Bad name, good burgers.
This project would be so easy if I wrote only four words about each restaurant.
Speaking of the project, I've given it a name: Project Palette. (Bravo network, if you'd like to buy this concept from me, give me a call.)
We hit ZipZap for brunch the day after the '90s party (which also included several hours of food at Zest, which doesn't merit a mention in PP because I've been there far too many times) and we were all starving by the time we arrived and persuaded someone to take our order.
Now, brunch means different things to different people. Some people want lunch, but with an excuse to order a mimosa. Others want a huge meal, thinking it needs to make up for the two they're missing. To me, though, the best brunch is simply breakfast eaten at a more civilized time of day. So I was a little underwhelmed that ZipZap's brunch menu included only burgers and sandwiches. Even when I'm not starting my day until well after noon, I still need to ease into the day -- some eggs, some pastries, maybe a little smoked salmon. And tea. Lots and lots of tea.
One bite in, though, my mouth silenced any of my brain's lingering objections to greeting the day with hamburger. Although I'd been tempted by sandwiches (especially the turkey sandwich, a creature not native to Japan and rarely spotted on Tokyo menus), I picked the smaller 150 gram burger and splurged on two kinds of cheese -- cheddar and monterey jack -- as well as housemade bacon. The burgers come with lettuce, tomato, a "house sauce" that tasted a bit like barbecue sauce (or maybe more like Arby-Q sauce), and ... tartar sauce? This wasn't the first time I've encountered tartar sauce on a burger here. I'm not sure why the Japanese think tartar sauce belongs on a burger. Maybe they don't understand why we think it doesn't. I ordered mine without sauce, and it came with the house sauce but without the tartar, and that worked out OK.
This was a downright delicious burger, the kind of food I can't stop eating even when I'm full, then past full, and knowing I'll regret my binge later but unable to resist the tactile sensations of tasting, biting, chewing.
Ryoko ordered the turkey sandwich I'd rejected, and I didn't regret my choice. The sandwich lacked any dressing and looked very dry. Reva's tuna melt was intriguing -- served open face on two rolls, with a different cheese on each side -- but not enough to make me turn my back on the burger.
I wish two things were different about ZipZap (OK, maybe three. What's up with that name?).
One, although lots of restaurants have irritating Web sites (too much hey-I-just-learned-Flash and too little information), this one takes the prize for its sound effects. It was apparently designed by the same person on the Star Trek team who thought that in the 24th century, humans would like their doors to beep and whoosh every time they opened.
Two, I wish the location was easier to find (and that the map on said Web site gave better directions). I followed Ryoko there, and I'm not sure I can find it again. Maybe that's just as well, though; there are lots of great burgers in Tokyo, and I need to keep moving on, trying new ones.
ZipZap: http://www.zip-zap.jp/
Friday, January 29, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
#4: J-Pop Cafe, Jan. 9
I didn't eat much at J-Pop Cafe -- we were there for a '90s party, so our food choice was limited to what was on the party plan menu. Unlike a lot of party plans, though, we didn't run out of food, and the space was cool. It's on the top floor of a building in Shibuya, under a big dome and surrounded by windows. I'm told some of the scenes in "Babel" were shot here. That movie keeps getting pushed to the bottom of my Blockbuster queue.
J-Pop cafe: http://www.j-popcafe.com/
J-Pop cafe: http://www.j-popcafe.com/
Friday, January 15, 2010
#3: Pasta Ricotta, Jan. 9
I don't have much to say about Pasta Ricotta, except that the Pasta Genovese, with shrimp and a white fish I couldn't identify, was tasty and filling.
I have a lot to say about the place I found it -- a food court of sorts in the Omotesando train station.
One thing that amazes me about Tokyo is that, densely packed though it is, there's probably another 30 percent of the city underground. Not just subway tunnels, but entire malls. This is smart growth at its finest -- not only do you not need a car, but you could buy just about anything without ever leaving the station.
This was my first experience with a Japanese food court, so I hung back a bit to see how it worked. Pretty much like an American one -- restaurants on the perimeter, tables in the middle, every shopper for herself. I was ordered and given what I assumed was a buzzer, then snagged the only available seat at a counter. I'd also asked for water, and the staffer said something I didn't understand and pointed toward an enclosed seating area. I guessed at first that he meant I could buy it there, but I discovered instead that, at the door, was a built-in water dispenser with dozens of cups.
It's hard to imagine this in the States. Sure, small restaurants have a "help yourself" water pitcher, and some fast-food places give free water from their soda machines (although they usually charge for the cup). It just seems likely that, on a Saturday afternoon, the cups would have long since been swiped by teenagers, or a mom would have given her toddler the whole lot to play with.
I got my water, waited a few minutes, and sure enough, the pager buzzed and I collected my lunch. While I ate I people-watched, and also tried to answer the question of what I should do with my (actual glassware) dishes when I finished. I saw a woman nearby abandon her table -- and within seconds, a uniformed woman swooped in, took the empty tray and wiped the table. I then saw that there were small signs on each table with directions: leave this side up if you're coming back, the other side up if you're finished. Over and over again, I watched this play out with precision. No "finished" table sat untouched for more than 30 seconds, and I gained huge respect for the woman who was somehow spotting and clearing these tables in a crowded dining hall crammed with shoppers and shopping bags.
Again, it's hard to imagine this working at your average stateside mall. It's rare enough to see anyone cleaning in the food court, let alone with the efficiency of a private butler. And while no one seemed rushed, they didn't linger, either; instead, everyone seemed innately aware that the place was crowded, people were waiting for tables, and they ate quickly, cleared out quickly, and the dishes were whisked away equally quickly. I can't picture those table signs -- made of paper -- lasting one day in your typical American mall. They'd be shredded, stuffed into handbags, made into elaborate towers involving various foods, dishes and salt shakers. (I may have been partly responsible for some spectacular towers o' tableware at Denny's back in the day. Possibly some salt shakers stuck upside down in benches at Burger King. And definitely occupying one table for four hours while my friends and I ate our "two slices of pepperoni and a small drink for $2.50" from Pizza Plus while casually vandalizing the planters.)
What was missing from this scene? No straw wrappers being shot through the air. No abandoned stacks of 900 napkins and 50 packets of Taco Bell hot sauce. No ice cream cone turned upside down and left on a seat. Nobody hanging out, harassing passers-by, mashing their food into a repulsive mush, littering, loitering.
What there is, instead, is a code. This is how things are done. Everyone knows it. And everyone follows it.
Call it a conformist culture if you want, but it sure is nice to sit down without worrying there might be a melting ice cream cone on your chair.
I have a lot to say about the place I found it -- a food court of sorts in the Omotesando train station.
One thing that amazes me about Tokyo is that, densely packed though it is, there's probably another 30 percent of the city underground. Not just subway tunnels, but entire malls. This is smart growth at its finest -- not only do you not need a car, but you could buy just about anything without ever leaving the station.
This was my first experience with a Japanese food court, so I hung back a bit to see how it worked. Pretty much like an American one -- restaurants on the perimeter, tables in the middle, every shopper for herself. I was ordered and given what I assumed was a buzzer, then snagged the only available seat at a counter. I'd also asked for water, and the staffer said something I didn't understand and pointed toward an enclosed seating area. I guessed at first that he meant I could buy it there, but I discovered instead that, at the door, was a built-in water dispenser with dozens of cups.
It's hard to imagine this in the States. Sure, small restaurants have a "help yourself" water pitcher, and some fast-food places give free water from their soda machines (although they usually charge for the cup). It just seems likely that, on a Saturday afternoon, the cups would have long since been swiped by teenagers, or a mom would have given her toddler the whole lot to play with.
I got my water, waited a few minutes, and sure enough, the pager buzzed and I collected my lunch. While I ate I people-watched, and also tried to answer the question of what I should do with my (actual glassware) dishes when I finished. I saw a woman nearby abandon her table -- and within seconds, a uniformed woman swooped in, took the empty tray and wiped the table. I then saw that there were small signs on each table with directions: leave this side up if you're coming back, the other side up if you're finished. Over and over again, I watched this play out with precision. No "finished" table sat untouched for more than 30 seconds, and I gained huge respect for the woman who was somehow spotting and clearing these tables in a crowded dining hall crammed with shoppers and shopping bags.
Again, it's hard to imagine this working at your average stateside mall. It's rare enough to see anyone cleaning in the food court, let alone with the efficiency of a private butler. And while no one seemed rushed, they didn't linger, either; instead, everyone seemed innately aware that the place was crowded, people were waiting for tables, and they ate quickly, cleared out quickly, and the dishes were whisked away equally quickly. I can't picture those table signs -- made of paper -- lasting one day in your typical American mall. They'd be shredded, stuffed into handbags, made into elaborate towers involving various foods, dishes and salt shakers. (I may have been partly responsible for some spectacular towers o' tableware at Denny's back in the day. Possibly some salt shakers stuck upside down in benches at Burger King. And definitely occupying one table for four hours while my friends and I ate our "two slices of pepperoni and a small drink for $2.50" from Pizza Plus while casually vandalizing the planters.)
What was missing from this scene? No straw wrappers being shot through the air. No abandoned stacks of 900 napkins and 50 packets of Taco Bell hot sauce. No ice cream cone turned upside down and left on a seat. Nobody hanging out, harassing passers-by, mashing their food into a repulsive mush, littering, loitering.
What there is, instead, is a code. This is how things are done. Everyone knows it. And everyone follows it.
Call it a conformist culture if you want, but it sure is nice to sit down without worrying there might be a melting ice cream cone on your chair.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
#2: Lauderdale, Jan. 3
I read about Lauderdale in Metropolis, and what piqued my interest was not yet another restaurant in Roppongi, but the fact that this place actually serves breakfast. Not just weekend brunch, but honest-to-god breakfast -- we're talking pancakes and croissants here -- and on weekdays. Aside from McDonald's and chain coffee shops, it's rare to find a restaurant in this part of Tokyo that even opens before 11.
It's also rare to find me out of my house before 11, so my first meal at Lauderdale was Sunday brunch, served until the civilized hour of 4 p.m. The French-influenced, rustic-looking restaurant is in a part of Roppongi Hills I usually avoid -- Keyakizaka-dori -- because Tiffany and Escada aren't part of my everyday wardrobe. But I liked this place so much, it might tempt me to venture out on weekday mornings at the ungodly hour of 10 a.m.
I had the Floridian omelette, filled a generous portion of smoked salmon, dill and lime. The combination sounds odd, but everyone at the table agreed: it was somehow just perfect. My favorite dish, though, was the roasted chicken breast atop creamy mashed potatoes with a hint of rosemary. Brunch comes with two sides as well as a huge bread basket with enough rolls for each of us to have three, and we were impressed with the generosity of the beverages. Tea came in a three-cup pot, and the waiter tried to refill Ryoko's hot water -- something I've never seen here. Kanako's coffee, too, was refilled over and over. Alas, the impressive menu of cocktails doesn't include free refills.
Lauderdale's specialty is souffles. The gruyere and mushroom sounds delightful, except for the mushroom part. We shared an apple-cinnamon souffle, and it was just the right amount -- no way could I have eaten a whole one. It was airy and tasty, with a sugar-crusted rim where it met the ramekin.
Everyone else was eager to go back for dinner, when the menu is dominated by mussels and duck confit, but I'm more a breakfast person. Not that I wouldn't go at night. It's just that I think I'm going to be spending a lot of mornings here, especially once it's warm enough to sit out on the patio.
Lauderdale: http://www.lauderdale.co.jp/index.html
It's also rare to find me out of my house before 11, so my first meal at Lauderdale was Sunday brunch, served until the civilized hour of 4 p.m. The French-influenced, rustic-looking restaurant is in a part of Roppongi Hills I usually avoid -- Keyakizaka-dori -- because Tiffany and Escada aren't part of my everyday wardrobe. But I liked this place so much, it might tempt me to venture out on weekday mornings at the ungodly hour of 10 a.m.
I had the Floridian omelette, filled a generous portion of smoked salmon, dill and lime. The combination sounds odd, but everyone at the table agreed: it was somehow just perfect. My favorite dish, though, was the roasted chicken breast atop creamy mashed potatoes with a hint of rosemary. Brunch comes with two sides as well as a huge bread basket with enough rolls for each of us to have three, and we were impressed with the generosity of the beverages. Tea came in a three-cup pot, and the waiter tried to refill Ryoko's hot water -- something I've never seen here. Kanako's coffee, too, was refilled over and over. Alas, the impressive menu of cocktails doesn't include free refills.
Lauderdale's specialty is souffles. The gruyere and mushroom sounds delightful, except for the mushroom part. We shared an apple-cinnamon souffle, and it was just the right amount -- no way could I have eaten a whole one. It was airy and tasty, with a sugar-crusted rim where it met the ramekin.
Everyone else was eager to go back for dinner, when the menu is dominated by mussels and duck confit, but I'm more a breakfast person. Not that I wouldn't go at night. It's just that I think I'm going to be spending a lot of mornings here, especially once it's warm enough to sit out on the patio.
Lauderdale: http://www.lauderdale.co.jp/index.html
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
#1: Worldstar Cafe, Jan. 2
I found Worldstar by accident, thanks to a sudden whim to explore a new street. I'd ventured out into the surreally silent Roppongi (the neighborhood adjoining mine, and Tokyo's nightlife district) to make a Don Quijote run, and as I approached Roppongi Crossing, a small parallel street beckoned to me. I'd only ventured a few feet down this street -- to drink at the Travel Cafe and, embarrassingly, to eat at Outback -- and I thought, why not. It was a nice day, I had no place to be, and thanks to the holidays, I had the streets to myself.
The street itself proved uninteresting (and not parallel as I'd thought, although I found a good shortcut to Food Magazine supermarket). Worldstar was about the only place open, and as I passed, two bored waiters standing on the porch waved me in. But I didn't want to eat -- I wanted to explore. And to buy cat litter.
An hour later I was back, and the waiters were astonished. "You came back!" they said, clearly delighted that their sales pitch had worked, and that they had a customer. (Everything in Tokyo pretty much shuts down until Jan. 5.)
As it was late afternoon, only the set lunch menu was available. I had a grilled chicken thigh in mustard sauce and thin rounds of homemade bread with a tasty red spread. The meat wasn't the highest quality -- I found a few chunks of gristle -- but it was tasty, and the Irish coffee from the full bar warmed me up. (And, until 2 a.m., kept me up.) I missed out on Worldstar's best features, though -- a water bar with high-end waters (yes, really) from all over the world, a tapas menu, and an extensive wine bar in the back room. They're open until 8 a.m. (yep, that's until, not from), making this a great place to wait out the first train.
Worldstar: http://www.worldstarcafe.com/eng.html
The street itself proved uninteresting (and not parallel as I'd thought, although I found a good shortcut to Food Magazine supermarket). Worldstar was about the only place open, and as I passed, two bored waiters standing on the porch waved me in. But I didn't want to eat -- I wanted to explore. And to buy cat litter.
An hour later I was back, and the waiters were astonished. "You came back!" they said, clearly delighted that their sales pitch had worked, and that they had a customer. (Everything in Tokyo pretty much shuts down until Jan. 5.)
As it was late afternoon, only the set lunch menu was available. I had a grilled chicken thigh in mustard sauce and thin rounds of homemade bread with a tasty red spread. The meat wasn't the highest quality -- I found a few chunks of gristle -- but it was tasty, and the Irish coffee from the full bar warmed me up. (And, until 2 a.m., kept me up.) I missed out on Worldstar's best features, though -- a water bar with high-end waters (yes, really) from all over the world, a tapas menu, and an extensive wine bar in the back room. They're open until 8 a.m. (yep, that's until, not from), making this a great place to wait out the first train.
Worldstar: http://www.worldstarcafe.com/eng.html
the restaurant project
Wow, over a year since I blogged. Pathetic! Anyway, for anyone still reading, I'm revving it back up this year as part of a New Year's resolution to try new restaurants. I wanted to track my progress, and I realized, I already have a handy place to do that. So Collarbone High is born again! I'm trying not to turn it into a food blog, because there are already hundreds of bloggers who write about food far better than I ever could. Instead, I'll just do a brief write-up of each new place I try, and I'll aim -- but not promise -- to write about other topics as well.
I abandoned the blog before because I was having a hard time striking the right tone. I realized what the problem was when my friend Tim told me he missed my stories about coping with life in Tokyo. And therein lies the snag -- after a little over two years here, I don't have to cope with Japan anymore. I just live here. Occasionally a comical misunderstanding or language-barrier snafu will arise, but those occasions are getting fewer and farther between. I no longer have the "gee whiz Japan is weird!" naivete that entertained people reading in the States. I don't want to write an expat blog, either, or to pepper my posts with references to people, places and Japanese terms that would make sense only to my friends in Japan. So I kind of got stuck. But the restaurant project has given me a focus and a new reason to write. It's good to be back!
I abandoned the blog before because I was having a hard time striking the right tone. I realized what the problem was when my friend Tim told me he missed my stories about coping with life in Tokyo. And therein lies the snag -- after a little over two years here, I don't have to cope with Japan anymore. I just live here. Occasionally a comical misunderstanding or language-barrier snafu will arise, but those occasions are getting fewer and farther between. I no longer have the "gee whiz Japan is weird!" naivete that entertained people reading in the States. I don't want to write an expat blog, either, or to pepper my posts with references to people, places and Japanese terms that would make sense only to my friends in Japan. So I kind of got stuck. But the restaurant project has given me a focus and a new reason to write. It's good to be back!
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