By Jim Duncan CVFDude@aol.com
Twitter.com/foodude
What’s in a name?
For better and worse, language isn’t as rigid as it used to be. Nouns
can pass for verbs (to effect, to sex) and verbs can impersonate nouns (a hire,
a feel).
Food definitions have loosened, too. Ethnic cuisines are no longer bounded
by their ethnicities: Taco pizza has been around for decades now, and Cityview
readers voted Hy-Vee the best “Chinese” restaurant in Des Moines
this year.
What’s in a name is often up to the user. Some places require all “farmers
market” vendors to be personally involved in raising the foods they
sell. A new farmers market coming to 13th Street this summer anticipates
that only 45 percent of its vendors will be farmers and local food producers
who sell wine, cheese, salsa, jams and baked goods. Many of the rest will
be mobile lunch stands that will compete with the six brick and mortar restaurants
within a block of the market.
Lawyers are the only ones still bothered when words add up to less than half
of what they claim to be. An Alabama law firm sued Taco Bell this winter
for calling their beef “beef” even though it allegedly contains
65 percent filler. That made me curious about meatless meat tacos, so I headed
out to Cumming where Sam Auen (Zen Sushi, Café di Scala) has been
promoting taco events on Tuesdays. Auen sells tacos made with TVP (textured
vegetable protein) plus others made of pork bellies and shoulders at Cumming
Tap. All rocked. Auen made his own tortillas from scratch and they held his
homemade salsas and pickled relishes without turning soggy. I could not tell
the TVP from the pork either, but I am not a class action lawyer.
If Auen can reinvent pork, can someone also reinvent hamburger? George Formaro
is making a stab at that. Because he’s opening Zombie Burger in East
Village this summer, Formaro has experimented making burgers out of brains
and other body parts preferred by zombies. His partners were not enthusiastic
though. So wanting something new and different, he came up with “perfect
burger.” That’s a combo of brisket and shoulder that is coarse
ground in a single direction, rolled together in parallel strands and sliced
into patties. That minimal processing and light packing delivered a distinct
texture at Gateway Market, the only place selling “perfect burgers” until
Zombie opens.
What is a deli these days? Des Moines’ biggest restaurant void remains
for a true urban delicatessen — a place that bakes its own breads,
corns its own briskets, smokes its own pastrami, pickles its own cucumbers,
knows kosher laws and caters delicacies like matzo, blintzes, pâtés
and cold, smoked fish.
After thriving in college towns, Quinton’s Bar & Deli became the
latest new deli in Des Moines. Filled with ping-pong and electronic games,
the place bustled on my visits, perhaps too much. One time three different
sources of music competed, making conversation difficult. One of them consisted
solely of bass reverberations that moved the silverware on my table. Missing
a deli counter, Quinton’s looked far more like a bar than a deli. A
Reuben, smoked turkey sandwich and a Philly steak sandwich all disappointed.
Costing just shy of $10 with potato chips, they delivered meager and overcooked
meats. Corned beef had been made of rounds not briskets, an infamy in a true
deli. Potato bacon soup, served in a carved loaf of bread, was much better.
I returned after hearing Sarah Hill rave about Quinton’s burgers. She
owns the marvelous restaurant Baru, so I take her raves seriously. Burgers
were much better than deli sandwiches — perfectly seared patties on
superb buns. I also checked out numerous drink specials, including $2 pints
of beer and $2 well drinks. One special, for half price bottles of wine,
actually undercut prices at two local liquor stores by several dollars. That’s
the true definition of popularity, even outside college towns.
Side Dish
Syngenta introduced a handful of GMO sweet corn seeds this year. Watch what
you eat. CV
Caption: Pork and TVP tacos at Cumming Tap, 117 Station St., Cumming.
Quinton’s Bar & Deli, 506 E. Grand Ave, 244-6624. Hours are 7 to
2 a.m., daily.
