Wilmington, Vermont
Date: June 24, 2014
Food Ordered: A bowl of chili and a slice of blueberry pie a la mode
I understand the Sterns' need to tinker with their Roadfood list from edition to edition. Still, I was disappointed to see that the new edition omits Dot's, a charming diner located at the center of Wilmington, a quaint Vermont village that looks like a movie set of a New England town. I spent three summers in Middlebury, Vermont, working on a Masters in literature. But Middlebury is a long way from Southern Vermont, and during my first two summers, I just couldn't find a way to justify driving almost two and a half hours (one way) to find a diner. But on the night before the first day of classes in my third summer at Middlebury, I had reason to be in North Adams, Mass for a concert (Beck, at Mass MOCA, a modern art museum housed in what used to be a factory complex). Since I had some time to kill until the show, and since I wasn't sure when I'd find myself at loose ends in this part of the state again, I decided to drive to Wilmington for a late lunch.
On the map, North Adams and Wilmington look like they're pretty close together but no two locations in Vermont and Western Mass are as close as they look, and it ended up taking me about forty-five minutes to reach my destination. The road was lined with "Moose Crossing" signs and I spent the entire drive sneaking expectant glances at the woods. This was a familiar habit of mine in Vermont: I spent each of my three summers on high Moose Alert, but alas, was to be denied time and time again. My waitress at Dot's told me that a stretch of Route 9, the state highway that runs through the center of Wilmington, had recently been closed when a trucker struck a moose - so maybe I should be thankful that one never graced me with its presence.
As it turned out, moose-related accidents were the least of Wilmington's recent concerns. In August of 2011, it was completely devastated by Hurricane Irene, as were many towns in the area. The story of its resurrection, which required the financial and moral support of the entire town, drew the attention of the New York Times. (The framed article, which tells this improbable story, is on the wall - it's hard to miss when you come in.) Dot's 2.0 looks sturdy and modern - it's still under the same management, and it still serves more or less the same menu. Still, I have to imagine that the hurricane deprived it of some of its character - even though I suppose it's a miracle the diner exists at all. From what I understand, it was once that classic small town New England diner where locals don't have to ask for their cup of coffee and slice of pie, and say things like, "Nice day, if it don't rain." Maybe this still happens during the morning shift at Dot's, but it was hard to tell at 4:00 in the afternoon when I paid my visit. Despite the vintage neon sign outside, the dining space looked clean and modern, and was just about empty. I sat at the bar and enjoyed talking to my chatty waitress, who recommended I try the chili. Surely Vermont isn't known for its chili, but the Sterns had also given it their approval. I gave it a shot and was glad I did: aside from being the perfect vessel for a big hunk of Vermont cheddar, it was thick and meaty, although only mildly spicy. And even though I usually manage to resist indulging in pie, I was glad to have a slice of gooey blueberry pie a la mode.
(Note: I've been using stars to rate these restaurants, but since I've enjoyed just about every Roadfood spot I've ever been to, that might not be the best system. I think instead I'll just go with a simple yay or nay - or, maybe "do it" or "skip it." It's important to point out too that "skip it" doesn't necessarily mean I don't like the the restaurant. It may just mean I don't think has the requisite character or culinary notability to be properly termed Roadfood. For example, Woodberry Kitchen - for my money, the best restaurant in Baltimore - would earn a "skip it," simply because it just doesn't meet the criteria.)
That being said...
Verdict: SKIP IT. Let me qualify this verdict by saying that the food (or what I had of it) was great, as was the service. And even the new space itself, while slightly sterile inside, is notable for its classic sign and its main dining room, which juts out over the rapidly running Deerfield River. I will not hesitate to stop here again next time I am in Wilmington with some time to kill. Yet, while I'm disappointed by the deletion of Dot's from the offical list, I can understand it. There is nothing served here that can't be found at a good restaurant anywhere else in the country.
Date: June 24, 2014
Food Ordered: A bowl of chili and a slice of blueberry pie a la mode
 |
| The Beck concert, which provided me with an excuse to have lunch at Dot's. |
On the map, North Adams and Wilmington look like they're pretty close together but no two locations in Vermont and Western Mass are as close as they look, and it ended up taking me about forty-five minutes to reach my destination. The road was lined with "Moose Crossing" signs and I spent the entire drive sneaking expectant glances at the woods. This was a familiar habit of mine in Vermont: I spent each of my three summers on high Moose Alert, but alas, was to be denied time and time again. My waitress at Dot's told me that a stretch of Route 9, the state highway that runs through the center of Wilmington, had recently been closed when a trucker struck a moose - so maybe I should be thankful that one never graced me with its presence.
As it turned out, moose-related accidents were the least of Wilmington's recent concerns. In August of 2011, it was completely devastated by Hurricane Irene, as were many towns in the area. The story of its resurrection, which required the financial and moral support of the entire town, drew the attention of the New York Times. (The framed article, which tells this improbable story, is on the wall - it's hard to miss when you come in.) Dot's 2.0 looks sturdy and modern - it's still under the same management, and it still serves more or less the same menu. Still, I have to imagine that the hurricane deprived it of some of its character - even though I suppose it's a miracle the diner exists at all. From what I understand, it was once that classic small town New England diner where locals don't have to ask for their cup of coffee and slice of pie, and say things like, "Nice day, if it don't rain." Maybe this still happens during the morning shift at Dot's, but it was hard to tell at 4:00 in the afternoon when I paid my visit. Despite the vintage neon sign outside, the dining space looked clean and modern, and was just about empty. I sat at the bar and enjoyed talking to my chatty waitress, who recommended I try the chili. Surely Vermont isn't known for its chili, but the Sterns had also given it their approval. I gave it a shot and was glad I did: aside from being the perfect vessel for a big hunk of Vermont cheddar, it was thick and meaty, although only mildly spicy. And even though I usually manage to resist indulging in pie, I was glad to have a slice of gooey blueberry pie a la mode.
(Note: I've been using stars to rate these restaurants, but since I've enjoyed just about every Roadfood spot I've ever been to, that might not be the best system. I think instead I'll just go with a simple yay or nay - or, maybe "do it" or "skip it." It's important to point out too that "skip it" doesn't necessarily mean I don't like the the restaurant. It may just mean I don't think has the requisite character or culinary notability to be properly termed Roadfood. For example, Woodberry Kitchen - for my money, the best restaurant in Baltimore - would earn a "skip it," simply because it just doesn't meet the criteria.)
 |
| Unlike pictures in previous posts, I actually took this one as official documentation of my visit. |
That being said...
Verdict: SKIP IT. Let me qualify this verdict by saying that the food (or what I had of it) was great, as was the service. And even the new space itself, while slightly sterile inside, is notable for its classic sign and its main dining room, which juts out over the rapidly running Deerfield River. I will not hesitate to stop here again next time I am in Wilmington with some time to kill. Yet, while I'm disappointed by the deletion of Dot's from the offical list, I can understand it. There is nothing served here that can't be found at a good restaurant anywhere else in the country.
Monday, February 2, 2015
Faidley's
Note: Today, I came home to find my brand new copy of Roadfood (now in its ninth edition) waiting for me in a package from Amazon. Apparently this edition has over two hundred new entries, although obviously many of the entries are holdovers from earlier editions - and most of the restaurants that appeared in the previous edition are described using the same blurb as last time. I guess I shouldn't complain about this version being too similar to the previous one. I still bought it, with eyes wide open.
Location: Baltimore, Maryland
Date: June 14, 2013
I tried to make it to Faidley's several times before I actually succeeded. It isn't open on Sundays (I learned that the hard way) or after 5:00 (That too). A few weeks after moving to downtown Baltimore, Maya and I walked over to the market at around 1:00 on a Saturday only to find that, while the market itself was open, Faidley's, inexplicably, was not. (We had a crab cake anyway, from another vendor, and it was fine.)
I finally tasted my first, and to date, only, Faidley's crab cake on a Friday afternoon when I made a pit stop on my way down to Camden Yards. It was worth the wait. I ordered a huge crab cake - no fries, no sides - from a weathered old white woman who called me "hon." And I ate it the way it was meant to be eaten - standing at a round table in middle of the crowded market. When people talk about a great crab cake, they always mention its lack of filler - and yeah, that's important, but it's also kind of a given at the highest levels of crab cakes. Faidley's crab cake was pretty much all crab, no filler - but to me, its most salient quality was a slightly mustardy tang that I found myself recalling all throughout the O's game.
Verdict: Five out of five stars. I've made something of a study of crab cakes since I moved to Baltimore about two and a half years ago. And if you get me started, I will be happy to pontificate on the merits and demerits of various venues in the area. But it all starts and ends with Faidley's. There's a reason it always tops those Best Crab Cakes in Baltimore lists. Obviously, its inclusion in Roadfood is essential, even though I think the Sterns egregiously snub a few other Baltimore institutions.
One nice feature of the new edition is the advent of the Roadfood Pantheon (my term, not theirs): a list of the Sterns' Top 100 Essential Spots. (Neither Primanti Bros. or Rutt's Hut made the cut, which sounds absurd on its surface, but then, it's probably hard to narrow a list of 900+ down to one hundred.)
One minor annoyance: a few of the places that I have previously visited (some at great inconvenience), are no longer in the book. Although the Sterns make a special point of nothing that the omission of some of these spots "does not mean it's out of business or we don't like it any more," it's still a little disheartening to find that suddenly I haven't been to as many destinations on the latest list.
By the same token, it's annoying to find new entries located in areas I visited in the past and may not visit any time soon. For example, the latest edition includes "Al's French Fries" in South Burlington. I lived in Vermont over the summer, and probably passed Al's French Fries at least five times. It's a little upsetting to know that I missed out on an easy opportunity to make a Roadfood run, simply because I didn't know this place existed. And I'm not sure when I'll be up that way again. Oh well.
Location: Baltimore, Maryland
Date: June 14, 2013
Food Ordered: One large crab cake
I will probably never live closer to a Roadfood destination than I lived to Faidley's in Baltimore. This legendary crab cake spot, which did make it into the Sterns' Pantheon by the way, is one of many establishments in Lexington Market, just a few blocks away from my old apartment down town. Lexington Market is real Baltimore: a little gritty, a little dirty and to non-locals, sometimes a little intimidating. It's right on the subway line and the Light Rail line, which means it is easily accessible to folks from some of Baltimore's poorest neighborhoods. Lexington Market is a world away from Philly's yuppified Reading Terminal Market, and that's part of its charm. On the other hand, there is nothing particularly charming about the acts of violence that have recently occurred there, sometimes in broad daylight. (Note: Plans are in the works for a major overhaul of Lexington Market. I hope it doesn't entirely lose its grungy character, but yeah, this place probably could use an overhaul.)
I tried to make it to Faidley's several times before I actually succeeded. It isn't open on Sundays (I learned that the hard way) or after 5:00 (That too). A few weeks after moving to downtown Baltimore, Maya and I walked over to the market at around 1:00 on a Saturday only to find that, while the market itself was open, Faidley's, inexplicably, was not. (We had a crab cake anyway, from another vendor, and it was fine.)
I finally tasted my first, and to date, only, Faidley's crab cake on a Friday afternoon when I made a pit stop on my way down to Camden Yards. It was worth the wait. I ordered a huge crab cake - no fries, no sides - from a weathered old white woman who called me "hon." And I ate it the way it was meant to be eaten - standing at a round table in middle of the crowded market. When people talk about a great crab cake, they always mention its lack of filler - and yeah, that's important, but it's also kind of a given at the highest levels of crab cakes. Faidley's crab cake was pretty much all crab, no filler - but to me, its most salient quality was a slightly mustardy tang that I found myself recalling all throughout the O's game.
Verdict: Five out of five stars. I've made something of a study of crab cakes since I moved to Baltimore about two and a half years ago. And if you get me started, I will be happy to pontificate on the merits and demerits of various venues in the area. But it all starts and ends with Faidley's. There's a reason it always tops those Best Crab Cakes in Baltimore lists. Obviously, its inclusion in Roadfood is essential, even though I think the Sterns egregiously snub a few other Baltimore institutions.
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Primanti Bros.
Location: Pittsburgh, PA
Date: April 22, 2011
Food Ordered: Hot Sausage and Cheese Sandwich; Pastrami Sandwich
I'm too old to go on spring break, and have been for a few years now. But that doesn't stop me from feeling that I should at least take some sort of trip during that annual week off in April. A few years ago, I convinced my friend and teaching colleague Nick to take a spring break trip with me. I was already dating my now-wife, and he was married, so Florida or Cancun didn't seem quite right. We decided instead on exotic, sunny Pittsburgh. It was only a five-hour drive from DC, and the Nationals just so happened to be playing the Pirates at PNC Park that weekend. "And maybe we'll stop at Primanti Bros. too. They are supposed to have excellent sandwiches," I suggested to Nick during the planning phase of the trip. I tried as hard as I could to make this sound like an off-hand suggestion, instead of my secret motivation for taking the trip in the first place.
I had always heard about Primanti Bros, mostly from Pittsburghers who take as much pride in their local sandwiches as Philadelphians take in their cheese steaks. Primanti's claim to fame is that everything is in the sandwich: meat and cheese, of course, but also fries, coleslaw and sometimes a fried egg for good measure. According to legend, these sandwiches were popular with truckers, who couldn't be bothered with the inconvenience of eating sandwich, fries and coleslaw separately when they were on the go. While I had kind of always been curious about such a sandwich, I privately worried that it might be excessive or even disgusting. It wasn't. These sandwiches, which Nick and I ate at the bar of the dark and slightly dingy restaurant, proved incredibly satisfying. And while they were obviously stuffed with food, they never left me feeling like I would have to have the jaw of a snake in order to simply take a bite. Sometimes, even in the world of massive sandwiches, restraint is not so bad. (Are you listening, Harold's Deli in Edison? http://www.roadfood.com/Photos/18519.jpg)
Coolest part of the experience: sensing that we were new in the town, the couple sitting next to us asked how were liking Pittsburgh and how we had heard of Primanti's. We chatted for a bit, before bidding them farewell once they finished their meal. When it came time for us to depart, we asked for our bill only to be informed by the guy behind the bar that the couple, on hearing we were about to partake of our first Primanti's sandwich, had surreptitiously bought us our sandwiches, and left us a message: "Have fun in the Steel City!" I had never been on the receiving end of such a random act of kindness. As we left the restaurant, Nick and I vowed that if we ever found ourselves sitting next to tourists at Ben's Chili Bowl in DC or Faidley's Crab Cakes in Baltimore, we would continue the chain of good will. (Still haven't done it yet - but haven't forgotten either.)
The trip actually turned out to be a bit of a let-down overall: our game was rained out and the two of us went back home after only one night. But we got a weird and memorable sandwich out of it - the sort that can only be found in Pittsburgh, as a matter of fact. And we left the restaurant feeling a little better about our fellow human beings.
Verdict: Five out of Five Stars. If they open a sandwich Hall of Fame, it should be in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania - halfway between Cheese Steak City and Primantiville. There should definitely be a bronze bust of Primanti himself (whoever he is). They can put it next to the busts of Joe (namesake for the Sloppy Joe) and Ruben (namesake for the Ruben).
Note: I didn't take any of these pictures. However, I did display the middle one on my Facebook page shortly after returning from the trip to Pittsburgh, prompting Maya to complain, "I've posted so many nice pictures of the two of us, and the only picture you've ever posted is of a sandwich!" Valid point.
Date: April 22, 2011
Food Ordered: Hot Sausage and Cheese Sandwich; Pastrami Sandwich
I'm too old to go on spring break, and have been for a few years now. But that doesn't stop me from feeling that I should at least take some sort of trip during that annual week off in April. A few years ago, I convinced my friend and teaching colleague Nick to take a spring break trip with me. I was already dating my now-wife, and he was married, so Florida or Cancun didn't seem quite right. We decided instead on exotic, sunny Pittsburgh. It was only a five-hour drive from DC, and the Nationals just so happened to be playing the Pirates at PNC Park that weekend. "And maybe we'll stop at Primanti Bros. too. They are supposed to have excellent sandwiches," I suggested to Nick during the planning phase of the trip. I tried as hard as I could to make this sound like an off-hand suggestion, instead of my secret motivation for taking the trip in the first place.
I had always heard about Primanti Bros, mostly from Pittsburghers who take as much pride in their local sandwiches as Philadelphians take in their cheese steaks. Primanti's claim to fame is that everything is in the sandwich: meat and cheese, of course, but also fries, coleslaw and sometimes a fried egg for good measure. According to legend, these sandwiches were popular with truckers, who couldn't be bothered with the inconvenience of eating sandwich, fries and coleslaw separately when they were on the go. While I had kind of always been curious about such a sandwich, I privately worried that it might be excessive or even disgusting. It wasn't. These sandwiches, which Nick and I ate at the bar of the dark and slightly dingy restaurant, proved incredibly satisfying. And while they were obviously stuffed with food, they never left me feeling like I would have to have the jaw of a snake in order to simply take a bite. Sometimes, even in the world of massive sandwiches, restraint is not so bad. (Are you listening, Harold's Deli in Edison? http://www.roadfood.com/Photos/18519.jpg)
Coolest part of the experience: sensing that we were new in the town, the couple sitting next to us asked how were liking Pittsburgh and how we had heard of Primanti's. We chatted for a bit, before bidding them farewell once they finished their meal. When it came time for us to depart, we asked for our bill only to be informed by the guy behind the bar that the couple, on hearing we were about to partake of our first Primanti's sandwich, had surreptitiously bought us our sandwiches, and left us a message: "Have fun in the Steel City!" I had never been on the receiving end of such a random act of kindness. As we left the restaurant, Nick and I vowed that if we ever found ourselves sitting next to tourists at Ben's Chili Bowl in DC or Faidley's Crab Cakes in Baltimore, we would continue the chain of good will. (Still haven't done it yet - but haven't forgotten either.)
The trip actually turned out to be a bit of a let-down overall: our game was rained out and the two of us went back home after only one night. But we got a weird and memorable sandwich out of it - the sort that can only be found in Pittsburgh, as a matter of fact. And we left the restaurant feeling a little better about our fellow human beings.
Verdict: Five out of Five Stars. If they open a sandwich Hall of Fame, it should be in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania - halfway between Cheese Steak City and Primantiville. There should definitely be a bronze bust of Primanti himself (whoever he is). They can put it next to the busts of Joe (namesake for the Sloppy Joe) and Ruben (namesake for the Ruben).
Note: I didn't take any of these pictures. However, I did display the middle one on my Facebook page shortly after returning from the trip to Pittsburgh, prompting Maya to complain, "I've posted so many nice pictures of the two of us, and the only picture you've ever posted is of a sandwich!" Valid point.
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Rutt's Hut
Location: Clifton, NJ
Date: November 11, 2010
Food Ordered: Hot dogs (rippers) with Relish; Root Beer
It didn't take long, after my sister gave me the book, for me to seek out one of the featured spots. (In truth, I had already been to two or three of them by accident, before I knew that Roadfood was a thing - but this was to be the first of many explicit Roadfood Quests.) On the day after Thanksgiving, when it would probably have made the most sense just to eat leftover turkey, I instead took my sister Julia and her then-boyfriend/now-fiance Chris to Clifton, New Jersey in search of what was purported to be the best hot dog in the state. This trip had all the earmarks of a classic Roadfood Quest: it was a drive of at least forty-five minutes to a place I would have otherwise had no reason to visit, and the pay-off made it all worth the trouble.
Despite growing up in New Jersey, I hadn't given much thought to Clifton before: it's a pretty nondescript town outside Newark. Come to think of it, Rutt's Hut is pretty nondescript too. It's a plain brick building, surrounded by a parking lot. (And the counters inside offer primo views of this incredibly un-extraordinary parking lot, which cracks me up.) The entrance is half-glass and half-plastic, and super unfashionable. It looks like a large phone booth. A disproportionate amount of people inside Rutt's Hut looks like they root for the Jets - meaning sad, short and overweight. (If I'm guilty of stereotyping on this one, so is the Wall Street Journal: http://www.wsj.com/articles/SB10001424052748703859204575526524037798794).
But one doesn't come to Rutt's for the atmosphere or the conversation: it's all about the hot dogs. Since my eighth birthday or so, I haven't given much of a thought to hot dogs. I don't dislike them, but I also won't go out of my way for them. Rutt's hot dogs, called "rippers," are in another category. Apparently, they are fried in the deep fryer for so long that they rip in half. As a result, these shriveled little pink dogs won't win any hot dog beauty contests. Truth be told, they are kind of funny looking. But they have a pleasing al dente texture that makes them kind of addictive. All three of us started off with one a piece before breaking down and getting a second. No way we could leave there after just one dog. The guy behind the counter was friendlier than we expected. (Lunch counters in the NYC area are not exactly known for the friendliness of their servers. Think "Soup Nazi.") He steered us towards the relish, which "makes the hot dog," and he was absolutely right.
Proof of Rutt's Hut's enduring coolness. Before we set off on our trip, my sister and I told our grandma (who was over for Thanksgiving) about our plans. Her eyes lit up. "Oh! I used to go there after school when I was in high school for hot dogs and root beer!" Yes, our awesome 92-year-old grandma - class of 1936 at Garfield High School was down with Rutt's Hut before it was big. She rocks. And so does this place. We brought her back a t-shirt.
Verdict: 5 out of 5 Stars. Rutt's Hut has some unique, memorable and totally addictive hot dogs. This is Road Food at its best.
Note: Some time after this first Road Food excursion, I began the practice of taking pictures of each of my destinations - kind of to increase the scavenger hunt-like nature of this project. I don't think I have one from Rutt's Hut, so Google images it is.
Date: November 11, 2010
Food Ordered: Hot dogs (rippers) with Relish; Root Beer
It didn't take long, after my sister gave me the book, for me to seek out one of the featured spots. (In truth, I had already been to two or three of them by accident, before I knew that Roadfood was a thing - but this was to be the first of many explicit Roadfood Quests.) On the day after Thanksgiving, when it would probably have made the most sense just to eat leftover turkey, I instead took my sister Julia and her then-boyfriend/now-fiance Chris to Clifton, New Jersey in search of what was purported to be the best hot dog in the state. This trip had all the earmarks of a classic Roadfood Quest: it was a drive of at least forty-five minutes to a place I would have otherwise had no reason to visit, and the pay-off made it all worth the trouble.
Despite growing up in New Jersey, I hadn't given much thought to Clifton before: it's a pretty nondescript town outside Newark. Come to think of it, Rutt's Hut is pretty nondescript too. It's a plain brick building, surrounded by a parking lot. (And the counters inside offer primo views of this incredibly un-extraordinary parking lot, which cracks me up.) The entrance is half-glass and half-plastic, and super unfashionable. It looks like a large phone booth. A disproportionate amount of people inside Rutt's Hut looks like they root for the Jets - meaning sad, short and overweight. (If I'm guilty of stereotyping on this one, so is the Wall Street Journal: http://www.wsj.com/articles/SB10001424052748703859204575526524037798794).
But one doesn't come to Rutt's for the atmosphere or the conversation: it's all about the hot dogs. Since my eighth birthday or so, I haven't given much of a thought to hot dogs. I don't dislike them, but I also won't go out of my way for them. Rutt's hot dogs, called "rippers," are in another category. Apparently, they are fried in the deep fryer for so long that they rip in half. As a result, these shriveled little pink dogs won't win any hot dog beauty contests. Truth be told, they are kind of funny looking. But they have a pleasing al dente texture that makes them kind of addictive. All three of us started off with one a piece before breaking down and getting a second. No way we could leave there after just one dog. The guy behind the counter was friendlier than we expected. (Lunch counters in the NYC area are not exactly known for the friendliness of their servers. Think "Soup Nazi.") He steered us towards the relish, which "makes the hot dog," and he was absolutely right.
Proof of Rutt's Hut's enduring coolness. Before we set off on our trip, my sister and I told our grandma (who was over for Thanksgiving) about our plans. Her eyes lit up. "Oh! I used to go there after school when I was in high school for hot dogs and root beer!" Yes, our awesome 92-year-old grandma - class of 1936 at Garfield High School was down with Rutt's Hut before it was big. She rocks. And so does this place. We brought her back a t-shirt.
Verdict: 5 out of 5 Stars. Rutt's Hut has some unique, memorable and totally addictive hot dogs. This is Road Food at its best.
Note: Some time after this first Road Food excursion, I began the practice of taking pictures of each of my destinations - kind of to increase the scavenger hunt-like nature of this project. I don't think I have one from Rutt's Hut, so Google images it is.
Sunday, January 18, 2015
An Unexpected Obsession
I didn’t expect when my sister gave me a slim yellow book
for Hanukkah a few years ago that she was launching me head first into a new
obsession. I doubt she expected it either: she bought it for me because she saw
it on the rack at Barnes and Noble and it “seemed like something I would like.”
I already had an affinity for road trips and for food, so her hunch was logical
enough. The book in question was Jane and Michael Stern's 500 Things to Eat Before it's Too Late, a guide to the best regional cuisine in the
country and where to find it.
(As it happens, the Sterns' book is just the latest in the wave of "things to do before you die" themed books. Those who take their personal bucket lists really, really seriously, can now find whole books devoted to places to go [in the world and in just the US and Canada], albums to listen to, movies to watch, hikes to take. There is a decent chance that the Sterns' choice of "before it's too late" in the title was less an aesthetic choice than a matter of copy-writing. There are at least two other food-related books on the market whose titles include the phrase "before you die." Still, it's a good choice either way. Who wants to be reminded of their impending death while trying to find a decent cheese steak?)
The authors, Jane and Michael Stern (formerly married, but recently divorced) have made a comprehensive study of American "low" cuisine. Their book features lists of basic junk food staples (the best burger, the best pizza, the best fries, the best ice cream) and also more specialized local dishes (the best New England Boiled Dinner, the best Meat and Three, the best Indian pudding). The two of them might be (somewhat charitably) described as sociologists. As Wikipedia puts it, they are “the first food writers to recognize that this food was as worthy to report as was the haute cuisine of other nations.” The two of them are chroniclers and preservers of culture, then – even if there are may be some who doubt whether grilled cheese is worth chronicling.
I learned some time after receiving the book from my sister that the Sterns are
essentially the leaders of an underground community, surrounding their “Roadfood”
books. The Roadfood website updates frequently with daily restaurant reviews
and pictures of blueberry cobbler or fried chicken, and the movement’s
disciples (shall we call them Roadfooders?) light up the site’s forums. Their
bible, simply called Roadfood, is now
in its ninth edition, and unlike 500 Things to Eat Before it's Too Late, focuses slightly more on the restaurant than
on the food served there. As a result, some of the entries in Roadfood are more
famous for being local institutions than for serving a particularly notable
type of food. The Sterns’ lists essentially constitute an American Food Hall of
Fame, and as with any such list, it is bound to generate controversy among
those who care about this sort of thing. I have to say that I have agreed with their
lists on about nine out of ten occasions, although a small handful of their selections seem to miss the mark (at least they did when I visited). There
are also, it seems to me, some egregious omissions.
I check the Roadfood website from time to time (they have a
cool map feature that marks all of the Roadfood destinations within a 50 miles
radius of your location), but I don’t post on the forums. I am, however, deeply
into Roadfood, and for the past four plus years, the book has provided me with
a treasure map. My goal is to visit as many Roadfood stops as it is possible
for me to do. This isn’t always easy. I’m a teacher, so I do have long
vacations on which to take road trips. But I am bound by all of the normal
factors that keep people from freely bouncing around the country: finances,
professional obligations, the fact that I am in relatively good physical shape
and that frequent consumption of Roadfood may hinder my ability to stay that way, the fact that I have to occasionally use vacations to
visit family and friends, and the fact that I have a wife who would sometimes
rather not spend the afternoon going on a quest for the third best ham in
Virginia. She’s a good sport though, my wife, and she has been a willing
co-pilot on most of our trips. We’ve had a few regrets (she’ll probably never
let me live down that detour to a subpar burger place in Delaware), but overall,
Roadfood has provided us with – I mean this in all sincerity – some of the
happiest memories in our marriage.
This blog is the story of my unlikely, and admittedly kind
of weird, love of Roadfood. Each entry tells an anecdote about my visit to one of
the stops featured (or formerly featured) in either the book or the website. I don’t plan to do any
research, other than actually visiting the places I write about. (Why attempt
to rehash the very thorough work of the Sterns, which sometimes provides a brief history of
the restaurant and a range of menu prices?) I would much rather write about my own
subjective personal experience: when I went, who accompanied me, how I got
there and, oh yeah, maybe a little about the food.
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