For the Contentment of Coffey

A colleague and guest Bistrovian has been bugging me for a miniburger/slider recipe, as if I've even come close to getting it right. Don't you know by now that I've been a late bloomer my whole life? Anywhere, here's the download:

You want to get some meat. I've done two experiments, one with two kinds of ground sirloin (half the regular stuff, the other half grass-fed), and the other with half chuck (yes, the fatty kind, cheaper) and half sirloin (grass-fed, more spendy). It varied the second time because the butcher refused to accept that a flavorful burger could be done without some fat. Now that I've tried them both, I can't say which I like more. Give me a couple more years.

Where was I? Oh yes, you get a good pound or two of quality beef together. Season it with some salt (if you're ready to cook), fresh ground pepper, a few squirts of soy sauce, a dollop of teriyaki, a dash of cumin, a couple cloves of finely chopped garlic. What else? Worcesteshire sauce. Why the hodgepodge? Well, because you want lots of flavor in a small package. Knead.

Make little meatballs in the palms of your hands, a bunch of them, and put them on a cutting board or broad dish. Then, and this is key, you want to press down on the meatball and flatten it. Trial and error will help you see whether your meatball should be smaller or larger, and whether your minipatties should be thinner or thicker.

Cook 'em as you'd cook any burger, in a pan right on the stove. I'm sure they would brown nicely in a George Foreman; I have a panini press, but I haven't tried them in there. Set them aside until you're ready to assemble, because now you want to make a little sauce.

In the same pan you've made the burgers, turn the heat back on and pour in some red wine. Then add a bit of butter and, if you have them, chopped shallots. Scrape a few browned bits from the bottom and let the booze reduce. When you have a consistency you like (a little runny is good), transfer your sauce into a small bowl.

For the buns, I recommend brioche from the Bay Boulangerie. They're a little much, but they're so delicious and just the right size. (Whole Foods and such stock them, but sometimes not the tiny ones.) Cut them in half (keep track of the pairs) and toast them a bit.

Assembly: Line a few buns up on a counter or working surface. If you like mayo, start by spreading some on the bottom of the top caps. Take the cooked minipatties and place them on the lower half of the brioche. With a spoon, ladle a little wine sauce on the meat. Add a slice of Roma tomato, and you're done. I'm open to suggestions on presentation.

So Little Pimm's, So Little Time

The lovely lady's getting her hairs done, which means that after braving the rain for the dry cleaner and then the markets (stuffed peppers a la Diva due for dinner), it was time to put on some records (My Morning Jacket, Jonathan Richman, Ray Barretto, Bruce Cockburn, Charlie Parker & Miles Davis), reflect a bit about the early episodes of "Mad Men," make a drink, watch the puddles.

Summer is not here and it's interesting that peering into the liquor cabinet, first thinking Manhattan, I wondered whether there was something I could do with the couple fingers of Pimm's I had in there courtesy of BrO and his spring cleaning years ago. The bottle cap still has the price from Astor Wine & Spirits, $10.39. The powers of the Internets were then summoned, with more than a dozen recipes coming up.

After texting Jomo I had a drink idea: make two! It's a good opportunity to use some of the barware, glassware and a clipboard. Here I have each recipe and tasting:

Pimm's Turbo
1 oz. gin (I used Plymouth)
1 oz. Pimm's
4 oz. Limonata by San Pellegrino

Put ice cubes in a red-wine glass or goblet, and add ingredients. Garnish with a lemon twist. (Use a channel knife.)

Melanie Pimm's
2/3 oz. Scotch (I used TJ's blended)
1-1/2 oz. Pimm's
1/3 oz. lemon juice
5 oz. Limonata by San Pellegrino

Put ice in a highball or Collins glass, and add ingredients. Garnish with a thin lemon wedge.

Now the comparison: The Turbo is all swinging London, smooth sipping and easy living, perhaps the very essence of cocktail time. In a way, one could say, it bears any burden, meets any hardship to assure the survival and success of liberty, at any price. But the Melanie, with its darker shade as well as greater body and complexity given the blended Scotch and extra citrus, captures more of the "Here's That Rainy Day" mood. Off to the puddles.

Don't Drink Long Island Iced Teas, Even If You Have To

El Gran Ron weighs in on a fussily ordered he had, yes, at our Perbacco:

> As Luis Bunuel (and I) would respond, it is crucial to use only uncrushed, whole ice cubes in making martinis and to place them and the gin only into a shaker, not some beaker. Stirred martinis -- often and wrongly stirred in a beaker so as not to "bruise" the gin -- are for ignorant and often pretentious pussies. Gin does no bruise, but it does improve in lip-smacking "dryness" when served very, very cold and as undiluted as possible by (yech) water from (ugh) crushed ice. Martinis are serious business, not slushies. Moreover, the shaker should be agitated (without beating the ice to death and cracking it) for some several minutes. at which point the martini should be poured into an already chilled martini glass. We'll leave the choice and application of types of vermouth and olives, onions or other delicacies to be served within the martini for another time.

I hope you don't take offense, Antonio Luis, but that slick bartender at Perbacco, who you seemed to know by name [this would be Scott -AL] and vice-versa, did not make a good, not even a decent, martini, I am sad to tell you, despite the fact that he tried twice. If he focused less on his fancy hand-job routines in making drinks and various other showoff flim-flam behind bar and more time reading and studying and understanding what a good martini is and how to make one, he might be salvageable; though frankly he seems to too vain and hubristic to me to ever be a good bartender, whose major attributes have to be a total absence of needless flash and filagree and a basic, openly expressed sense of humility and compassion.

So, in the slightly altered advice of Abe Polonsky, I would encourage you not to give up and come to a false understanding before you have to. If you ever get any crushed ice in your martini, the putz behind the bar has flim-flammed you with fency hand jobs into believing that he knows what he's doing. The only defense is to know more and better than he does.

As ever,

El Gran Ron

Lucky Star

No matter how hard I try, I can't stop eating. K has learned to schedule activities around a meal. "We're meeting so-and-so at 11 and then we can walk to the lunch spot. OK?" I nod and begin daydreaming.

This time our walk brought us to B Star, which I believe is an outgrowth of the still hugely popular Burma Superstar a block over. Haven't been there in a decade, and I'm sure it's still quite good.

But the mojo I think is now at B Star. I couldn't quite figure out what to get, which is something that happens, like, never. Should I have a soft-shell po' boy or the mango salsa tacos? Can one eat too much soft-shell crab, or too many tacos? (I still drool at the memory of the crab I had on our honeymoon in Maryland, pulled out of the water 15 feet from my table the minute I ordered it. Then there was the taco stand, rather a taco lot, at Santa Monica and Vermont in L.A., which had the handwritten sign in Spanish that said, and I'm paraphrasing, "Please bear with us. We are working to comply with the city health department." Everything there was $1.)

K had the French toast with Nutella and strawberries.

I had the pork belly with white beans and bok choy.

I asked for a bit of Sriracha. Not even a grain of jasmine rice was left over.

Lunch or brunch or what have you, we won't be doing Q. We're not ready to splurge on Philippe's Clementine. The B is our shiny new thing.

Around the Neighborhood with 80 Bucks

While I scrounge around to remember what the lovely, saucy, superknowledgeable ladies brought me at Beretta (like the charred radicchio with ... ), I give you my tab from Kabuto. Yes, I was warned about Kabuto, stuck sort of nowhere a few blocks off Park Presidio. But do I ever listen?

1849 Oysters, 2 pieces (oyster, uni, quail egg, tobiko): $10
Abalone, 2 pieces: $10
Akamutsu (snapper?), 2 pieces: $10
CeViChe (flash-fried seaweed, halibut, salsa), 2 pieces: $5
Escolar, 2 pieces: $6
Shima Aji (like butter), 2 pieces: $7
Osumimono (clear soup): $4
Wakame (seaweed and greens salad): $5
Asahi, black: $5
Hojicha (green tea, free refills): $2

That adds up to $64, and tax is about $5, and I tipped too (imagine) so there you go. It's perhaps my most expensive single meal, and have to say one of the best. See you there during the next boom.

Recipe: John McCain’s Alphabet Soup

The fawning food press and popular books like "The United States of Arugula" love name-checking the big shots like Daniel Boulud and Jean-Georges Vongerichten. Not name-checked are those like Ivan Arias, who basically are cheated out of the equivalent of a tab for two at the swanky eateries where they work as much as 60 hours a week. This smacks of grotesque since these chef-owners often give away free dinners to their BFFs as a matter of doing business.

http://tinyurl.com/4rro5q

Here’s how we know what’s going on: The lawyer for the restaurateurs picks up campaign talking points and blames the patchwork of antiquated rules and regulations. Also the trial lawyers.

Tip of the hat to my Latin brothers.

Recipe: Pork Chile Verde

What the hell? K and I are now past the halfway point in her pregnancy and I can't find my keys or remember anything anymore. No, I'm not going to get an iPhone and make it all better. I'll run down some of the treats I still have notes on from Fat City:

• Oysters, wild mushroom salad and golden-beet ravioli with Hahn Estates pinot, at Bin 36.

• Oyster shooters with quail egg, and the "hye roller," at Meiji. Earlier I got attitude at the wine bar two doors down. Too bad for them.

8-12 fresh Anaheim peppers
2-3 pounds trimmed boneless pork shoulder, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
1 big onion
4-6 cloves of garlic
1 can El Pato jalapeño sauce

Start by firing the peppers. In batches, put two or three peppers directly on the stove burners, turned on full blast, with tongs. As you blacken them up, shift them into a ziplock bag to cool. (Do them in batches so you don't end up with lots of soiled bags.) Peel them by hand, without fretting over each speck of black. Set them on cutting boards to seed and chop finely.

In a big, heavy braising pot, heat up some oil. Brown the pork well, letting some of the juices evaporate. Scoop everything out to make your sofrito. Sauté the onion, then add the chilies and seasonings like salt, pepper, chili powder, a little oregano and cumin. Throw in the garlic for a minute until it's aromatic. Then add El Pato and stir to reduce a bit.

Add the pork and 4 cups of water. Turn the heat to medium and cover to bring to a boil. Once it's hot and bubbly, take the cover off and simmer for 3 hours until the meat's fork-tender. Serve with rice or just with chopped red onion and cilantro. Serves all your friends by the time you and everyone else is well into Negronis.

Bonus tip: Get the same amount of tomatillos as peppers. Take the papery skin off and pop them in boiling water for 10 minutes. Pulse them in a blender or that little pulse thing and add them to the sofrito with the chopped chilies.

Coffey from Cabo

My colleague and freelance Bistro blogger Michelle sends this pic, from Mariscos Mazatlán in downtown Cabo San Lucas. It's the seafood platter for two, or should I say at least two.

Fat City, II

We had a Tuesday night devoted for destination dining followed by improv theater, but the dinner was far more stimulating than the stagework, even though the hype and expectations were higher about the eatery. I suppose some purists avoid the rooms overseen by A-list chefs, as if they are somehow tainted. ("Nobody goes there, it's too crowded" is kinda the idea.) There's also the pitfall of not getting seated and getting attitude for not being so-and-so. Let me report that Rick Bayless and his Frontera Grill aren't bothering with shortcuts in the kitchen or short shrift at the front of the house. The place is mobbed, even at 6 on a Tuesday, but we arrived without a reservation and were greeted and seated in minutes. Maybe it's the Chicago nice.

Bayless has even thought through the aperitifs, including one based on hibiscus that also takes soda and bitters. For starters he's letting people go at all the shellfish and ceviche they can stomach, as well as making some Mexican mainstays small and scrumptious. We shared the sopes, which are English muffins of corn masa made tiny, tiny and topped with braised beef and roasted tomatoes.

My main course was the birria, or shredded goat meat, along with some fixins for tacos, just like if you were at a barbecue or outdoor party. K had mesquite-grillled chicken for her tacos. ("It was like the whole village was in there," she recalls. "I could taste the whole freaking village.")

My sister-in-law says that she's been eating rice and beans her whole life, and that she doesn't need them wrapped up in a tortilla. With high-quality ingredients, seasoning and preparation, you also don't need to drown everything in refried beans and melted cheese. On behalf of the whole freaking village, a big thank you to everyone at Frontera.

Fat City, I

I come not to berate Chicago, but to praise it. Maybe at this point in my 30s the years are flying by and the food is just getting way better everywhere without you noticing it outside your bubble. I had many excellent evening eats in the broad-shouldered town.

Kicking it off right Saturday night on Michigan Ave., we were pointed to The Gage and escorted without a reservation or any such thing past the bar and booths into a dining room. A little secluded, but that changed in short order. People were coming out to eat, and the room warmed up. Table neighbors ask about appetizers. I couldn't resist and started with the Scotch egg, which is hard-boiled egg stuffed into ground sausage, then breaded and deep-fried.

What really kicked it up a notch were the mustards, a touch of hot Dijon on the top and six inches away on the rectangular plate, a generous helping of deli mustard. Also, what's the point of getting on a plane if you're not dipping into something regional, unhealthy and delicious? Don't forget to pair with beer. (Pic at right purloined off someone's Flickr.)

Skipping ahead a bit -- the menu is organized as firsts, seconds, thirds, etc. -- I then savored the salad of braised rabbit, which is something Ward Little could do at South Park Cafe or any of the other bistros hitting all the right notes. This was perfect, with some morsels tender and some others a little crackled, tossed with frisee and another green I can't remember because I was forking at it so fast.

K went for The Gage burger, which at $16 is more than the regular one, but the difference isn't six bucks but sirloin instead of ground chuck. The bowl of fries was enough for three, maybe four people, and were perfect. We even got a little Indian-spiced gravy to dip in.

My main course was a special, grilled striped bass, and this was reminiscent of Evvia, only sauced a little spicier, paired with a big pour of a Vin de Pays d'Oc pinot. Big success, like Chicago in general.

The place is a bit hidden across from Millennium Park, and works even if you just want to watch the game and nosh at the bar. A couple of nights I thought I'd pop back in for a Negroni, but as usual I got distracted elsewhere. More to come.

An Americano Classic

Negronis at Perbacco, poured with Right gin, Carpano Antica and the company of Jomo. Pic is purloined from something called L.A. Splash.

UPDATE: For the Perbacco-perfect Negroni, taper off the Campari a bit instead of equal parts of the three ingredients.

City Sitting Room. Village Parlor. Group Home

Town Hall is a step removed or cut from the same cloth as Salt House, from the same partnership, which means it's like Salt House but different. (My mom had the buttermilk fried chicken. Can you get much more regional American? You can. I tried a couple barbecue places in Lockhart, Texas on the same day -- in fact for the same meal. Variety's a beautiful thing.)

Rambling aside (and when someone else is paying with this particular partnership, one rambles), the highlight aside from the Caliza was my entree, which was better than anything else anyone had: the roast quail. It's plated with clams on their shell, tiny balls of chorizo, a mash of purple potatoes, peas, Italian parsley and a drizzle of Meyer lemon. This is fine fine dining. So many ingredients, colors and textures, and it succeeds. What region of America is this? Maybe a bunch of them -- all of them in the same meal. Variety's too much of a wonderful thing.

Scenes from the Class Struggle

Had a whole post concept going earlier, but got stymied. In the interim there's this:

http://tinyurl.com/5wb5gt

The real content is in the comments. My favorite:

> "If you have to ask, you can’t afford it. If you can’t afford it, you should have asked. Didn’t mother teach you *anything*?"

DIY Dim Sum, of sorts

I've lived in the western environs for six years and am still bumping into funky nooks. After a little shopping in Stonestown, I pull off Sunset onto Noriega, because somewhere on there lies the Kingdom of Dumpling. Sure enough, past the Safeway with rooftop parking and countless budget restaurants, there it is, next to Boomerang Cocktail Lounge. (People apparently smoke in there. Elbo?)

I literally jog in and stop in front of the line of top-loading fridges filled with bags of frozen goodness, some of which has been made that day and is ready to steam. I'm immediately attended to and walked through a purchase --- what needs steaming, boiling or simply a quick nuke. Quite a few things are recognizable from my brunches and lunches, even the sesame balls for dessert, though I'm not sure if those are for steaming, boiling or a quick nuking. They even have a couple kinds of buns and pot stickers.

For two big bags of pork dumplings, a flat of a dozen fresh Shanghai-style pork and ginger dim-sum pieces and four Chinese vegetable buns, the tally is about $22. I run home and steam the first half-dozen Shanghai dumplings in the double boiler for 7 minutes; the next batch will go in for 6.

Dumplings seem like a great thing to have on hand for weekend brunches, weeknight meals or even tasty snacks. No need to commit to a whole sit-down scene. (The Kingdom also has a restaurant, my salesperson tells me, handing me a card. It's on Taraval between 27th and 28th.) Why doesn't someone open a bunch of dim sum bars with a quick-service counter? Beats me. I'll have to hop down to Noriega more often.

Laz & Lash: Satiating South of Market

From: Laz
To: Lash

Ah yes, the red-rice with toasted coriander. Kristen had that. But it's not just coriander that's in there; there's also some lemon zest, and perhaps more. I see your point about the magic of the chef, and I want to add something else. Camargue red rice is indeed a pretty foodie ingredient, but there's that imagination with the lemon and the seasoning and the other grilled veg that complement the ramekin-size serving. 

The dish looks like something that came together as a staff meal, or as a clean-out-the-fridge thing on a lazy Monday. People eat lots of rice, but that plate brings in other elements in a certain way that speaks to what South Park's doing right. Consider my entree, going backwards: red cabbage, lentils, porcini mushroom, duck breast. Most home cooks have at least two, maybe three of those ingredients on hand in general (if not the red cabbage, then maybe Napa; if not lentils, then cannellini). Add a little bacon or pancetta -- you always have some of that, don't you? -- and bam! You're on your way. The protein almost seems incidental.

But it takes a trip to South Park for me to figure this out, because in my own kitchen the recipe repertoire gets trod repeatedly. Isn't that why most people head out, to be turned on, along with some spice magic?


-----Original Message-----
To: Laz
From: Lash

Spice magic is in fact a product of good forward thinking. I think that's what you're saying. If so, perhaps it's the kitchen corollary to the old saw that you make your own luck.

What we don't see is the 10 times (100? 1,000?) that Ward made the Camargue rice plate and said nope, this ain't gonna make it. Perhaps he hit it on the nose on the first try, but more likely he spent hours in the lab over his bunsen burner. It's a nice story, anyway.

Which bring us to your final point: getting off the recipe treadmill. Funny, but my advice to you goes back to spice magic. Find something you've never or rarely cooked with. One of my discoveries was zataar -- discovered, in fact, in the back of my spice nook, where it had been sitting unused for years, which probably means I'll be doubly impressed once I start working with a fresh batch. Anyhoo, I started with the zataar and wondered what I could do with it.

That led to a round of experimentation: unadulterated, a dry rub on meats. Or mixed into yogurt as a raita flavoring or as a tandoori-ish coating for roasted or broiled meats. Or mixed into salad dressings.

Recently the spice du jour is cumin. I wrote about it re: turkey burgers, but we've been schprinkling it in many places. Oh, behave!

Do You Want to Know a Turkey Burger Secret?

Ground turkey is now a staple in our household, for pasta sauces, for lasagna, for meatloaf, but most satisfyingly, for burgers. Mmmm, burgers. Such a pleasure with grilled onions, perhaps mushrooms, and a melted slice of sharp cheddar or goat gouda.

No matter how hard I've tried to doctor the turkey patties -- worcestershire sauce, chopped onion, mustard, salt, pepper, teriyaki, you name it -- I've never quite overcome ground turkey's tragic flaw. It's bland. It's even a bit cardboardish. It's relatively umami-less, even when gussied up with classic umami additives like soy or worcestershire. The lack isn't enough to deter me from eating turkey burgers, but there's always been the nagging feeling that they could be better. (And that they don't taste as good as beef.)

No more. I've figured it out. The secret ingredient is cumin, the spice that reminds many of a hippie pad because of the slight tinge of, I hate to say this, but it's true -- body odor. Never mind that. A generous sprinkle into the raw meat, along with your other favorite flavorings, and the turkey loses its turkeyness. (And used in a poultice, it relieves swelling of the breasts and testicles, according to this site.)

I wonder if the chemistry of cumin is related to beef or perhaps more deeply related to umami than other spices. A cursory search on cumin and glutamates and umami doesn't reveal anything solid. Maybe it's just that the redolence of cumin reminds me, Proustianly, of childhood ground-beef taco nights. Feel free to add to this nascent body of research...

By the way, here's another take on the Bistro Hugo "Yuck?" concept: TGRWT, ie, "They go really well together."

Guest Star Turn, or El Pollo Loco

[Allow me to introduce my cool-headed and epicurean colleague, Michelle Coffey, with a recipe. -A]

Blood(less) Orange Chicken
 
I like cooking with blood oranges, but I've had enough accidents involving my finger and a slicer to make me disproportionately squeamish at the sight of the peeled and sectioned fruit. For this chicken masterpiece, I have a smart workaround that involves freshly squeezed orange juice (a la carton!). 

So, Sunday is my trash-bag day, the day I rip apart the fridge and dispose of gamy meat, rotting fruit, brown greens, mayonnaise and salad dressing that was best in '05, etc. This otherwise peaceful weekend day makes Mr. Coffey very, very nervous as I have been known to barbarically and cold-heartedly toss out his jar of (debatably) empty salsa, his tiny army of expired low-fat yogurt cups and most recently, his skunky band of decomposing shrimp that I argue were no longer edible. 

Sunday is also the day I find things that are edible but likely will not survive another day, and I pool everything together into something that passes as delicious. This week's findings: a white onion on the brink of green, garlic that is sprouting a green shoot, leftover lemons and Mr. Coffey's martini olives. United as one is a pleasant blend of sour and sweet, though a sloppy mixture that is not on the photogenic side, so maybe best on a night you are not aiming to impress.
 
4 chicken thighs with bone in, skin on
2 teaspoons olive oil
3 large garlic cloves, minced
1 white onion, sliced
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1 cup orange juice
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/3 cup pitted green olives, chopped
 
Side note: Mr. Coffey likes his green olives in his vodka martini, but not in his chicken, so eliminate if you feel the same.
 
Preparation: Season chicken with salt and pepper. In a skillet over medium-high heat, brown chicken, then remove from skillet. Pour out all but one tablespoon of fat. Reduce heat to moderate. Add garlic, onion to the skillet. Cook until golden. Stir in cumin, orange juice, lemon juice and salt and pepper. Add chicken. Add olives (or not). Simmer for 25 minutes.

The Simple Pleasure of Lunch at Home

* turkey and goat gouda sandwich, melted, on lightly toasted wheat sourdough
* cold soba with sliced cucumber, feta and rice vinegar
* a chilled, crisp grannysmith apple
* a half cup of reheated coffee

Greek to Me

Fleeing the fog and the Bay to Breakers mess (a disaster for the city environmentally and possibly lethal to anyone in alcoholic recovery), K and I headed to the South Bay to dip in a pool. Wading in the 80-plus degree heat, no clouds in the sky, Kristen tells me she wants some Greek food. I love it when she says "I want some Greek food."

Right before six we walk right in to Evvia, which I now realize is the Palo Alto sister to the a-little-stuffy Kokkari here in the city. No way I'd ever have wandered to the Jackson Square place in a shlightly shweaty T-shirt and faded black jeans, but by tucking it in I was making a gesture toward being presentable in Nerdsville. The hostess didn't even blink and sat us down straight away.

Quickly, the starters: lentil soup for the lady, grilled octopus with roasted red peppers and olives in a frisee salad for me. Fabulous, and a nice pairing to a dry glass of Santorini white. The main courses did not falter: souvlaki for K, and a grilled branzino with lemon, olive oil and braised greens for A -- A for Atkins.

The fish was perfectly cooked and delicious; never mind the bones when it's this good. But what are the greens, I asked, chard? No, said the Latino busser, es horta. What's horta? Well, the waiter elaborated, it's a spinach-like Mediterranean green that's grown on spec for the restaurant in Watsonville. Hot damn!

For dessert, we had the baklava, and this time it was done right.

Evvia and Kokkari ain't cheap, as everybody knows (about $50 a person), but the room is convivial, service is excellent and the kitchen knows what it serves and why. An excellent ending to a Sunday in the sun.

Sol Food: Update

It's been about six months since we hit Sol Food in San Rafael, and quickly let me report that the music's still loud, the beans are the bomb, the plantains flash-fried and the letter from Angelo about the color scheme remains in its place on the menu box outside. It's not like no one sees it; queues still stretch out the door.

So it raises an interesting question: Who woulda thought that there would be enough of a market in Marin, of all places, for P-Rican bistec, pork, chicken and plantains? I don't believe it's simply the reasonable prices; San Rafaelers can spend more. (There also are no liquor sales, not even beer and wine, one of the solid profit centers of any eatery.) It must be the casual and welcoming environment -- you come in and order at counter and food comes and then you eat. You can bring kids and take half of your plate home. No big fuss, and that's refreshing.