Hell's Burger

In DC this week, catching up on some training and strolling through a few bits of my old stomping ground. The days have been autumnal and perfectly clear; even just the walk from my hotel to the Rosslyn metro has involved tromping through freshly fallen brightly colored leaves.

But really what I've been doing here, when it comes down to the memorable stuff, is eating.

Last night, delicious, crisp, light pizza from Pizzeria Paradiso in Georgetown. Tonight, the pure decadence of Ray's Hell Burger. Ray's is as unassuming as dives get, and if it wasn't for the line-out-the-door Tuesday night crowd and the Obama visits and the 40 pages of Yelp raves, you'd hardly notice it. In fact, they don't even really have a sign.

But they do have a burger. Man oh man do they have a burger. 10 oz. Indescribably tender. Charred just a bit on the outside. Toasted brioche bun. This beast borders on the obscene, juicier and richer and more decadent than any burger I've ever had. I went as plain as possible on this go - cheddar cheese, grilled onions, dill pickles, mustard, lettuce, tomato. I won't try to recall all the burger variations, but I will say that by plain I mean that the particular cheese I chose was one of more than a dozen available.

And it's good that the burger is so outlandishly amazing, because Ray's is a one-trick pony. They do fries, and coleslaw, but as a total afterthought, almost the way salad bars include the decorative kale.

Now, if I just jog back to Austin, I should be about able to burn this baby off and return to my pre-Ray's self. But then again, maybe the Persephone rule applies; when you take a bite in Hell, you can't ever go back.

Cupcakes, take 2. Sugar Mamas Sets The Bar.

Cupcakes have had a heck of a run these last few years. In Austin, and everywhere else, cupcakeries have sprouted up in downtown hipster storefronts, airstream trailers and suburban strip malls.

My cupcake odyssey took me out of Grubbus, into a stint blogging for Sweet Tempered Bakery in South Austin, through the heartbreak of their closure a few months back, and, now, finally, back to Grubbus, and back with a hell of a new favorite cupcake in these waning days of the fad: The Sugar Mama's Bakeshop Black and Tan. Available Fridays.




Sugar Mama's gets just about everything right. It's a little place, tucked into South First Street between Mary and Johanna. Black and white tiles and an eccentric mix of the vintage and the Ikea frame two glass displays dominated with a constantly changing array of the most luscious cupcakes, cookies, pies and bars I've encountered. It's an engaging spot, and there are a couple of small tables, but this is essentially a get-it-and-go operation. So presentation is off the chart, and the cashier I chatted with talked about growing up running around Sweetish Hill while her mom baked cakes (foodie cred!) but the real kicker here is the taste: Moist, buttery, sweet cakes with frosting good enough to eat with a spoon.

A word of warning - despite the proliferation of bakeries in Austin, and despite the slow deflation of the cupcake craze - this place is popular enough that it sells out of the good stuff early - I'd recommend going early if you can.

Please O, Please O, No Mo Azio

When faced with an unfamiliar city, especially at the end of a long day, I often find myself going back to places that I’ve been before, even if they were middling and tired to begin with. Familiarity tends to whitewash memory a bit. Case in point: Azio, downtown Atlanta.

I should have known something was amiss walking in. The formerly attractive little waiting area was worn and tired. Once cool oversized armchairs were rubbed dirty and threadbare, the walls dinged and gouged, the hardwood floor in need of a refinish. It was passable in the low light of the restaurant, but I think it would have been pretty jarring by the light of day. As I stood there waiting for someone to show me to a table, I had flickers of recollection of the two meals I’d had there before. They were a little scary. Had it been another 15 seconds I would have bolted, off to a happier meal.

The place itself is nicely arranged, if a little dated. Large murals depict Diego Rivera inspired agricultural scenes and iron railings spiral around the floor, elegantly separating the dining room from the kitchen from the bar. The architecture, coming in somewhere between Roman Grandeur and Italian Countryside, was pretty 4 years ago, and it’s pretty now. And the place was crowded and happy, which lends its own light and warmth.

The food? Neither pretty nor light nor even warm. The bruschetta was edible, but uninspired. Dollops of chopped tomatoes atop 4 triangles of sweet flat bread were the highpoint. Presentation of these around a mound of blah lettuce with a giant, tippy ramekin of balsamic goo was the low. The blur of my no-flash cell phone camera maybe makes this look worse than it was, but not much. Presentation means a lot. It suggests that someone views this thing they’re sending out as food, not as the order for table 12. It doesn’t need to be fancy, but it needs to be honest, and in proportion. This was none of those.

I was hungry though, and I dutifully dug through the salad and sipped my Sangiovese. The entrée was another step downhill. I ordered the Rigatoni Rustica. It seemed appropriate and safe, a simple easy country-inspired pasta dish. What came to me was a strange mountain of unpleasantness. Rigatoni: overcooked. Sausage: Tasteless and in vast, wretched quantities. Red Peppers: Cut into chunks as big as my palm. The list goes on, but I did not. After a handful of bites, I reached across for the bread basket, had another couple of focaccia cubes, and called it a night.

CLOSED: A Whole Lot of Chicago in a Little Bitty Trailer

Update: Little Chicago is gone - Trailer before trailer was cool, we wish Chris the best in whatever he does next and hope it involves sausage. The best bet for a killer Chicago Dog in Austin is now Frank.

Chicago knows how to eat. Everything from Charlie Trotter’s wine list to Giordano’s Pizza is just a little bit over the top, just a little bit more than it has to be, and a whole lot of good eating.

Case in point: The Chicago Dog. A real Chicago Dog elevates the hot dog into culinary territory other dogs can only wistfully imagine. The formula is immutable, unsubstituable and far greater than the sum of its parts:

• Poppy seed hot dog bun
• All Beef hot dog (Vienna Beef is the gold-standard here)
• Yellow mustard
• Chopped white onion
• Neon Green Relish
• Sport peppers (often overlooked)
• Tomato wedges
• Crisp kosher dill pickle spear
• Celery salt

And here’s where to get one in Austin: Chris’ Little Chicago. Austin actually has a pretty sizable list of places that give the dog a go (Dog Almighty, Lux Café, Lucky Dog), they're all good, but most cut a few corners – no sport peppers, dill relish, missing poppy seeds. Chris cuts no corners. Well, OK, maybe he cuts a few corners on tables-and-chairs, but the dog is out of this world.



Chris’ is housed in a cheery little red trailer at 3600 South Lamar, just before the Brodie Oaks shopping center. The menu is pretty much there on the sign: Chicago Style Hot Dogs and Italian Beef Sandwiches. File this one under niche dining.

The dog itself is on the large side, and Chris is so generous with the toppings, it’s nearly overwhelming.

Because Chris is a Chicago-only place, there’s no attempt at passing non-Chicago relish or buns or tomatoes off in place of the good stuff. It’s all in there. And it’s all good. And while the seating is limited to a couple of plastic chairs at a folding card table out back, the view over Highway 360 and out into the Hill Country is as good a setting as you’re going to get to kick back, pop open an Izzy, and enjoy a little bit of Chicago, right here in Austin.

Maria's Taco XPress = Austin

A week ago, a colleague of mine in Tallahassee mentioned that his wife was making a trip to Austin. He asked if I could whip up a quick list of good eats in town, and the thing that sprung immediately to mind was Maria's.

Austin has Tex Mex, and it has BBQ, and while much of that is dee-lish, it's stuff you can get anywhere in Texas. But Marias. That's just Austin.

The tacos themselves are really tasty; there are dozens of options, and they do everything fresh and right there on the giant flat top behind the register. Salsa is tasty and coffee is dineresque, but drinkable. Chorizo and Bacon are both legit and appropriately greasy. They've got a full menu, and a bar, but the place is packed all the time and I've never seen anyone eat anything but a taco. If you're going, you're going for a breakfast taco.

So, you'd think this is a simple thing, right? Tortilla. Eggs. Potatoes. Cheese. How hard is that, really? But within those four little points of goodness, a lot can happen. First off, the tortilla. Many places have some leeway here, and I prefer corn when I can get it, but Maria is all flour, all the time, and they're fresh and perfect. Then there's the order of operations. Maria's cooks the eggs and potatoes together, making almost a hash that serves as the base of the taco. Cheese is applied liberally on top, after it's off the grill. I go back and forth on this technique, sometimes, the rich easiness of the egg/potato combo is perfect, sometimes I want the elements to stay distinct. Sometimes I want my cheese to be all melty from the minute I get it.

But, it's not the tacos that make this place. Its the place that makes this place. The statue of Maria out front, arms outstretched could be our official city seal. And every last inch of this place is covered. A plant, a glowing duck, a hubcap, a signed picture of Willie Nelson, architectural models, Christmas stockings. It's fantastic. The outside is no less good, with insane tropical foliage somehow hanging on even in the dead of winter, mural after mural, plastic farm animals. I think there are a few flamingos, too - plastic lawn variety. It's so planted in place, you'd never know that this is actually the second Maria's, the first, just up Congress from the current locale was razed to make way for a Walgreen's parking lot. Everything about the place stayed intact in the move though, including the parting words: