Scott Dickensheets
Chalow Kabab
Under the impression I was gonna be reimbursed for this little tasting experiment, I sprung for a $15 kabab combo at this tiny, strip-mall Mediterranean place. If there's one thing I love in this world, it's food prepared on sticks. Along with enough rice to restock a paddy, I got two skewers of meat: rib eye and ground beef. The rib eye was, as they say around the Mediterranean, "deee-lish," its spices imparting a nice backspin to the meat's steaky essence. And the ground beef kabab was, as the wall menu promised, "prefectly grilled." OK, so I'm not getting my money back. At least I know where to get my hands on a good meat log when I need one. You can't put a price on knowledge like that.
Joe Schoenmann
Il Coqui
I came, I saw, I inhaled.
I ate so fast and gluttonously, it was all I could do to keep from giving myself a Heimlich as I devoured my pernil, a dish of roast pork and Caribbean spices with rice. I would have preferred the pork a little wetter—some sauce to sop up with the rice—but the flavoring, making my mouth water as I write this, more than overcame my meat-and-potatoes upbringing.
Damon Hodge
A Taste of Indonesia
"Kill them with kindness" seems to be unwritten rule in this quaint restaurant. So gracious and courteous was the whispery voiced male staffer, I had half a mind to say, "You're fired." (It's the snark in me). I didn't, and I'm glad; I might not have discovered the other unwritten rules: Kill them with delectable appetizers-that-could-suffice-as-meals—I had lumpia, eggrolls stuffed with ground beef, carrots, bean sprouts and scallions—and, failing that, kill them with food that is "hot so good." For me, it was sambal goreng vdang petal, or, as it's known in the 'hood, shrimp and sator beans drenched in spicy (almost Cajuny) sauce. For those who like the taste of their own seared tongue, I recommend "sweet chili," a garnish that's the equivalent of putting saccharine on a bowl of molten lava. That is, it's good.
Stacy J. Willis
Magura Restaurant
It's hard to overestimate the wonders of sour dairy products. On Max's recommendation, I'm now facing a giant bowl of cold Bulgarian dillweed yogurt soup. In a big white dish. With a big silver spoon. In a surly strip mall with a crazy guy pacing around the door … I spoon up a mouthful ... mmm. Turns out, it's quite refreshing, if you like big bowls of pickled milk—which, somewhat disturbingly, it seems that I do. Tarator, the first item on the menu at the looks-20-times-better-inside-than-outside Magura Restaurant, is made of yogurt, thinned with water to the consistency of whole milk, seasoned with sprigs of dill and pressed garlic, with small pieces of cucumber and little shavings of crunchy walnut. It's cold and thickish and sour and makes the back of my tongue itch. And I like it. In fact, I'd bet it's the most refreshing pickley dairy product you'll find in a strip mall in central Las Vegas. I follow the tarator with seasoned chicken served with a chilled bean salad, light conversation with a pleasant Bulgarian-American waitress, and many fun minutes spent comparing the Las Vegas clock to the Bulgarian clock—it's 1 a.m. in Bulgaria! Now it's 1:02 a.m. in Bulgaria! 1:05!