Hell May Not Have Frozen Over, But Akron Sure Did

I recently received an email from friend and author Laura Taxel (of Cleveland Ethnic Eats fame) telling me about two great writing seminars being held during the Friday and Saturday sessions (November 12th and 13th) of this year's Fabulous Food Show. Since she explained it so well, I'll let her do the talking ...

"Myself and a colleague, Dianne Jacob, a writing coach and author of Will Write For Food, the definitive and highly acclaimed guide to all forms of culinary writing, are leading workshops on Friday and Saturday morning at the Fabulous Food Show. And I'm wondering if you'd be willing to help spread the word via your blog? The sessions are meant for people who dream of penning cookbook, culinary memoir, or blog. We'll offer practical tips and real world guidance on getting started, doing it well, and what it takes to get published and get readers.

The interactive 2-hour sessions will demystify the process of writing and selling a book and explore the pros, cons, and steps for launching and maintaining a food blog, plus advice on how to improve your food writing skills. The Friday workshop is strictly for chefs and other professionals. The Saturday version is for the general public. Tickets are $50, include all day admission to the Show, and must be purchased in advance. More info about us and the class on the show website.

It would be great if you could share this with your followers and friends.

thanks

laura"

While in years past I have avoided the Fabulous Food Show like the plague, the notion of a writing workshop has intrigued me enough to pay the admission cost. And since an all-day pass is included in the price, I figured I might as well walk around and check it out. If you are expecting photos of me posing with Giada and her oft-displayed and generous bosom, you will sadly be out of luck. But, I suppose before I poo-poo this admittedly over-the-top weekend montage to all the things I think are wrong with the Food Network, it is only fair that I at least experience a day in Sodom before raining hailstones and turning people into pillars of salt. (A Biblical reference, really?)

Wow, okay, so that was a bit cynical, huh? While I'm definitely excited about the writing workshops, the jury is still out on the rest. But, you never know, I might be pleasantly surprised.

We'll see.

A Visit To North End Restaurant

When last I mentioned Chef Jeff Jarrett and the North End Restaurant and Wine Bar in Hudson, Ohio, it was during this year's Taste of Hudson event. Just as with my idea at the 2010 Taste of Akron, instead of trying to do the impossible and eat the food from every single one of the vendors, I singled out three or four restaurants on which I hadn't done any type of formal review and sampled their food as a pre-cursor to an official visit and review. Chef Jarrett's food at the Labor Day festival had really impressed me and my companions and I decided that today would be the day for my unannounced visit. Since Chef Jarrett obviously knew what I looked like, I wasn't sure how long my visit would remain anonymous, but I figured I'd at least give it the college try.

The North End Restaurant and Wine Bar was located at 7542 Darrow Road, Hudson, OH 44236 and can be reached at 330-656-1238. Parking was located in a fairly large lot just outside of the building. From Darrow Road (aka State Route 91), the sign for the restaurant was clearly visible on the west side of the road:


And here was a shot of the entrance:


It should be noted that the market portion of the facility opened earlier in the day, 11 AM every day except for Sundays and Mondays. While the website lists lunch hours, I can assure you that only dinner is currently being served starting at 5 PM on the days that they are already open. I had stopped in one other time to try them for lunch only to discover that while the doors were open, the only item being sold was retail wine and beer. Tonight I decided to stop in at around 5:30 PM on a Wednesday evening. Fortunately, while there was a scheduled wine tasting later in the evening, the number of patrons here for dinner was small.

After being seated, my server left me with the menu:





An interesting thing to note on the menu was that Italian bread was available for $3. I've heard of restaurants that only serve bread upon request or have started charging for the service, but the North End was the first restaurant where I've actually come across this policy. I thought about ordering some of the bread to accompany my meal, but by the time my entree arrived today, I knew that I would be too full to appreciate it. Next time, for sure.

As usual, I decided to go with multiple courses in order to see how well played out the menu was. For my appetizer, I started out with the Crispy Pork Belly:


The fanned slices of ultra-tender pork belly had been plated atop kimchee that had been pureed and then brushed onto the plate. Sitting next to the pork was an arugula salad with a brunoise of red onion, plums, and fresh peaches and dressed with a light citrus vinaigrette. I first tasted the kimchee shmear and was rewarded with a wonderful spicy and sour flavor with a bit of spice aggressiveness towards the front of my mouth. When I combined a bit of the pork, salad, and kimchee puree, I was pleased to discover crunchy (from the seared outer edge of the pork belly), creamy, sweet, spicy, and tangy.

While I thought the salad by itself could use a touch more salt, when everything was combined together and eaten as one forkful, this was an amazingly rich and complex dish. I would have never pictured myself being a lover of pork belly, but Chef Jarrett's take on it was delicious and satisfying. For those concerned about spice levels, I should mention that the heat from the kimchee was quite mild and unless you have a complete aversion to anything spicy, you really will enjoy the playfulness of the dish.

For my second taste of the evening, I settled on a cup of the Soup du Jour, which in today's case was the Lobster Bisque:


When this small cup of happiness first arrived at my table, I was completely taken with its terra cotta color and intense seafood aroma. As I dug into the viscous liquid, I noticed that not only was the lobster completely infused into the soup, but there were additional bits of lobster floating throughout as well. Upon tasting my first spoonful, I was again presented with sweet, salty, tangy, creamy, and spicy, but a different spicy. This time the spice hit me gently in the back of the throat, a sure sign that cayenne chili powder had been used to give this bisque some zip. I found myself eating spoon after spoon of this delicious course until sadly, I reached the bottom of the cup. I'm actually thankful that the bisque only came in the smaller "cup" size as had a bowl of this been placed in front of me, I probably would've licked the damn thing clean and been too full for my entrée afterward.

Speaking of entrées, tonight I decided to try the North End Chicken:


Consisting of an Airline cut chicken breast seared to a wonderful golden brown, it rested on top of shredded dark meat from the chicken, goat cheese dumplings, and various cuts of regular and Dragon carrots. All of which had been enhanced by a pan sauce finished with butter and drizzled with a touch of white truffle oil. I decided to try the sauce first and work my way up to the chicken breast. The sauce was exactly what I expected it to be and I could taste the richness from the butter and the slight zip from the fresh herbs that the chefs had thrown in right at the end before plating. What delighted me was the almost earthy headiness that could only come from a drizzle of the white truffle oil.

The goat cheese dumplings were only slightly tart and were completely tender without at all being mushy. The least successful part of the dish, the carrots, were a tad undercooked. Actually, the smallish coins of carrots underneath the chicken were okay since they were small, but when I cut a piece from the larger varieties lining the sides of the plate, I was surprised to find that they still had a bit of their raw flavor and crunch.

The chicken itself, as you can see from this shot, was incredibly moist and juicy:


While the breast meat was great, I think I enjoyed the scattered shredded dark meat even more. Either way, I really savored this dish and with all of the components going on, I was happy to see that everything was perfectly seasoned ... which was a good thing since nary a salt nor pepper shaker could be found at any of the tables in the restaurant. By the time I finished my entrée, it was roughly 6:30 PM, approximately an hour after I had first arrived and about a half-hour before the beginning of the wine tasting. When my server approached me about dessert, I politely declined and asked for both the check and Chef Jarrett if he wasn't in the weeds.

Moments later, Chef Jarrett appeared from the kitchen, looked at me and exclaimed, "You were supposed to tell me when you were coming!" I laughed and responded, "No, no. It doesn't work like that." In the end, tonight had turned out to be a completely anonymous visit and I'm glad I had a chance to review the food as if it was meant for any other regular diner. Chef Jarrett and I talked for a few minutes before he had to return to the kitchen to finish preparations for the impending wine tasting.

With tax, my meal tonight came to slightly under $32, which for the three very tasty courses I enjoyed this evening, I felt was well worth the price. Having finally had a chance to eat a proper meal inside the actual restaurant, I am quite excited about returning for many more in the future. If you haven't had a chance to try out the chef's inventive and tasty menu, I would suggest you stop by and give them a chance soon. I don't think you'll be disappointed.

[Ed. Note: I contacted Chef Jarrett to let him know when this review would be published on the blog (he asked me to let him know when the review would go live) and he informed me that he has officially turned in his notice at North End Restaurant in order to pursue his own place. As information becomes available to me of the chef's future endeavors, gentle reader, I will be more than happy to pass along these details to you. And, of course, when North End replaces Chef Jarrett with a new chef, you can expect a re-review of the food.]

A Trip To This Galaxy Will Cost You

My grandfather was very loyal to certain restaurants. He knew the owner, the menu, and most importantly, the wait staff. A meal for him was much more than showing up, having a cocktail, eating food, and paying the check. For him it was equally about connecting with other people and learning a little bit (or a lot) of their life's story. For a number of years, he called Li'l Joe's Pub in Bath, Ohio, his home away from home. This was where he would go to unwind, have a Manhattan (or two) and order one of his favorites from the menu, like the linguine with white clam sauce. Sadly, Li'l Joe's closed down a number of years ago (although Papa Joe's is still going strong) and in its place today are the Ken Stewart power duo of Tre Belle and The Lodge.

Without a place to go on a regular basis, my grandfather sought the comforts of an eatery much closer to where he lived in Wadsworth, the Galaxy Restaurant. At the time it was just a restaurant and banquet facility, but over the years a pub, wine room, and small market have been added. While I have eaten on and off at this restaurant for over a dozen years since it originally opened, it wasn't until I saw fellow food blogger CJ's review on CJ's Real Deals on Meals that I realized that with all of the Wadsworth restaurants I HAD reviewed, for some reason I missed this one.

I decided to stop out today for a late lunch and do a formal review of them. The facility was located right off of I-76 and Rt. 94. The address was 201 Park Center Drive, Wadsworth, OH 44281 and they can be reached at 330-334-3663. Parking was available in a lot that surrounds the entire building. Here was the sign that delineated where the property began:


Once I had parked, I walked up to the entrance (there were several) that was most closely connected with the dining room:


Fortunately, once you are inside, there is a connecting hallway that runs the length of the building from the banquet facilities to the pub. The dining room seemed particularly empty and when the woman manning the hostess booth returned to her station, she said that I could eat in the dining room if I wanted to or I could enjoy myself (and the same lunch menu) over in the pub. Figuring that there would at least be a television or two to entertain me while I ate, I chose to walk past the small market to the pub entrance.

After being seated, I was handed the menu:





While the menu has evolved and adapted over the years, there were still some old stalwarts in existence on the menu today: The chicken salad has been a long-time favorite of my grandmother's. When I saw that they were offering hand breaded onion rings, I decided to pair them with one of the sandwiches. But first, I was in the mood for either a cup of soup or a small salad. Interestingly, some of the salads offered were plated in either half or full portions. When I saw the spinach salad with bacon and hard boiled egg AND that it was available in a half size, I was hooked.

Here was my spinach salad:


This was a HALF portion! It was huge. I can only imagine how large the full portion would be. The salad came pre-dressed with a red wine vinaigrette and while I was initially worried that it would come swimming in dressing, I was pleasantly surprised that it was dressed perfectly. Besides the spinach leaves, the salad had cooked and chopped bacon, egg, mushrooms, red onion slivers, shredded carrots, and in an unusual twist, fresh bean sprouts.

First, the good. The dressing had a nice balance to it between the sweet and the sour. The spinach was very fresh and crunchy. The bacon added nice bursts of saltiness to the dish. The bean sprouts, even with all of the other flavors going on, easily sang through the other flavors, but didn't overpower the symphony of flavors. Second, the not-so-good. The mushrooms were slimy. There was barely any egg in the salad. The dressing needed more salt. Nevertheless, I finished my portion.

While I already knew I would be upgrading my order today to take advantage of the onion rings, I wasn't quite sure with which sandwich I would pair it. I let my gaze fall across the "Sandwiches" section of the menu until it eventually gravitated to the Chicken Parmesan sandwich served on a toasted hoagie roll. This was what I would order today.

Here was a shot of my lunch as it arrived from the kitchen:


First, let's talk about the Chicken Parmesan sandwich:


The bun was fresh and nicely toasted, with the exception of the spine, where sauce had compromised the integrity of the bun and turned it into a marinara mush. The rather large and awkward piece of fried-from-frozen chicken didn't sit very well on the hoagie bun and I had to use my knife to more or less cut it into multiple pieces and wedge it between the two halves. The marinara looked a little bit scant in terms of portion size, but when I finally bit into the sandwich, it turned out to be an adequate amount of sauce. Picking up my newly adjusted sandwich, I took a bite and was rewarded with hot, but completely dry chicken meat. It wasn't dessicated, but neither was it juicy. The sandwich was ... eh, okay.

I next turned my attention to the onion rings:


First, the good. The breading was tasty and not greasy. Clearly these had been hand breaded just before frying. On onion rings that had some thickness to them, the sweet flavor from the onion was a nice balance to the saltiness of the coating. Overall, these were decent rings. Second, the bad. Not very many of the rings were thick enough to provide the proper sweet contrast to the savory outside coating. Many of the rings were so thin before frying that they became like onion jerky. Finally, clearly these had been hand breaded just before frying. Yes, yes, gentle reader, I know I listed that in the positives column. Let me explain. Because they hadn't had time to sit with the coating on them before frying, as you touched each ring, heck, if you breathed in the wrong direction, the coating on the rings would shatter and fall off. It became almost an exercise in futility to try and get a ring with coating into your mouth.

Accompanying the onion rings today was a side of Bistro Sauce. While it looked like Thousand Island dressing, when I tasted it, the additional flavors of sweet pickle relish and a spiciness of some type, perhaps cayenne, also came into play. The sauce actually went well with the onion rings, but because the rings were so nicely seasoned, I didn't use very much of the sauce. My server, distressed that I hadn't like the sauce because I had placed it on the table instead of on my plate, asked me if I didn't like it. I assured him that everything was fine and I had only placed it on the table to give me more room on the plate.

With tax and suitable tip, my lunch today (I had a glass of water) came to $19. Now, $19 isn't exactly cheap for lunch, and given the quality of the lunch I did have, I'd say the value today was a bit in question. While the Galaxy (and especially the pub) have served as a popular meeting spot for out-of-town friends who need a spot for a pint of their favorite frosty beverage and a bite to eat, for this kind of money, the food really ought to be stellar. I do intend to return to review the dinner menu in the dining room. Since lunch is the same no matter where you sit, I hope that this review gave you a good idea of what to expect should you decide to go for yourself.

Meat Sauce Memories

[Ed. Note: While I am not going to use any last names, there is no point in trying to conceal Tyson's identity by calling him 'T' since so many of my high school friends now read my blog. I'd ask that any comments (which, of course, are welcomed) not give his full name.]

It was unlike any other spaghetti and meat sauce I had ever eaten. My first memory of having it was at my friend Tyson's house during my freshman year of high school. Four of us sat down at the antiquated 1950's dinette set positioned at the west end of the kitchen, situated between two windows that overlooked the sloping yard and steep road which jutted off a major state route. The small table had room enough for exactly four adults: Tyson, myself, and his mom and dad.

Our meal that first night consisted of an assortment of salad greens, peperoncini and dressing from the cold little plastic bottles straight from the fridge, white bread with spreadable margarine, nearly as plastic as the tub it came in, and the pièce de résistance: a plate of spaghetti that had been tossed and topped with Tyson's mom's homemade meat sauce. As the honored guest, I had been served first, but upon hearing the little voices in my head that sounded remarkably like my own mother, I declined to take silverware in hand until everyone had been served and was properly seated at the table.

Tyson's mom had developed her own version of this Italian-American classic and it quickly grew to not only appeal to her husband, but Tyson as well. By the time I showed up on the scene, it had achieved an almost epicurean prêt-à-porter status, alterations to the recipe no longer required to achieve sauce perfection. Preparation of the sauce had begun hours earlier, an elixir of ingredients brought forth from fridge and pantry, slowly simmered for what seemed to be an eternity, giving the house an amazing smell of tomatoes and beef. It was the kind of smell that could bring hungry men from every corner of the house, regardless of how remote, appetites stimulated and mouths watering so thoroughly that Pavlov himself would have been impressed.

Well before my life as a dedicated foodie began, this meal already resonated with my sense of doing it slow, doing it right, and doing it from scratch. Even if the rest of the meal consisted of pre-bagged salad greens, commercial salad dressings, grated Parmesan cheese in the green can, spongy white bread with a two week shelf life and all of the nutritional equivalent of a couple of teaspoons of refined white sugar, and boxed dried spaghetti, at least the meat sauce was made from scratch with love. And that was enough.

As I twirled the pasta on my fork for that first time, capturing little bits of tomato sauce, onions and nuggets of ground beef, I lifted it skyward and was immediately faced with the dilemma of what to do with the errant strands of pasta still hanging out of my mouth once I had cleaned my fork. Fortunately, a gentle and silent slurp was all that was required to rectify the problem as I made sure to discreetly retrieve every bit of sauce lingering on my lips from the pasta I had cleaned only a moment before. I chewed slowly, patiently allowing plenty of time for the savory and sweet sauce to coat my tongue, releasing every flavorful compound it had to offer. Twenty-four years later, if I stop to take a moment and close my eyes, I can vividly taste that first bite of pasta and sauce on my tongue and it still makes me salivate.

This wasn't to say that my own mother's meat sauce wasn't good. In fact, it was one of the few dishes in which she took pride in the fact that it was made from scratch. Many years after the fact, she divulged to me the story of a man she had once dated for whom this effort was completely lost. Having been in the relationship for quite some time, he had never told her of his perverse dislike of onions. Deciding that she would cook dinner for the two of them one night, she pulled out the tried and true recipe my grandmother had given her. The ingredients that went into the stock pot were the usual suspects: garlic, onion, ground meat, tomato paste, tomato sauce, and dried herbs. Simmered slowly for hours, the sauce reduced and the sugars caramelized to a deep earthy red. Pleased with the results, she ladled the thickened sauce atop a plate of cooked pasta and served it to her date, eagerly anticipating at least a minimal amount of recognition for the effort she had put into the dinner.

Upon taking his first bite, he discovered the terrible secret in the sauce: the abhorrent allium. In a move that would resonate strongly towards the future longevity of their relationship, he decided that the best way of conveying his opinion to her on the onion issue was to simply pick up the plate and turn the entire contents over onto the table, plate now teetering on top of this epicurean abomination. Of course, my mother was stunned that someone could show such unconscionable behavior to anyone, let alone someone for whom he purportedly cared. While that incident alone wasn't enough for her to see the light (which she eventually did), it certainly set the tone for what was coming ahead. Fortunately, once they split, she could finally remove the Scarlet "O" with which he had branded her since that fateful plate of pasta.

But even as much as I enjoyed my own mother's meat sauce, it was still never as good as the version that Tyson's mom could replicate time and again. I had somewhat happily allowed myself to be brought under the fold by Tyson's family. I don't know that they ever knew what went on in my house, but I spent many a weekend night sleeping over at Tyson's, playing video games, watching movies, and generally just trying to avoid the unpleasantness of being around my father as much as possible. And the nights that we had spaghetti and meat sauce for dinner were always cherished by me. In all those years, I never once thought to ask her how she made it. I guess the folly of youth is the assumption that she would always be around to make it for us whenever we wanted it.

The last time I remember eating the sauce was when I lived in Columbus, somewhere around 2003. It was before Tyson's dad got sick and I had told Tyson that I would be coming up to Wadsworth and wanted to see him, his wife and two little boys along with his mom and dad. I don't know if I asked or if his mom volunteered, but the gastronomic siren's song of her spaghetti and meat sauce was enough to not only bring me two hours away from Columbus, but also spend a nice chunk of change on a hotel room in Wadsworth so that I could spend the night, thus maximizing my time with the family and the subsequent dinner.

With the addition of Tyson's wife and two little boys, the number of dinner guests had nearly doubled since those times in high school, but we still managed to squeeze into that little dinette table that should've only sat four. To be fair, space issues were the last thing that I was concerned with that night. As the pasta plates were brought to the table, I inhaled deeply, reconstructing the flavor of the sauce in my mind well before tasting it. I never realized that this one meal, this final meal, would be the last time I would not only dine with both of Tyson's parents, but also the final plate of the pasta and sauce I would ever taste again.

After finishing our meal, cameras were brought out and I managed to get a snapshot of all of us, including the new additions to Tyson's young family. I occasionally bring that photograph up on my computer when I'm feeling nostalgic and the moment I see it, various sense memories almost instantly get triggered and I find myself standing in that kitchen watching his mom stirring that pot of sauce, smelling those heavenly scents and tasting the sauce all over again.

By the time I evolved into my present day self, it seemed that my window of opportunity for learning the recipe had closed. While Tyson gleefully reported that his mother did eventually teach his wife the secret to making the sauce, I wished I had hung around the kitchen just a little more and watched his mom personally. I felt like I could've done something to not only preserve her tradition, but share a truly tasty part of my own childhood with others out there looking for a good recipe. After two decades of intense friendship, gradually Tyson and I began to lead separate lives. Inevitably, we grew apart to the point where it now appears that both of us have now moved on, each on our own path to happiness.

Whatever the outcome, I just want him to know that he and his family were there for me at a critical point in my life when I really needed it. And even something as simple as offering a homecooked meal in a setting with a modicum of stability had such an impact on me that I can still remember it twenty-four years after first experiencing it. I suppose that through the lens of nostalgia, everything good in our past only gets better, if not a little blurred around the edges. If that is the case, I am eager and willing to remember the way things used to be ... before life got complicated.