Camberville Cuisine

So this morning’s Boston Globe had an article about burgers, and an incomplete list of approved local burger joints. They failed to mention O’Sullivan’s.

I’m not surprised; it’s a half-mile out of Porter Square, across from the Ghetto Star, in a mostly-residential neighborhood. So even though it’s won Best of Boston awards for its burgers multiple times, and crowds spill out its doors on weekend nights, it still flies under the media radar somewhat. For the first few years I lived here, I dismissed it as the corner bar; only later would others let me in on the secret of O’Sullivan’s burgers, then be shocked that I lived around the corner from it and had never been. Granted, when I walk home in the evenings, it’s usually just too late to catch the kitchen open, and I need food to go with my booze, so the timing just hadn’t worked out.

Admittedly, it felt a little intimidating the first time I set foot inside. My mistake was going at lunch on a weekday afternoon; I was the only not-fully-white non-mustachioed non-male person in the pub at the time, nor was I wearing the uniform of a flannel shirt and jeans. The taciturn lunch crowd differs drastically from the chattering, neighborly folks in at dinner, who are there for burgers, beers, and sports.

So, the burgers? Huge. Lightly-toasted buns surrounding thick, juicy, flavorful half-pound patties result in monsters that you can’t fit your mouth around, not even on a frat-boy dare. According to their menu, they go through “400 pounds of ground sirloin a week,” and their burgers reflect this. Yet somehow, they still find room in each bun to slide in the requested toppings and condiments - bacon and mozzarella on a Papa Burger, onions and Cheddar on the Paddy O’ Melt (we are in an Irish pub here), and Swiss cheese and avocado on the Cape Codder, among a couple of dozen other options. Leftovers are a guarantee for me.

I haven’t ordered anything but burgers from them, but my mom gives the rib-eye steak a big thumbs-up. (She, too, had leftovers, until my dad came along and scarfed them up, not knowing she’d intended them for her lunch the next day. Oops.)

O’Sullivan’s Pub, 282 Beacon St, Somerville. 617.492.7773. Open 11 am-1 am daily, though the kitchen closes at 10:30 on weeknights.

“Koreans don’t get sick,” Karen said, in a matter-of-fact manner.

I sneezed. It was a chilly winter day in Monterey, grey and foggy with light freezing rain falling. We’d just spent the last two hours outside at a field hockey game; my nose was running and my fingers were numb. “Yeah, right.”

“No, really, I’ve never missed a day of school because of sickness. Even when I had a cold, my parents would take me to school anyway, because it’s just a cold and all you can do is treat the symptoms and not sneeze on people.”

Unlike me; when I was young, I generally spent at least two weeks per winter confined to bed with some variant of bronchitis or walking pneumonia, or if it was a light winter, I might have gotten away with “only” strep throat. “Heh, wow, not me, as you’ve noticed.” I sneezed again, and reached for tissue.

“Get the spicy ramyun at Sunrise [our local Asian grocery]; it really helps. And some kimchee. The kimchee is very important!”

Though I still get sick frequently, eating spicy food is now an integral part of my cold-fighting routine, thanks to this advice. Yet, somehow, even after dating Hyoun for over a year and a half, I still didn’t have kimchee in my refrigerator.

*

“I’m not sick.”

“You’ve been saying that all week.”

“Koreans don’t get sick,” Hyoun stated, and then started coughing again.

“Uh-huh, I’ve heard that one before. My high school friend Karen said the same thing.”

“And did she ever get sick?”

“… Now that I think about it, no, I think she was sick maybe one day out of four years of high school.”

“See? I told you.”

“I’m checking with Grace; she’s Korean,” I announced, assuming I would get a neutral-if-amused-third-party answer from her.

[18:55:44] Lynne: hi hon, if you’re around, i have a question to settle an “argument” between me and hyoun ;)
[18:55:54] Lynne: do korean people ever get sick?
[18:56:03] Grace: no, they eat kimchee :)

Thanks, Grace. :P

I can never remember the name of the J&K Han a Rum Oriental Market; it’s a quiet family-run Korean grocery store on Mass Ave, near Frank’s Steak House in North Cambridge. But they carry several kinds of kimchee, and have a decent assortment of other premade food, like scallion pancakes, kong ja dang (glutinous black beans), anchovies, sardines, and seaweed salad. The store is on the small side; only two aisles, but lots of tea and noodles and rice and cookies. And, of course, kim, which I prefer to the Japanese nori; the former is saltier. :)

I originally found J+K several years ago on my way back from the Trader Joe’s in Arlington Heights; staring out the bus window, I caught sight of the familiar hangul flashing by, and happily went in to pick up kochuchang. The owner was rather amused by my stumbling over “Kamsa hamnida, anyeongi kaseo” [Thank you, goodbye!]. Tonight, of course, for the “not-sick” Hyoun, we got radish kimchee, the largest Asian pear I’ve ever seen (seriously, it’s about the size of a grapefruit), Sacsac (a light but pulpy orange juice drink), and bahng (puffy rice-cereal “cookies” about the size of a dinner plate), as well as shrimp chips for me!

Unfortunately, I lost touch with Karen after high school, but today’s her birthday. So, happy birthday, Karen!

J&K Han a Rum Oriental Market, 2376 Massachusetts Ave, North Cambridge. 617.547.8723. Hours seem to be 10-8, M-Sat, closed Sun.

Among my friends, we tend to have our “fallback” restaurants, and they seem to be mostly brew pubs (Sunset Grill and Tap being our most likely suspect). When you’re trying to accommodate a wide variety of tastes and dietary restrictions, as well as a general healthy appreciation for local brews, and a large group, they make sense. I’m just the opposite, though - most of the time, dining out is an opportunity for me to try food I don’t already know about. Which is why I was delighted when my moderately rebellious suggestion of Bangladeshi food last Friday was greeted with several, “Sure, why not, novelty factor” responses, and thus, we ended up at the Bengal Cafe in North Cambridge.

Bangladeshi and Indian food are fairly similar - many items on the menu were familiar to us from ventures to other Indian restaurants in the area (Namaskar and Diva, both being right in Davis Square proper). We ordered a round of paratha - the warm, slightly crunchy flatbread went well with the spicy entrees we chose. Dishes are dense and large. I went for the Bhuna, a rich, spicy goat and onion stew, and had plenty of leftovers (which were promptly devoured by my boyfriend). So many things looked delicious, though; next time we go, I’d like to try more of the appetizers. In particular, the Fuchka (puffy flatbread stuffed with a spicy mix of beans, onions, eggs, and potatoes) and the Haleem (lentils and meat spiced with onions and ginger) sounded interesting, and I’m a big fan of desserts in any culture, so I’ve got my eye on the Sondesh (they mention cheese), Shamai (rice noodles cooked in milk; not sure if it’s more soupy like udon or thick like pudding), and Misti Doi (sweet yogurt).

For a Friday night, it was relatively quiet; I would guess this is because it’s not located right in the square. Bengal Cafe is cozy and small, seating maybe 20 people, tops - aside from another couple, the five of us were the only people in the restaurant. It’s right on Mass Ave; the 77 stops in front of the restaurant, and it’s two long blocks out of Davis Square.

Bengal Cafe, 2263 Massachusetts Ave, North Cambridge; 617.492.1944. Daily lunch buffet, 12-3; dinner nightly from 5-9:30 (5-10 FSS).

I probably have more than 101 cookbooks on my bookshelves. (LibraryThing says 79, but I’ve still got another shelf and a half to go.) For the most part, they are eye-candy and fantasy material, but not used often enough for the act of cooking.

I live within walking distance of dozens, if not hundreds, of restaurants, bakeries, specialty grocery stores, “ethnic” markets, and other food providers. I walk past the smell of fresh-baked scones in the morning, and the sizzling of burgers at night. I have easy access to pub food, subs, sweet and savory pies, both authentic and “New England” Chinese (the latter comes delivered with dinner rolls instead of, say, wontons), Salvadoran, Indian, Mexican, tapas, Korean, French-Cuban, Thai, Brazilian, noodle shops and sushi bars, and of course, the ubiquitous pizza, doughnuts, and coffee shops.

I have a sweet tooth and a hankering for rare meats and fish. I live for fruit and chocolate. Veggie burgers and artisanal bacon both find room in my fridge. I have partners in my foodie excursions, both as fellow gourmets and chefs.

I talk enough about food that really, I should just go ahead and gather it all in one place; hence, a new home for my babblings about sushi and chocolate and farmers’ markets, right here.

I grant you, I can be lazy. I procrastinate. I decide at 5:30, “Hey, I should bring some munchies to a friend’s house,” for which I need to leave in an hour. This is where the microwave comes into play:

Sesame Brittle (adapted from The Well-Filled Microwave Cookbook)

1/2 cup sesame seeds
1/4 cup honey
1/3 cup sugar
1 cinnamon stick
dash baking soda
Also: microwaveable bowl, aluminum foil, butter to grease the foil, fork, spatula, potholder

Instructions: Mix all ingredients except the baking soda in a microwaveable bowl. Microwave on high for 2 minutes, or until the sugar has dissolved. While the mix is heating, grease a sheet of aluminum foil with butter. When the sugar has dissolved, remove the mix from the microwave, stir until the mix is uniform, then put back in the microwave for another 2-3 minutes on high. Watch carefully to ensure the mixture doesn’t overflow! Remove carefully from the microwave, and extract the cinnamon stick (recommended: put it in a mug of hot apple cider, yum!). Working quickly, add the baking soda, and stir until dissolved, then pour the mix gently onto the buttered side of the foil, and spread it out until it is thin (~1 mm or so). While it is cooling (~15-20 minutes), go take a shower and otherwise get ready to fly out the door. When cool, snap into pieces, pack into a container, and resist sampling on your way over to your friend’s house!