|
| |
2004-08-28: Chicago Eatathon, Part 4 -- La Dolce Vita
Posted by extramsg on Thursday, October 07, 2004 @ 02:46:30 PDT
Contributed by extramsg
My friend Scott -- the guy with whom I first started talking critically about food, the guy with whom I've travelled to various places both in and out of the United States in order to eat, the guy with whom I most often email back and forth about my meals -- has a mantra: there's always room for ice cream. And it's a mantra we've invoked often on our travels.
The theory goes that when ice cream breaks down in the digestive system, it fills the crevices between the more solid foods, thus not requiring extra stomach space. Hence: there's always room for ice cream. For the lactose intolerant like myself, it has a double meaning that might be more accurately understood as: there will always be room after ice cream.
The theory easily extends to other frozen desserts such as gelato, sorbet, granita, shave ice, and Italian ice, a primarily eastern U.S. treat, popular in Chicago. Due to Erik's generosity and, frankly, dumb luck, I was fortunate to have Italian ice three times on my trip: twice at Miko's and once at Mario's. My first taste of Italian ice on the trip was at Miko's.
Photo Album
It was late at night and I had the address for the wrong Taqueria Puebla. Worse, I had emerged from the train at an underground stop on Milwaukie and mistook south for north and walked the wrong way. (In the process, I was first hit up for some change, then for a "date" by the same cracked-tooth hooker.) I took a side trip to a gas station to get directions and a bottle of water. Along the way, I passed by a window where kids were getting served up Italian ice. Hot and frustrated (no, definitely not from the hooker), I decided to get some Italian ice before I renewed my trek. The place was Miko's. They offered several fruit and tropical flavors. I ordered coconut and mango.
For those who haven't had Italian ice, it's difficult to explain to them exactly what it is. The texture is grainier than a sorbet, but more smooth than a granita. It's also lighter than sorbet. It's reminiscent of well-packed shave ice, but the flavors are more natural and integrated (whereas shave ice generally involves a syrup being poured over the top). Italian ice often has chunks of real fruit and the good stuff is never cloying.
What I had at Miko's was quite enjoyable. I especially liked the coconut. A few days later I'd have the coconut again when Scott and I needed a treat. It was a good baseline for when Erik would take me to Mario's, a favorite on Chowhound and LTHForum.
We had to park a couple blocks away, but they had peach, and everyone says you have to go to Mario's when they have peach. Erik informed me that they use lemon as their base, so when I stepped up to the window of the small building painted like the Italian flag, I ordered peach and lemon. We ate our ices over a nearby garbage can so we could toss our lemon peels. I like the style of Mario's ice. It's less sweet than Miko's and other Italian ice I've had. It's also less smooth, probably due to the lower amount of sugar. There are large chunks of fruit in each flavor. I actually preferred the lemon to the peach, even though I really like peach. The peaches seemed under-ripe. But both were good. I don't know which I prefer, Miko's or Mario's. They're different without one style being clearly superior.
Other than Italian ice, Scott and I had bad luck with frozen desserts on the trip. We tried to visit Penguin after eating at Spoon Thai (ice cream is always a perfect finish to fiery foods), but despite their posted hours saying they were open, they were not. We knocked, we banged, we called on my cell. No luck.
On a walk through Humboldt Park, I unfortunately convinced Scott to try Miami Flavors with me. Ay caramba, it was bad. I tasted several flavors, most were fine, though some were flat. But the texture was terrible. Except for the avocado, all the flavors seemed to be rather icy without enough density. It's a funky, cool, place in a Puerto Rican neighborhood with some cool things, but this trip was bad enough that I wouldn't want to risk a second one.
Besides ice cream, we had several other sweets on the trip. I purchased Indian sweets on Devon, for example. And I've already mentioned the churros at the Maxwell Street Market. A place that's become a requirement for any Chicago trip is the Garrett's Popcorn on the magnificent mile.
There never seems to be a time the line isn't out the door. That means a wait, but it also means good turnover and fresh popcorn. In general, I don't eat popcorn because of an....incident. When I was a kid, my family received one of those massive tins of popcorn for Christmas. I pretty much ate the whole thing and then set out for a day of video games at a local store. While waiting to play, I felt....a rumbling. A rumbling deep from within. By the time I got my hand up, I was re-enacting a scene from The Exorcist. My head didn't turn around, but I did spew forth Satan's bile all over the floor, all over the video game, and luckily only a little on the kid playing the video game. The speckled yellow liquid sprayed from between my fingers. (The janitor was not happy.) I can still remember the smell and one whiff of popcorn reminds me of....the incident.
But Garrett's is a special case. Not only is the corn freshly popped, but it's also freshly coated with caramel or cheese. Those in the know get the two mixed. It sounds like the flavors would clash, but they work perfectly, the sweet giving way to the savory and vice versa.
(Garrett's tries to maintain its myth partially by threatening to confiscate cameras from anyone taking photos or recording video inside their shops. Of course it's ridiculous. It's not the Manhattan Project. If you do want to take a pic or shoot some video, step up to the window outside like I did. They can't prevent you from taking pictures from a public spot and you actually get a better view.)
I wouldn't mind having a good spot for quality popcorn or Indian sweets here in Portland. But even moreso, I'd love to have a regular source for good Italian ice. Occasionally you can find it at a Portland event from a cart, but for the most part we're an ice cream town. Scott got me hooked on sweets and, as my bulging belly shows, I've tried hard to live by his always-room-for-ice-cream mantra. I'm glad I could introduce him to something new that may expand his waistline, too.
|
|
| |
|
|
