Portia's: Southern Discomfort Food

I grew up with a Southern stepmother.  She was from Alabama and raised me with grits, biscuits, and award-winning fried chicken (hers won the fried chicken competition one year at the Alabama state fair), as well as boiled peanuts, greens, fried green tomatoes and cornbread dressing (NEVER stuffing).  My stepmother wasn't just a Southerner, she was a white Southerner, and I think it is important to make the distinction, especially when discussing cuisine.  While her cooking wasn't bad, for someone brought into this world amidst the spices and flavors of Latin America, Southern cuisine - at least that of my stepmother - was bland.  Not subtle, like Japanese cuisine or Vietnamese cuisine, or even German cuisine.  It was just bland.  And it wasn't until I had my first taste of soul food that I realized that Southern food could be zesty and flavorful and comforting....food that nourishes the body and the soul, hence the name.  Upon doing research, I discovered that Southern food is essentially African American food, and unless it is made by African Americans, it will usually be missing that essential ingredient: soul.  Non African American Southern food, to me, has always been a toned-down version of the real deal - soul food for white folks.

There are always exceptions, of course, but it seems that when someone else tries to play at Southern cooking they tend to be a little too "creative" with their cooking.  Yes, the inspiration lies in traditional Southern dishes, but the execution utilizes foreign elements.  The results are tasty but never feel authentic and always manage to seem embellished.  I always end up asking myself how a soul food version of a dish is so delicious in spite of its simplicity, while the same dish executed by a white Southerner is either bland or has to include so many extra elements.  Until I shadow a soul food cook, the answer will remain a mystery, and I'll continue to go to a soul food restaurant when I was Southern food because to me, it's like the difference between real Chinese cuisine and Chinese-American.  Once you have the real thing, it's hard to go back to a dumbed down imitation.

Nevertheless, there are good Southern restaurants manned by white cooks/chefs that offer very tasty "nouvelle" Southern cuisine - creative, sometimes gourmet, twists on classics their mamas made for them or recreations of what their most-likely-black cooks prepared in their kitchens.  The food at these restaurants can be subtle, which is definitely a step up from being bland, and when the cook/chef has some sort of culinary background or just a level head on his/her shoulders, the unique creations being served up can be quite glorious.  For instance, adding fresh herbs and garlic to chicken and dumplings - superb idea!  Or adding some bold spices to a fried chicken marinade - ingenious!

Sometimes, however, one has the misfortune of going to a Southern restaurant where the creative ideas are not always well thought out, and the resulting dishes turn out to be both bland and a little disturbing on the palate.  Such was the case during a recent dinner at Portia's, a new restaurant on Oakland Park Boulevard, in Broward County.  The restaurant took over the space of another restaurant, called The Cellar, which served mostly German and central European dishes.  Although I never dined at the old restaurant, it was obvious that some of the old décor remained - embossed copper ceiling panels, tiffany lamps, and romantic, impressionistic portraits.  Portia's own touch was most noted in the presence of paper place mats displaying the image of a pig, which was a kitschy touch, but didn't seem to match the rest of the restaurant.  The lighting was very low inside, but somehow failed to be romantic.  The tables were cheap-looking, as were the chairs.  Paired with the disco soundtrack and the numerous senior citizens dining within, the ambiance was a depressing portrait of a retirement home dining hall for gay men.

The service was friendly.  Our waitress offered us a complimentary bowl of house made pork cracklins, which were good although it would have been nice to have something with which to cut the richness.  Maybe I'm channelling Mexican cuisine, which uses a squeeze of lime and some chile, or Nicaraguan cuisine, which serves them with a vinegary slaw.  It might not be traditional for Southern cuisine, but it sure would be a nice innovation.  While the pork cracklins were a nice touch, it would have been nice to get some biscuits or corn bread or dinner rolls.  No such bread ever arrived at our table, and I think it had to be ordered and paid for.

An appetizer of fried green tomatoes, which our waitress recommended, were just dissatisfying.  There seemed to be something wrong with the tomatoes, as if they were getting ripe or they were pickled.  The flavor was off.  Additionally, they were coated in panko bread crumbs, which I didn't care for.  The remoulade sauce with which they were served was practically inedible and clearly not a remoulade.  It was like a thinned-out tartar sauce with a lot of vinegar and paprika and little chunks of unrecognizable pickled vegetables and onions.  

For my entrée, I ordered a pork tenderloin sandwich, which was not a Southern dish, but more of a specialty of Indiana, Iowa, and the surrounding areas, which I guess would kind of go with the "country" theme of Portia's.  What I received were two breaded, fried pork cutlets coated with something I'd never seen before.  This came with a buttered and toasted commercially-made bun of the cheaper variety, an iceberg lettuce leaf, a few slices of tomato, and some cheap neon green pickle chips.  I did not care for the breading one bit!  Upon first looking at it, I thought that it was perhaps comprised of cornflakes.  Upon biting into a piece, it was determined that it was coarsely crunched up saltine crackers; they were not ground nor crumbled but crunched up, meaning that there were 1/4" pieces of crackers soaked in days-old fryer oil surrounding this thin slice of pork cutlet.  I asked the waitress what the breading consisted of, just to be sure, and she said it was a "secret recipe".  Well, that's once secret that Portia's can keep to themselves!  As a side dish, I ordered a side of peanut cole slaw.  Again, maybe I was thinking about a different cuisine, perhaps somewhere in Southeast Asia, because what I had in mind was nothing like what I was served.  I was soon reminded as to what kind of restaurant I was at when I took a bite of the shredded cabbage tossed in mayonnaise, ground peanuts that I couldn't tell were in there at first, and absolutely nothing else.  There really was nothing else in that cole slaw...and it tasted that way.

John ordered the fried chicken, for which the restaurant is supposedly well known.  The chicken is made to order, which means that you can be waiting an average of 20 minutes for your order, which I think is the amount of time we waited.  The chicken was flavorful and juicy with a crispy crust and offered what one would expect from good fried chicken.  The dark meat pieces were characteristically tender, and the breast was surprisingly moist.  Portia's fried chicken is definitely a cut above most places, but definitely not the best.  John's sides, like mine, were abysmal.  His creamed corn should have had quotation marks surrounding it on the menu - a tiny condiment bowl filled with corn nuggets, bacon bits, and milk that appeared as if it was thrown together at the last minute.  His lima beans were satisfactory but also arrived in a minuscule bowl.   Honestly, I believe I've had banchan at a Korean restaurant - those little condiments that come with every dish of Korean barbecue - that were more generous than the side dishes at Portia's.

The only redeeming moment at Portia's came at the end of the meal when John and I partook in a slice of very good coconut cream pie.  If there was one thing that would bring me back to Portia's, it would be that, and just maybe some fried chicken...although it would be awfully tough to come back.  While I'm definitely one to notice good food at a restaurant before anything else, the ambiance at Portia's was just too depressing, and the food just wasn't good enough to warrant a second visit.  Especially considering that Betty's Soul Food is just a little closer in distance from us, there really is no reason, in my opinion, to return to Portia's.

Portia's

199 East Oakland Park Blvd

Oakland Park, FL 33334

Eating in Paris: Le Moulin de La Galette

After 5 years of having taking French lessons, passing the AP exams at the top of my class, and acing advanced French conversation in college, I was finally able to put my French language education to practical use last week in Paris.  It is true about what they say:  Paris is the most beautiful city in the world! I don't think I've ever been anywhere as gorgeous, sensual, and enchanting as Paris, and I felt more at home there than I have in most places.  While I did get to see a few museums and the various landmarks, this trip was about eating, and I wasted no time in sampling some of Paris's finer cuisine on my very first day after a visit to the Sacré Coeur church, which was about a 30 minute walk from our hotel.

One of the wonderful things I discovered about the dining scene in Paris is that almost every restaurant has a formule, or a prix-fixe menu, that varies in what it offers from restaurant to restaurant.  On the lower end there are formules that offer 2 courses (appetizer and entrée, or entrée and dessert), and then there are the more generous ones that offer 3 courses.  Most often,  there is an amuse-bouche that arrives at the table free of charge, which can be very elaborate or as simple as a plate of olives.  The other thing I love about dining in Paris is that the menu prices are all-inclusive of taxes and service, so it can oftentimes (even with exchange rates) come out to less than eating out in The States...for much better food, most of the time.  Diners are expected to give some loose change or a couple of Euros if the service was good.

Using a Time Out Paris app for my iPod touch, which does not require WiFi connection, The Momster and I decided to go to Le Moulin de La Galette for lunch after visiting Sacré Coeur in the Montmartre area of Paris.  Le Moulin was one of the few restaurants recommended by time out in Montmartre, and we were excited to sample our first French meal in Paris.  Located by an old landmark windmill (moulin translates to windmill in French), the location was cute and a little touristy (the guide warned us), and the interiors were well-appointed and elegant, but the cuisine was really lacking....at least what came as part of our formules.  I was so disappointed in the poor quality of the food, especially having such high expectations about dining in Paris, that our lunch left me angry and depressed.  Fortunately, the rest of my eating experiences in Paris more than made up for it, but it did teach me a valuable lesson about Parisian restaurants: just because it's in Paris does not mean it'll be good, and the discerning gourmand should take the time to do his or her research because, just like NYC, you can't expect to walk into any restaurant and have good food.  In other words, Paris has its share of merde restaurants just like any other city.

Our lunchtime formules at Le Moulin de La Galette were priced at 18 Euros per person and included 2 courses each (appetizer + entrée, or entrée + dessert).  We opted for the appetizer (called an entrée in French) and entrée (called a plat) option.  We were first brought an amuse-bouche of mildly tart caper berries marinated with a few cloves of garlic, which really primed the palate along with the couple of kirs that we ordered to toast our trip to Paris.  The kir is one of the quintessential apéritif cocktails of the French beverage repertoire and consists of dry white wine with a splash of crème de cassis, a liqueur made from black currants.  A kir royal consists of the same formula but with champagne in place of the white wine.

Our first courses arrived shortly after we finished the bowl of caper berries.  The Momster ordered a velouté of cauliflower that came with an apple-filled puff pastry.  The velouté was, as its name suggests, simply velvety and warming, which the apple puff pastry offered a nice contrast in both texture and flavor with a buttery crispiness from the crust along with a slight tartness and sweetness from the baked apples.  My first course consisted of sheet of salmon carpaccio served with a mild salmon tartare seasoned with lemon zest and chopped scallions.  Surrounding the plate were dollops of red pepper coulis, a thick concentration of green apple juice, and a viscous sauce made from orange rind.  The combination of the three sauces with the superbly fresh salmon was nice.  While we weren't blown away by our first courses, they did seem to offer a promising start...unfortunately, the finish did not deliver.

Several minutes after completing our entrées, we were brought our plats.  The Momster ordered a braised chicken quarter served with a white sauce and winter vegetables with a side of rice pilaf.  I received a crispy-skinned thick filet of a local fish on a bed of risotto flavored with fish roe with a puree of pumpkin.  You can blame it on my Latin American heritage, but I am hugely picky when it comes to rice and am a firm believer that with so many different starches to choose from, one shouldn't attempt rice if its not going to be absolutely perfect...especially at a nice restaurant.  The Momster's pilaf was akin to something out of a box of Rice-a-roni or Zataran's and was both mushy and undercooked...something I'm still scratching my head over.  My risotto was almost uncooked it was so crunchy, and while I was expecting the lovely little bursts offered by a judicious dollop of fish roe either gently blended into or topping the risotto, what I got was the dissatisfaction of fish roe being beaten and cooked into the rice rendering a flavor akin to that of a cheap can of kippers.  My filet of fish was overcooked to the point feeling like wood pulp in the mouth, which was the same experience The Momster had with her chicken.  I actually left half of the food on my plate and was anxious to get the check.

Strolling around Montmartre after lunch, we ran across Le Café des Deux Moulins, which is where Amélie worked in her namesake film.  Taschen's guide to Paris actually recommends it for its good, honest French brasserie fare, and after our experience at Le Moulin de La Galette, I kind of regretted not having lunch at this landmark restaurant.  Furthermore, speaking to a local later that evening (who stated that Le Moulin was très touristique), I discovered that the restaurant across the street from Le Moulin (which was popping when we passed by) was actually THE place to eat in Montmartre.  Unfortunately, I forgot the name, but I remember where it is.

After such a disappointing lunch, I was on a mission to make it up for dinner, which I managed to do exceptionally well, and which will be described in my next blog post.