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quisletLast night, I got to try out a nearby restaurant that I discovered through TastingTable. I learned of TT when a friend of mine took a job as editor for this daily food/restaurant review mailing list. Go check them out! This was the first time that I'd had the opportunity to explore one of the places detailed in the daily emails that I so often cross-post on Facebook. I distinctly remember the day I read the review, sitting in a half-cubicle in the beigeness of suburban mall-sprawl that is West Des Moines, Iowa. I read the review for a restaurant with an eclectic mix of cultures, perused a menu full of brilliant cocktails, honest ethnic dishes, and then I noticed the location. Sterling? I Googled it. It's practically around the corner from my house. How did someone manage to build a restaurant that caters to my particular sensibilities in my neighborhood? Oh yes, that's right. We moved here to find kindred souls. That's how I met most of you that are reading this...
Mokomandy is adorable, but I fear it doesn't have a chance. It's a modern presentation of both Korean and Cajun cuisine. It's not a fusion, it's more of a dual menu. I still want to have a bulgogi po' boy, though. The food was excellent, if a little precious. The menu is broken into banchan/sides, ssam, small dishes and shared dishes. It's a weird way for Americans to order, kind of retrofitting family style onto dining out. We tried two of the cocktails, the hibiscus and the drunken pumpkin. I'd link you to the drinks menu, but it's apparently broken today. The hibiscus is something I'll make, a gin/champagne cocktail with hibiscus syrup. The drunken pumpkin was tasty, but a little heavy to my tastes. It was based on a pumpkin ale, had some pumpkin added, some cider, spices. It was good, but I didn't want a second one. I could drink the hibiscus all morning long. It felt brunchy, something to be sipped comfortably in pajamas and slippers. Herself and I ordered the bulgogi, "the bowl" (their take on bibimbap) and the gator croquettes. We both giggled to find chopsticks wrapped up with the flatware in the napkin.
The bulgogi was lovely, a little hotter and more succulent than I make it (I don't use filet), but delicious and tender. I guess I'm used to it being served as ssam (in lettuce bowls/wraps). This presentation was with white rice, purple rice, a very fresh napa kimchi, some daikon pickle, black garlic and nori for wrapping. The kimchi at Mokomandy is very beginner-friendly, bright and crispy, not too hot. I prefer mine with a little funk on it. "The Bowl" was really just vegetarian fried rice (mixed white and purple) with the same kimchi, daikon pickle, a bit of kosher pickle, a fried egg on top and more nori for wrapping. I was hoping for the crispy bibimbap bits, but that was apparently too hard to pull off in this venue. To serve it traditionally, you'd need to be heating stone bowls in the oven and serve them sizzling at table, like neolithic fajita platters. The gator croquettes came with a "sauce piquante" that was basically a cooked salsa, served in a little glass jar between the knobby croquettes. Herself referred to it as "the best ketchup ever." I'm pretty sure it was just cherry tomatoes cooked down with onion and green pepper. It was heavenly. I ate it out of the little jar with a spoon when the croquettes were gone. The croquettes were crispy on the outside, with chunks of gator and house-made bacon in a sea of creamy goodness with a little dusky cajun heat.
Those three were off the small plates menu. If I'd known the menu better, we would have ordered the beef ssam (bulgogi in lettuce cups), which is the way we've always had them. I would have skipped the fried rice, as it was the crispy bit I wanted. That would have left some room for boudin balls. By the end of our trio, herself was full and I wasn't quite. We took a look at the dessert menu, agreed on beignets and then I added the fudge. We should have just ordered the beignets. They were gorgeous, a little heavier than Cafe du Monde, and crowned with an only slightly extravagant mountain of powdered sugar. They were served in a shallow bowl ringed with a wide, square platform upon which were painted chocolate, caramel, a praline sauce and plum jam. My dessert was three fingers of shallow fudge, studded with amazingly crisp pecans, garnished with two bits of praline caramel, a swirl of whipped cream, and a hazelnut-studded quenelle of chicory root mousse. The fudge was rich, everything you'd want it to be. The pecans were surprisingly crisp, hidden treasures in the darkness. The mousse was delightful, the nuts providing textural contrast, the flavor of slightly bitter roasty goodness having plenty of room to stretch its legs in the sweet cream base. The caramels were good enough to have their own plate. The beignets simply transported one to the French Quarter of New Orleans. They had a little more crumb to them than others that I've had, which made them just slightly more substantial. The mountain of confectioner's sugar made anything fruit-based seem almost sour in comparison. The plum jam and herself's hibiscus made lovely counterpoints, once you got over their seeming sourness. There were five or six medium-sized beignets piled in the bowl. We got about halfway in and then it hit. We both hit a wall at the same time, wanting to stop. I tried to eat the last finger of fudge, but stopped halfway. She tried to eat the last beignet, a rare treasure, and ran right into a wall of "overfull."
We chatted and sipped our drinks after dinner, noting that neither of us had really touched them during the meal (always a good sign at a restaurant). Herself made an excellent point that I make strong associations with food, cementing moments of my life in food sense-memories. She pointed out that the meal we had just shared hit enough shared memories that she was able to come along for the ride. My first Korean meal was in Singapore, before my ichiban was born. It was my first exposure to the alarming generosity of East Asian sentiments of hospitality. The attempt at bibimbap took me back to a gig last year in Beijing, the first time I'd ever had it, in the customer's cafeteria, four Chinese IT guys shoveling "Korean rice" into their faces with chopsticks. The gator croquettes took me back to grilling gator on the patio in Florida. The beignets were two visits to the Quarter, my first cup of coffee and my cousin's wedding this year. The fudge was simply Southern, that vast expanse between Northern Virginia and South Florida that I haven't explored nearly enough. My drink was tailgating next weekend in a Delaware cornfield. Hers was after-party brunches at my home-away-from-home in Arnold, and the Thai flowers I hope to grow next year. It was nostalgia on five plates, a new discovery around the corner from the house. I'll have to bring the girls, let them build a tasting menu. We'd better do it soon, as I can't imagine that menu surviving long. A target audience of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
quislet isn't the path to a restaurant's success.
Mokomandy is adorable, but I fear it doesn't have a chance. It's a modern presentation of both Korean and Cajun cuisine. It's not a fusion, it's more of a dual menu. I still want to have a bulgogi po' boy, though. The food was excellent, if a little precious. The menu is broken into banchan/sides, ssam, small dishes and shared dishes. It's a weird way for Americans to order, kind of retrofitting family style onto dining out. We tried two of the cocktails, the hibiscus and the drunken pumpkin.
The bulgogi was lovely, a little hotter and more succulent than I make it (I don't use filet), but delicious and tender. I guess I'm used to it being served as ssam (in lettuce bowls/wraps). This presentation was with white rice, purple rice, a very fresh napa kimchi, some daikon pickle, black garlic and nori for wrapping. The kimchi at Mokomandy is very beginner-friendly, bright and crispy, not too hot. I prefer mine with a little funk on it. "The Bowl" was really just vegetarian fried rice (mixed white and purple) with the same kimchi, daikon pickle, a bit of kosher pickle, a fried egg on top and more nori for wrapping. I was hoping for the crispy bibimbap bits, but that was apparently too hard to pull off in this venue. To serve it traditionally, you'd need to be heating stone bowls in the oven and serve them sizzling at table, like neolithic fajita platters. The gator croquettes came with a "sauce piquante" that was basically a cooked salsa, served in a little glass jar between the knobby croquettes. Herself referred to it as "the best ketchup ever." I'm pretty sure it was just cherry tomatoes cooked down with onion and green pepper. It was heavenly. I ate it out of the little jar with a spoon when the croquettes were gone. The croquettes were crispy on the outside, with chunks of gator and house-made bacon in a sea of creamy goodness with a little dusky cajun heat.
Those three were off the small plates menu. If I'd known the menu better, we would have ordered the beef ssam (bulgogi in lettuce cups), which is the way we've always had them. I would have skipped the fried rice, as it was the crispy bit I wanted. That would have left some room for boudin balls. By the end of our trio, herself was full and I wasn't quite. We took a look at the dessert menu, agreed on beignets and then I added the fudge. We should have just ordered the beignets. They were gorgeous, a little heavier than Cafe du Monde, and crowned with an only slightly extravagant mountain of powdered sugar. They were served in a shallow bowl ringed with a wide, square platform upon which were painted chocolate, caramel, a praline sauce and plum jam. My dessert was three fingers of shallow fudge, studded with amazingly crisp pecans, garnished with two bits of praline caramel, a swirl of whipped cream, and a hazelnut-studded quenelle of chicory root mousse. The fudge was rich, everything you'd want it to be. The pecans were surprisingly crisp, hidden treasures in the darkness. The mousse was delightful, the nuts providing textural contrast, the flavor of slightly bitter roasty goodness having plenty of room to stretch its legs in the sweet cream base. The caramels were good enough to have their own plate. The beignets simply transported one to the French Quarter of New Orleans. They had a little more crumb to them than others that I've had, which made them just slightly more substantial. The mountain of confectioner's sugar made anything fruit-based seem almost sour in comparison. The plum jam and herself's hibiscus made lovely counterpoints, once you got over their seeming sourness. There were five or six medium-sized beignets piled in the bowl. We got about halfway in and then it hit. We both hit a wall at the same time, wanting to stop. I tried to eat the last finger of fudge, but stopped halfway. She tried to eat the last beignet, a rare treasure, and ran right into a wall of "overfull."
We chatted and sipped our drinks after dinner, noting that neither of us had really touched them during the meal (always a good sign at a restaurant). Herself made an excellent point that I make strong associations with food, cementing moments of my life in food sense-memories. She pointed out that the meal we had just shared hit enough shared memories that she was able to come along for the ride. My first Korean meal was in Singapore, before my ichiban was born. It was my first exposure to the alarming generosity of East Asian sentiments of hospitality. The attempt at bibimbap took me back to a gig last year in Beijing, the first time I'd ever had it, in the customer's cafeteria, four Chinese IT guys shoveling "Korean rice" into their faces with chopsticks. The gator croquettes took me back to grilling gator on the patio in Florida. The beignets were two visits to the Quarter, my first cup of coffee and my cousin's wedding this year. The fudge was simply Southern, that vast expanse between Northern Virginia and South Florida that I haven't explored nearly enough. My drink was tailgating next weekend in a Delaware cornfield. Hers was after-party brunches at my home-away-from-home in Arnold, and the Thai flowers I hope to grow next year. It was nostalgia on five plates, a new discovery around the corner from the house. I'll have to bring the girls, let them build a tasting menu. We'd better do it soon, as I can't imagine that menu surviving long. A target audience of
quislet isn't the path to a restaurant's success.
