Sitar Review

I pride myself on being a risk taker and being open to trying new and unusual things. This is credited in large part to growing up with a mother who loves to travel. She exposed me to new places and cultures, and she encouraged me to learn more about them. Together we would find a little hole-in-the-wall store or local restaurants to try. She could always ascertain the authenticity and quality of the restaurants by seeing who else was eating there. For example, if we ate at an Italian or a Japanese restaurant, we would hope to find Italians or Japanese people dining there. Generally, you find that international restaurants in our country fall into either one of two categories, authentic or Americanized. Sitar appeared to be an authentic Indian restaurant. I was excited to try Sitar’s cuisine because I like to support local restaurants, especially ones that I have not tried before. I went in open minded, but unfortunately, I left unsatisfied and hungry.

When I think of Indian food, two things cross my mind. Overpoweringly spicy food- far too much for my palate to handle. And, fish usually prepared with sides of rice. Eating at a foreign restaurant is a constant education. A quick glance at the menu revealed a series of unfamiliar names:   Aloo Gobi Masala, Aigan ka Bharta, Dal Makhani. Thank goodness for the translation under the meal names, or else an inexperienced Indian food diner like me would have some trouble ordering. I would have had to close my eyes and pick wherever my finger fell (and hope I liked it). This unassuming restaurant is located next to the run-down bowling alley and a dry cleaner/tan/video rental place. I am also pretty sure that the “video rental” is code for adult film. The only cars in the parking lot were those of my fellow diners because we were eating after the lunch rush hour.

When I walked in the door I wasn’t surprised to see an empty room. There were only a few other diners. We were directed by the waiter/host/busboy to the back wall where the lunch buffet was located. Above the buffet, there were beautiful metallic tapestries hung on both sides of two paintings, which created an authentic ambience. I awkwardly stood at the buffet, I examined the entrees and was pleased to see a wide array of selections. I hadn’t eaten all day because I knew I was going to have a big lunch. I was trying to make my food selections, but the signs above the food were hard to read, if there were any signs at all. I just had to guess what I was putting on my plate.  I couldn’t help but load my plate up with everything fried and bread based.

My plate was full of rich and deep colors. It was stacked with red chicken wings that were cooked in a clay oven, while another chicken dish was marinated in an orange sauce with fresh spices sprinkled in top. It looked delicious, so I dove right in. My mouth instantly caught on fire. I had to balance out the spiciness of the food by chugging my Diet Coke and stuffing my face with Naan. My favorite of this food, I discovered, was Naan. The floury it bread melted in my mouth mouth. It looked just like pita bread, but it was made with white flour and baked in a clay oven. Since I didn’t know what was on my plate, I tasted everything cautiously from that point on. I try to like spicy foods, but I just can’t seem to learn to enjoy it. The chicken tasted like it was doused in spicy-sweet sauce that tasted similar to ketchup. My dining experience could have been a lot better if I was more educated about the food. It would have been helpful if they had walked us through the buffet when we came in.

After a long process of trial and error, I finally found something I liked. Of course it was dessert. For my sweet tooth, I filled a bowl up to the brim with Mango Chutney. I could barely remember to take time to breath in between bites. I would have been in heaven if it had been topped with vanilla ice cream.  At the end of our meal, I started to feel a hovering feeling from the staff. It was that uncomfortable feeling when you know that they are ready for you to leave. So we wrapped up our meal and waited in line to pay. The credit card machine was not working, so they had to write down my card number. This made me uncomfortable because I didn’t sign anything or receive a receipt.

I am not accustomed to Indian food and am not an expert food critic, but I was under whelmed and disappointed with my Sitar experience. Although I did not enjoy my food, I did enjoy experiencing new cuisine and good conversations with some friends. Sitar’s Indian Cuisine was definitely an experience, though maybe not the most positive one. I thought the lunch buffet was over-priced, especially because I didn’t eat very much. Maybe next time I will order off of the menu, so I can be sure to like what I order. I can understand why some people enjoy eating there because of its quaint charm of a family owned restaurant. It is also refreshing and unique compared to most of Tuscaloosa’s limited dining options. Although I enjoyed the learning experience and trying something new, I don’t think I will be returning in the near future.

Family Food Memory

Meatballs are the most memory evoking dish: milk, cheese, onions, garlic, salt, and pepper, pulled together by homemade tomato paste. It smells of grandma and grandpa’s houses after church on Sunday afternoons. The combination of meatballs and sauce is echoed by my grandpa’s complaints of hunger. The splashing of water being strained from the noodles, are the last things prepared before Grandma’s serves the family sitting around the table. 

            Sunday dinners at Grandma and Grandpa’s were a tradition. Every Sunday it was a struggle for my mom to get my brothers and me out of bed and to church. The only thing that got me though church was the thought of eating at my grandparents after. I would be dizzy with anticipation for the meal that awaited me. We would pull up in the driveway and I would try and hop out before the car was to a stop. When I opened the door open I was greeted with the intoxicating aromas of garlic, basil, and tomatoes. From that moment I found myself salivating and making a dash for the kitchen. I would first greet Grandpa who would be sitting at the head of the table with a kiss. After I would run to the kitchen greet Grandma with a big kiss and beg for a meatball. I would usually steal a raw noodle or two to hold over my rumbling stomach.

Sunday afternoon meals were never just about eating. They were about the whole ritual of cooking that precedes the actual meal and are as much a part of the experience as the meal itself.  With a smile on her face, a smear of tomato sauce on her apron, Grandma would spend two days preparing her signature dish for Sunday afternoon. Sunday dinners were events. Food is the focal point of many Italian’s lives and it is centered on family. Eating together provided time for my family to bond and connect with one another. During a typical meal Grandpa would sit at the head of the table while the rest of us sat around him. He was the head of the house and always got what he wanted. He was very demanding and was always yelling at Grandma about something. He would complain to my grandma, “ Mary you burned the meatballs” or “ the sauce tastes terrible.” While we would wait for Grandma to bring out dinner his loving side would come out when he would sing silly songs that had been passed down from his parents. He would start my favorite song off by singing, “ Seesaw, knock at the door.” I would ask, “ Whose there?” and he would respond, “Grandpa , what do you want? A glass of beer? Where’s your wallet? In your pocket? Where’s your pocket? In your pants? Where are your pants? You left them at home? Get out of here your dirty bum.” Songs like this help me remember the lively chatter and heartwarming laughter that filled the table at every meal.

Grandma’s recipe cards tell so much more of a story. Grandma’s parents were both immigrants from Santa Ninfa, Sicily. Her father worked on Transcontinental Railroad to support the family. He lost his hearing from an explosion working on the railroad and shortly after became very sick and could not work. This was also during the Great Depression, and although they were extremely proud they were forced to go on welfare.  To help support the family Grandma left school at fifteen and began working at Wasserman & Gimbel, which was a big factory in Manhattan that made men’s suits. From these humble beginnings great traditions were born in the kitchen.

When I pull out the handwritten meatball recipe on a 3x5 index card before I cook, I see the person who wrote it. I can remember my petite grandmother standing over the stove for hours to prepare dinner for the family. I collect her handwritten recipes, written in her own words with a fountain pen, in hopes that one day I will be able to perfect one of her meals. As I go through her other belongings I find her wedding pictures, post cards written from my grandpa to my grandma from war, and pictures of her and me. These bring back memories from my childhood as well as teach me more about her life. But it is not just the content that matters; it is the memories that belong with them. Cooking meatballs has become a fun way to spend time with my family. This summer I spent time in Connecticut with my family from New York. My cousin and her children still continue the tradition of cooking meatballs on Sunday afternoons. My cousin was able to teach me how to cook Grandma’s meatballs. We spent a couple afternoons in the summer cooking together. While we cooked I was able to learn more about my family and appreciate the history and tradition my family. It is important to be able to pass on the essence of Italian family experience by sharing the food with family and friends.

Maggie's Diner

Maggies’s Diner is Tuscaloosa’s best-kept secret. Most of Maggie’s customers discover the restaurant by word of mouth. Located next to a cemetery and a jail, Maggie’s Diner is off the beaten path: a white run down building with black and white awnings and metal security bars on the windows. When I opened the door I was greeted with the perfect whiff of fried and greasy foods. The aroma of fried food and sweet desserts triggered vivid childhood memories of my Granny’s soul food.

I would consider myself half Italian and half southern mutt. I am lucky to have the best of both worlds because I have two grandmothers who are experts in cooking their regional dishes. Unfortunately, neither of my parents inherited the ability to cook. Every Sunday after church I would look forward to going to my dad’s mother’s house for lunch. Grandma Campisi would cook all Saturday to prepare for Sunday lunches. She would have homemade meatballs, sauce, and cannolis waiting for us. I enjoy nothing more than homemade meatballs.

My mom is an Alabama native and her side of the family still lives in there. Every summer my mom would drive my brothers and me up to visit our family. Upon our arrival my grandmother and great grandmother would greet us with a home cooked southern meal. We would get so excited for a warm home cooked meal we would run up the stairs to her house and eat before we unloaded the car. Just like Maggie’s, we would have a variety of vegetables like fried okra, mashed potatoes, green beans, and black-eyed peas that were cooked slowly in a lot of grease. This was a special treat for us because if we wanted to have soul food at home in Florida we had to settle for Cracker Barrel. Sometimes my mom would get desperate enough for traditional southern food she would drive us into predominately black neighborhoods to fulfill our cravings.

My favorite afternoons were spent in north Alabama at my Aunt Chris’s house. She had her own garden where she grew cucumbers, squash, onions, peppers, and other herbs. My cousins and I would play hide and seek and get lost in the tall corn and bean stalks that were like mazes. We would help Aunt Chris pick the cucumbers and watch her make her homemade dill pickles. Aunt Chris would put the fresh cumbers in the jars and then she would boil vinegar on the stove. Then she added homemade dill, garlic and hot pepper and poured it on top of the cucumbers. In two weeks she would have dill pickles. She would make us huge mason jars of dill pickles to take home with us. I could eat all of them in one sitting if I was allowed to.  She would also take her squash and cut them up with onions and peppers and boil them in vinegar. After boiling them together she would pour it on top on her canned squash and have squash pickles. She would also can her own tomatoes. I wish my Italian grandmother could use her homegrown tomatoes. She would make us huge mason jars of dill pickles to take home with us. I could eat all of them in one sitting if I was allowed to.

When I walked to the counter at Maggie’s began to drool as I passed by the peanut butter cookies, cinnamon rolls, and pies. The smell of the desserts reminded me of me of visiting my Granny and spending time together while eating her famous pound cake together. Some of my most vivid childhood memories with my family were spent eating cake together. Pound cake Granny’s pound cake is a southern delicacy and a staple in my family’s dinners. This family recipe was originally handed down orally. It got is name because it was originally made with a pound of butter and a pound of sugar. My grandmother explained that southerners used everything that they had on their farms to make breads and desserts. Their desserts were made of fruits from their orchards and the pie crusts were made from flour, eggs, and butter. To make a pound cake you have to first cream your butter and sugar. Then you alternate adding liquid and dry ingredients like milk and sugar. Pound cake is very versatile because you can add peaches, strawberries and custard to top it off. Now that my brother and I are in college my grandmother will freeze her pound cakes for us and send them to school. If my brother finds them before I do he will hide them from me or eat them before I can ever get a slice. Now that my great grandmother is in assisted living my Grandmother cooks the pound cakes. Unfortunately, I don’t think my mother will continue this tradition but I hope I can.

Black-eyed peas, creamed corn, and fried okra with buttered cornbread are a favorite of the Phillips family. One of the jokes that my grandmother laughs about is when my little brother came to visit and asked her for slimy corn instead of creamed corn, and now it continues to be a family joke. My favorite vegetable to eat is black-eyed peas. To cook them you boil the peas in water with a little salt and grease (butter, oil, or pork fat). Before margarine and butter were popular it was common to use mostly pork fat. This gives the peas a richer flavor. Even though I was full I could not stop stuffing my face. At Maggies I ordered mashed potatoes and gravy, fried okra, green beans, and corn. They tasted similar to my family’s vegetables because Maggie cooks them in as much oil and grease as my family does.

Poor people in the south ate biscuits because they didn’t have anything else. Over the years it has become popular to get a biscuit through a drive through and it became everybody’s breakfast. A lot of old southern foods that were related to poor people have now become gourmet and popular for everybody. For example, Cracker Barrel is very popular. Soul food has survived for a few centuries and is now one of the most popular cuisines in America. Instead of eating at these mainstream chains I support and encourage others to try eating at restaurants like Maggie’s. There is nothing like your grandmothers homemade dishes but Maggie’s Diner is as close to home as you can get. Southern food is food for the soul. College kids still love their pizzas and hamburgers but every now and then we get that craving for comfort food. Maggie’s Diner fills that void and provides a sense of grandmas cooking in Tuscaloosa.

Bad Dining Experience

New York, New York. Center of the universe. New York is home to some of the world’s best entertainment, fashion, and restaurants. One warm summer night we stumbled across a beautiful restaurant hidden in the SoHo borough.  I was excited to eat at a local restaurant and have a taste of real New York food. The quaint patio that overlooked a park was complete with an abundance of white market lights and a jazz band. The restaurant drew a hip local base and well dressed out of towners. I could not wait to sit outside, soak up SoHo, and people watch.

First off, let me say that by no means am I a snob or a difficult customer to please. When we discovered  a trendy restaurant called The Place I had high hopes. The Place served American, Mediterranean, and organic cuisine.  Upon entering the restaurant we were greeted by a friendly host who happily accommodated our five person party. We were seated at a table that was so small it was uncomfortable. We were basically sitting on top of each other. The table we were seated at was right in the pathway of the waiters. Waitresses kept walking by our table knocking into us and making snide remarks about how we were in the way.  A waitress purposely bumped in our table to show her annoyance because we were in her way. She yelled and cursed at the host in front of us for seating us in such an inconvenient location. We felt extremely uncomfortable, unwelcome, and in the way.

After the waiter took our order and brought us our drinks the manager came up to our table and asked us if we would mind moving to another table. Although it was a pain to move we were almost relieved because of how rude the staff was being to us. We had to pick up our own drinks, menus, and carry them to our new table. Not to mention the menu had typos and misspelled words. Our new table was located in the back of the restaurant which ended up being a sports bar. I was beginning to get annoyed because the reason we chose this restaurant was for the patio, music, and hip atmosphere. We were sitting at a less than average sports bar with unclean rickety tables. The tables in the front had nice clean white table cloths but in the back portion of the restaurant the tables with bare. The silverware was wrapped in a paper towel instead of rolled nicely in a cloth napkin. Major downgrade. The back of the restaurant was literally the complete opposite of the front of the restaurant. It looked similar to Buffalo Wild Wings, decorated with sports memorabilia and televisions. Although the back of the restaurant was a less than average version of the front the food still cost the same.

After being relocated to the back of the restaurant we waited for over 15 minutes before our new waiter decided to grace us with his presence. Our waiter pulled up a chair and sat down at our table to ask us if we were ready to order. Not only did he sit down with us he was unsuccessfully hitting on all of the girls at our table. He had the guts to try out a pathetic pick up line on my friend. He asked her “do you believe in love at first sight?”  Before she could respond and then he chimed in with, “or should I walk by again?” Was he serious?  At this point my patience is beginning to run out. Finally he took our order and I was hoping things would run a little bit smoother. I should not have gotten my hopes up because things only went downhill from there.  

While we waited for our food I had to use the restroom. I have been told that you can always judge how clean a kitchen is by how clean the bathroom is. When I entered the bathroom I was repulsed. The stalls were dirty; there wasn’t any toilet paper or soap. It smelled like a bar bathroom in a college town. I wanted to take a hot shower and sanitize myself after I left the bathroom.

After what seemed like forever our food was finally brought out. After we ate our appetizer and our empty plates sat on our table and no one came to pick them up.  I was so hungry I could have eaten my own arm. Not only was our food slow to come out they got my order wrong. I ordered a hamburger and they brought me a cheeseburger and I hate cheese. It was also cold and tasted like it had been sitting under a heat lamp for a long time. At that point I didn’t care because I was starving. Halfway through dinner my friend let out a gasp because she found a hair in her pasta. I wanted to barf. Unfortunately we weren’t surprised that something like that could happen.

After eating a cold and unsatisfying meal our waiter was nowhere to be found. It would have been easier to hail a cab at rush hour then find our waiter. He probably was out taking a smoke break. My friend had to get up from our table and walk to the front of the restaurant to ask someone to bring us our check. Finally, after what seemed like forever our waiter returned with our checks.  The checks were all incorrect and mixed up. We tried to make it as simple as possible for him by breaking down the check and writing our names next to our meals. The waiter sat back down at our table and proceeded to ask me if he could borrow my cell phone to calculate the check. He could not figure out how to divide the check so I had to do it for him. I did not think it was possible for someone to be worse at math than I am but I was wrong. This ordeal lasted close to 10 minutes. I felt bad for his other tables that weren’t getting any attention.

It is not every day that you have an awful dining experience and I usually don’t complain about service unless it is horrible. And it was. After ruining every part of our meal and experience, I expressed my annoyance to the waiter. Looking back I probably should have asked the manager for a new waiter in the beginning. The service was so abominable it overshadowed the bland food. There is nothing more that I hate than leaving an expensive meal hungry and dissatisfied. Long story short I left hungry, dissatisfied, and left my friends number for the waiter as a prank.

My Guilty Pleasure

When I wake up Sunday morning extremely hungry and slightly hung over, the first thing I want is breakfast. I have my heart set on Chick-Fil-A’s chicken biscuit, but then it dawns on me that Chick-Fil-A is closed on Sunday. Why do you always want what you can’t have? My love for the Atlanta-based restaurant knows no end. I have gone to such extremes as buying multiple chicken biscuits on Saturday and leaving them in my refrigerator just so I will be able to have a chicken biscuit on Sunday. Chicken biscuits have become a staple in my diet. The soft buttery biscuit contains a perfect ratio of biscuit to chicken. When I unwrap the silver foil with red writing, not only do I know my taste buds are going to experience pure bliss, but I know nothing at that moment can be more enjoyable than my guilty pleasure, the chicken biscuit.

This past summer I interned in Connecticut where the closest public Chick-Fil-A was two states away. It blew my mind that many northerners have not even heard of Chick-Fil-A. I thought the chicken biscuit was universal. Not being able to access Chick-Fil-A just made me want it even more. I was definitely exhibiting signs of addiction and withdrawals. Unfortunately, there were no Chicken Biscuit Anonymous meetings I could attend, or perhaps they are very exclusive about who they let in. Those two months were nearly almost impossible to get through. I had to settle for less than average chicken biscuits at other fast food restaurants like Zaxby’s and McDonalds. Not only were their breakfast items greasy and mediocre, the service and employees were not what I was used to. These fast food restaurants are similar to a NASCAR race. They try to see how fast they can get you in and out and on your way while providing less than average and inconsistent service. How many times have you left a drive through and opened your bag to be disappointed with a wrong order, missing straw, or an item missing all together?

What makes these biscuits so wholesome and delicious?  Maybe it could be the flakey buttered golden biscuits or the juicy, white meat chicken. The biscuit is a perfect blend of flour and butter. It is just the right combination of firm but moist so that it does not crumble when you are handling it. When the savory southern style chicken compliments the golden biscuit, it becomes irresistible. When I unwrap my biscuit you would think I haven’t eaten in weeks because of how fast I devour it. Sometimes I forget to breath in between bites, and it is not a pretty sight. For the perfect mix of salty and sweet I recommend ordering a cup of coffee with your biscuit.

Chick-Fil-A brings people together. When my cousin was living in New York City and attending NYU, she had access to the only Chick-Fil-A in the area. She had also moved up to the city without knowing anyone else in the city. A friend introduced her to another New Yorker, who became extremely enthused when she found out my cousin had access to the Chick-Fil-A. The two of them went there together on one of their first dates, and they’ve been together for over two years now!

Chick-Fil-A is an overall quality experience. Their service is just as high of quality as their food. One morning I was in the drive through and ordered my usual number one with black coffee. When I pulled up to the window I realized I didn’t have my wallet. I was so embarrassed that I had to ask them to hold my sandwich for me while I ran home to grab my wallet. The employee at the window explained that it was their policy that if a customer forgets their wallet or if they are slow providing the customer their food it was on them. I was taken with their kindness and understanding. This was just a reminder of their exceptional commitment to their customers. Another tactic they use to provide excellent customer service is at the end of every transaction you hear, “My Pleasure” instead of “You’re Welcome”. This week I spent writing about the chicken biscuit, Chick-Fil-A was giving out free breakfast for an entire week. I have never heard of any other fast food restaurant giving their customers free food. Above all, the quality of service makes Chick-Fil-A more than a positive experience.

There are countless Facebook groups dedicated to craving Chick-Fil-A on Sunday. I can sleep well at night knowing that I share this guilty pleasure with other self proclaimed Chic-Fil-A addicts. The only thing disappointing about the Chick-Fila chicken biscuit is that it has to end.

           

NBA LOCKOUT

YAY THE NBA IS BACK! I was worried that the NBA lockout was going to ruin my Christmas break. With college football season on the verge of being over, I didn't know what I was going to do with my time. I am happy that there will be a season but the lockout really irritated me. The league claimed it was losing $300 million a year and wanted to cut the players salaries by $500 million over the next five years. It makes me so mad that it took them months to figure this out. I understand that it is a lot of money and it is their money but it does not only affect the players and owners. It hurts the communities that support and depend on the season like the people who sell programs, work the concession stands, and work the parking lots. Those are the people who should be upset at the selfishness of the players and the league. We spend so much money supporting our teams and they don't think about the impact it has on the community.

Politics Schmolitics

The political world is full of news right now. There are plenty of hot topics that include the response to the President’s job bill and what the government should do to decrease the debt. The recent natural disasters have put a spotlight of FEMA and their funding for this year and the upcoming year. The presidential election in Nov. 2012 has a lot of buzz around it right now as well. Who the republican candidate will be is a huge topic in politics right now. There are different debates and polls every week. Another topic that falls into the election category is who will win what demographic votes in the 2012 presidential election. All of these topics contribute to the recent political news. These are just some the topics that were in recent news stories that I thought were interesting. At this point I feel like it is still up in the air who will end up getting the republican candidate spot. It seems to be changing every week with who the front-runner is. Also, I think it will be interesting to see which states end up supporting whom. Over all it is an exciting time in politics in America.