Boneless rib sandwich (The Rib Stand)

When I was a younger, I absolutely loved eating ribs. Except for the bones part. I had fat fingers, I didn't have particularly good coordination, and I had the patience of... well, a child. As a result, it was pretty difficult for me to truly enjoy ribs to their fullest extent since I'd probably leave 50-75% of the meat on the bone. Sad, I know. I like to think that I've overcome this problem with age (not unlike people who can't turn left), but let's be honest... if you advertise that you make a boneless rib sandwich. I'll be all over that like white on rice.



Which is where 'The Rib Stand' in Reading Terminal Market comes in. I think the combo of a boneless rib sandwich and 2 sides ran something like $8.75, but I can't be entirely sure since the woman at the counter gave me back more change than she should've (thanks!). By default, I tend to go with fries and mac and cheese as accompaniments if they're available. Their mac and cheese was pretty standard, nothing that would make me fight someone for it or anything, but it is what it is... well cooked macaroni drowned rich and creamy cheese sauce. Maybe if they gave me a serving from the freshly baked (and beautifully charred) batch, and not the last scoop from the almost finished tray... I'd think otherwise *whistles*. The potato wedges are the bees knees though, thickly cut and cooked to perfection... soft to the core, but a certain feel of rigidity. No one goes for the fries and mac and cheese though... it's all about this:



~Drooool, boneless rib sandwich. Basically a 10" hoagie roll stuffed with rib meat that they ever so graciously pull off and pulverize for you. Tender and juicy enough to be eaten alone, I made the mistake of piling on the sauce before tasting for real. It's not that their sauce is bad or anything similar, but the overwhelming tangy flavor from the sauce masks the beautiful scent from the unadorned pork. Note to self, in the future, skip the sauce... enjoy the sandwich in all its pure unadulterated glory. To be completely honest, I don't know if the sandwich is worth the cost (given other alternatives when it comes to sandwiching), but out of convenience of not having to deal with ribs and bones, in concept... methinks it's pretty nifty.
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Lion's head noodles (麵對餡實小麵館)

One of the great things I appreciate about the Chinese language is the wit and subtlety within which it operates. Sure, in English, clever puns exist too, but you have to realize that within the lexicon of the Chinese language, homonyms are much more frequent, and idioms are just as abundant... so yeah. On that note, I'd like to mention a restaurant that I felt obligated to visit on the sheer cleverness of its name alone, 麵對餡實小麵館. It has the pinyin of 'Mian4 Dui4 Xian4 Shi2,' with characters that match a phrase that translates roughly to 'noodles done right with excellent ingredients,' but the more obvious phonetic translation would be to 'face the facts.' That's Sherlock Holmes level wit right there, but no amount of wordplay can save a restaurant from lackluster food.



Thank goodness they're pretty famous for their noodles too. Having no clue what the phrase 'in moderation' means, I started off with an order of 蔥油辣麵. Without giving any background, the literal translation is basically spicy oil noodles (similar to 擔擔麵, but with a thicker and less soup like sauce). Basically a sweet and spicy sauce is poured over a dish of hand pulled noodles, a giant handful of minced garlic is thrown on, and finally finished with a helping of cilantro. Freakin' phenomenal. For, I think, 55 NT (~$1.75) it makes for a pretty fulfilling meal. The hand pulled noodles were spot on in texture, and the sauce was absolutely sublime. Just sweet enough for you to look forward to coating each bite, but spicy enough for you to be slightly hesitant in doing so, it's truly the perfect tease. I probably would've been fulfilled having this alone, but then again... I knew this wasn't the star of the show here.



This is. The famous lion's head noodles. I forget how much it cost (maybe ballpark ~120 NT, but I'm pretty much pulling that figure out of my ass), but you know what? It doesn't matter. This dish was good enough to make the 蔥油辣麵 look like a sad consolation prize. If I had to explain, this was one of those instances where I really didn't care that I spent more than 100 NT on a meal (yes I'm a cheapskate). If you're unfamiliar with what lion's head meatballs are, have a quick read on Wiki. Basically, you're given a giant pot of noodles, cabbage, and two of these monstrous fried meatballs roughly 3" in diameter, all immersed in one of the richest pork broths I've ever put to my lips. Heavenly, would be the only way I can think to describe it. The post meal experience of licking my lips was as if I had just made out with strips of freshly fried bacon for several minutes prior. To a guy like me, that's pure bliss (yeah I'm weird).



At the end of my meal I was greeted with this awesome check. Or I guess I should say 'chit.' It's definitely true that Chinese is a beautifully complex language, but I guess it's no match for simple English haha.
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Roast pork sandwich (Tommy DiNic's)

I've been told that Tommy DiNic's is basically the mecca of roast pork sandwiches (at least in Philadelphia). They say that the sandwiches made from their pork and beef selections are magical in flavor, unparalleled in juice content, and make your farts smell like cookies and flowers... simultaneously (I don't even know how that works). As a sucker for pretty much any roast meat (Asian or otherwise), a lover of sandwiches, and a fatass in general, it was inevitable that I eventually sauntered over to Grand Terminal Market to shove one of these bad boys down the hatch. And disappear it did.



Like I said, there's a certain elegance in simplicity. Their menu is deceptively short. Six choices of meat, 3 possible toppings, with a discount if you do a combination. I think that yields 48 possible sandwich + topping combinations, so you do have some decisions to make. Luckily, you have plenty of time for this, because the line is legitimately long. Stupid long. It curls around the span of the eating counter and around the back.



Since they're supposedly most well known for their roast pork, it seemed obvious that it'd be what was ordered. Trying to keep it traditional, cheese was provolone, topping choice was left as sweet roasted peppers. I don't think photos really justify how beautiful this sandwich is upon unwrapping. The bread gleams with an ever so thin layer of oil from the pork, as juices spill out from the ends of the bread. It truly is a spectacle to behold... that is, if you stare at your food like I do. I've been told it's weird.



Holy Batman, look at how thin that roast pork is! The bread was okay, certainly not a detracting factor or anything, but obviously the standout is the pork. Sliced with the precision of a Japanese samurai on LSD, each layer is absurdly thin and uniform. As a result, you end up with more surface area, an extremely tender texture (almost as soft as pulled pork), and juices going everywhere. Entirely satisfied, I can't actually complain about anything here, except for the fact that I was not warned about said juices. My pants will never be the same.

Some people might say that DiNic's is more hype than substance, and that's probably true. My farts didn't smell like cookies OR flowers later that night, but it's definitely not just a tourist trap (at least I don't think so). Now... having tried their roast pork, I still feel compelled to get a brisket sandwich. I watched them slice that, and I can only imagine eating a sandwich filled with it. I think I'd probably have to change my pants afterwards... again.
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Ramen from a chain (甘泉魚麵)

Speaking of ramen... I just don't get it. It's not like there's not a lack of a market for ramen in America. People love it... from the rich, hearty broths, to the delightfully springy noodles. There's something for everyone when it comes to ramen (that is, unless you have some odd patriotic reasoning that prohibits you from eating Japanese food). So how come in Taiwan, they can have chain ramen restaurants, that can churn out consistently good ramen, while we have to settle for hit or miss ramen more often than not (a few select establishments notwithstanding)? Case in point? A joint called 甘泉魚麵 (Gan Quan Yu Mian), which can put more than a fair share of NYC ramen places to shame.

Fuck yeah, never have I ever... had spicy Szechuan pork ramen. For just 110 NT (~$3.75) you get a bowl of fantastic pork broth impregnated by chili oil. Hiding in the soup is fatty pork sliced so thinly that upon cooking, it actually curls onto itself, delicate cubes of firm tofu that just soak up the flavors, and a spattering of crunchy greens to balance out the overpowering nature of the spiciness. As for the noodles... they carry the consistency of extra thin hand pulled noodles, superbly springy and playfully chewy. No, this certainly isn't a bowl of ramen for the traditionalists, that is, if you can even call this truly ramen. What I do know, is that it tastes fantastically kick ass, with a certain feisty aspect that I normally associate with beef noodle soup, but with a lighter touch.



I forget how much the plain hakata ramen was... not that it really matters, in the end it's a matter of cents on the dollar. I felt obliged to get it just because excellent hakata ramen is a veritable white whale of mine. I don't think I'll ever find a bowl that can live up to my unrealistic expectations of creamy bone thickened broth and lightly charred pork glistening in fat. Theirs was good, nothing spectacular, but for no more than $4, there's absolutely no reason for any complaining. Basically, I didn't look very hard for good ramen in Taipei, but the ones I found were all pretty good.

Now that the food is out of the way, let me spew some useless opinions about ramen in the US vs. ramen in Taiwan. First point of contention... price. I realize this isn't exactly a fair fight, like David vs. Goliath, but come on. The average pricing is ~115 NT ($4) for a giant bowl of above average ramen. I consistently pay between $15-20 in NYC. If every bowl that I tried in America was undeniably incredible, I'd have no gripes. I mean, I can understand that location matters, but when you churn out something that's below the standard of a chain restaurant in Taiwan, and want to charge me 3x the cost just because you're in Manhattan? Sorry, that's just not cool. Now I know some people will tell me that I'm an idiot, and that I'm ignoring the fact that I paid $1000 for a plane ticket to gain access to all this food. This is true, but this is also my blog... so I'm going to ignore that tidbit and consider all else equal because I can.
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