Stop Complaining, You Can Afford James

Especially now... Starting April 12, Jim and Kristina Burke (who are expecting, btw) are opening their acclaimed Bella Vista restaurant on Sunday nights. The hook? A three-course pre-fixe for $40 that'll include a weekly-changing pasta, entree and dessert. (The regular menu will be available as well.) Here's hoping the pre-fixe includes this pasta we savored earlier this week: fingernail-sized, feather-light tortelli stuffed with stinging nettle and ricotta, lightly dressed in bagna cauda, a Piedmontese blend of olive oil, garlic and anchovy. Dreamy.

Even without the Sunday deal, it's still possible enjoy James without dropping a C-note. Instructions: 1) Grab a bar stool or seat in the lounge. 2) Order the seasonal canapes, $11, an ever-changing assembly of ten to twelve bites that recently included garlic scape-cinched sardines, house-cured salami with candied fennel, crispy pork trotters with so-good-it-should-be-illegal apricot mostarda. 3) Order the slow-roasted chicken for one, $16. Burke uses air-chilled Giannone birds from Canada that crisp up (and stay supremely juicy inside) like none other. Legs, thighs and breasts arrive with seasonal veg, which right now means silky parsnip puree, sweet sauteed Green Meadow carrots, kale, garlicky spinach and hen-of-the-woods and trumpet royale mushrooms. That's $27, kids. So cheap you should treat yourself to a James-hattan. Or four.

Photo: JasonVarney for James

"I Was Naive And Young... I Didn't Know It Was Beer Inside That PBR Can."

This month's issue of Details is worth a look not only for the shots of the everyone's favorite amnesiac major league doper--so poignant we had to choke back fake tears--but also for the round-up of America's best dive bars. The drag show and $3 "borderline-irresponsible" (ha) JB-and-PBR dealsky land South Street's Bob & Barbara's a mention. Even more borderline-irresponsible: letting a photographer shoot pictures as you kiss yourself in a mirror. We'd post the shot if we weren't afraid it would turn you to stone.

Photo: NoSegue

525,600 Minutes… How Do You Measure, Measure A Beer?

If you’re gonzo brewer Dogfish Head, 60, 90 and 120 minutes are the marks for their award-winning (and delicious) flagship ales. But on March 26, all that changes with a Simul-cask event that will premier their new 75 Minute IPA in Dogfish’s Rehoboth brewpub and select gastropubs in Philly, New York and Boston. For hopheads like us who love the drinkability (take that Bud Light) of 60 but also the nuance of 90, a blending of the two sounds like the best thing since peanut butter met jelly. Check out 75 at Monk’s, Standard Tap, Devil’s Den, Memphis Taproom and Grey Lodge.

Photo: Dogfish

Vietnamese In AC

For great Vietnamese food, we recommend exactly three places. We’re sure there are more gems out there, but we’ve latched on to this trio: 1) Ba Le on Washington Avenue pork banh mi tucked into heavenly, fresh-baked baguettes, 2) Vietnam offshoot Vietnam Café in West Philly for nem nuong and killer corn pudding, and 3) Little Saigon, located 60 miles away in Atlantic City. During an overnight jaunt to AC this week, we popped over and found the restaurant chugging along, weathering winter’s dry spell with a steady stream of lunching locals and in-the-know casino execs.

Opened in 1990, Little Saigon is a young bol compared to other AC icons like Angelo’s Fairmount Tavern, Tony’s Baltimore Grill and the elusive Chef Vola, but it holds its own among these local institutions, as integral a part of the fabric of Atlantic City dining as Formica Bros. bread and saltwater taffy. At first glance, it looks like any other ethnic restaurant: busted sign over the door, tinted windows trimmed in neon, drop ceilings trimmed in Christmas garland all year round. But check out the wall blanketed in family photos. Between the cheap oak frames are polished plaques, awards, stratospheric Zagat ratings, glowing reviews, dozens of food writers wagging their tongues over the fresh, authentic Southern Vietnamese fare.



Anyone who loves herbs will love Little Saigon—and Vietnamese cuisine in general. It’s why the country’s food is one of our personal faves; the way fresh mint, basil and cilantro find their way into everything. Mint especially, too often relegated to garnishing our soufflés and greening our ice creams. Mint ain’t no pussy, something Vietnam knows well. The herb makes a serious impact in savory cooking too. At Little Saigon, it’s the bouquet of camphorous flavor wafting through the tangy lotus root, shrimp and sliced pork salad showered in crushed peanuts; tempering the heat of the bubbling curry chicken soup with rice vermicelli, chilies, red onions and carrots. Chopped herbs cover the crunchy, satisfying Vietnamese chicken salad like green confetti. With lemongrass, they freshen up a bowl of bun. Little Saigon’s portions are huge (and cheap), but you’ll leave feeling light.

For dessert, it’s Vietnamese coffee, served hot or iced, the requisite nod to the country’s French occupation. Little Saigon uses individual mini drips that sit atop each cup, pling-pling-plinging brewed coffee dark as melted chocolate onto a layer of sweetened condensed milk. Check out the circa-1970s thermos that arrived with the hot coffee! Tell us you wouldn’t want that shit in your lunchbox. The container brims with boiling water, should you want to brew yourself another cup. Cool.

You don’t need to wait till summer to get to Little Saigon, only a short hop from the Atlantic City Convention Center, where their annual beer festival is going down this weekend. For all the questionable decision-making one can do in AC, eating here is one thing you won’t regret in the morning.

Photo: blogalicious

Mark Your Calendars: Beer Wars

Blogalicious buddy Tim clued us into this documentary that drops April 16. Director Anat Baron's modern-day David & Goliath story takes us through the American beer industry, one in which craft brewers (like Dogfish Head's Sam Calagione, featured in the film) fight the good fight against the greedy hydra of big corporate brewing. Check out the trailer below, as well as this clip of Dogfish Head brewers talking Cloudberry Wheat at their experimental brewpub in Rehoboth Beach.




Video: BeerWars

Check It: The Snazzy New PhiladelphiaWeekly.com

The new site is up and running and looks pretty sick. Check it out, as well as our review of MangoMoon in Manayunk. Still dreaming about that sausage...

Photo: Perisco for PW

Well G’Day, Mate, Let’s Throw Another Heart And Kidney Brochette On The Barbie!

Europeans do lots of things better than Americans. Off the top of our head: playing socc—err, football, making wine, staying thin in the face of gobs of chocolate and bread. Until last night, we’d never consider putting ‘que in the Continent’s W column. But alas, Ansill’s European BBQ showed us Euro can grill like a motha.

Chef/owner David Ansill is not European, but his wife, Catherine, and his cozy Queen Village spot both are. Dessert-maker Catherine, spinner of the haunting violet ice cream we still think about with stalkerly frequency, is French, while the restaurant takes a looser geographical approach to its small plates, borrowing a bit from Italy, Spain, France and other EU members.

Ansill’s BBQ went down Wednesday night and last night, an orgy that revolved around a whole roasted pig. Each platter contained other assorted meats, vegetables and sauces, all for $35. We got there early to take advantage of the ridiculous buck-a-shuck oysters at happy hour (forgive the gratuitous oyster porn), and 36 salty Wiannos later, we settled in for the BBQ. The picture doesn’t quite do justice to the spiced, papery skin on the chicken, the smokiness of the smile of grilled sausage, the rabbit leg so juicy we eventually figured, fuck it, picked up the bone and started gnawing. Good and greasy, the succulent pig sang with garlic and rosemary, but as delicious as it was, the star was upstaged by the grilled brochette of bacon, lamb heart and veal kidney. It was a smoky totem pole, each tiny treasure crusty outside but soft and tender inside. If there was ever a question of which local chef possesses the deftest hand at offal cookery, it’s just been answered.



It’s rare to find a chef so adroit at cooking meat is just as nimble with vegetables. So it was a surprise that Ansill’s veg were a bit of a let down at the BBQ. The pickled cauliflower and beets were just as tangy and assertive as the ones that often find the way into the regular menu’s antipasto sampler, but the red cabbage streamers and slices of carrot (too crunchy and cut too thick) lacked the aggressive wallop of flavor that typical of the produce served here.

Three sauces rode shotgun: creamy garlic aioli, fresh-fresh-fresh parsley puree and, our fave, the pignoli-speckled agrodolce. In Italian, it means sweet and sour; at Ansill, it means powerfully delicious.

Each BBQ platter was designed to feed two, but going to Ansill and not ordering a few extra plates is like going to Disney World and not riding Space Mountain. Pasta brought plump buttery escargots nestled in a tangle of tender pappardelle simply slicked in extra-virgin with a smattering of chives. It was a special and it was special, while the silky Cognac-splashed steak tartare mounded on grilled slices of baguette smeared with purple mustard made from grape must, is still the best interpretation of this classic we’ve seen anywhere in town. Swoon. And for dessert, Catherine delivered as usual with the bittersweet flourless chocolate “fondant” cake with milk chocolate mousse and a wonderful poached pear infused with cardamom and ginger you could smell a mile away. The sidecar of vanilla ice cream was perfect. Rich, fragrant and smooth. Really, really perfect. But bring back the violet ice cream—please!

Photo: Ansill, blogalicious