Let's Make A Deal

quesabirria at AZ Taco King.......... no......... no, wait... it's fine, but I'm not recommending this... keep reading

This is quesabirria. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?

Haha... yyyyyeah, we’re all acquainted with quesabirria these days. And if you’re the type who spends any time flipping through Instagram, you’ve probably seen seven different versions just in the last hour or so. Quesabirria’s getting more play than an early ‘90s house party. People are losing their everloving minds over it.

My feelings about the meteoric rise of neo-birria, on the other hand, are... complicated.

I’m not down on the institution. Look, you slap some tasty stewed meat on a tortilla, smother it with cheese, douse it with ruddy, spiced oil and griddle that thing to a crisp, and you don’t have to be six shots deep to appreciate this freewheeling brand of slutty, degenerate street grub. The problem for me is that I’m the asshole who spends a decade excoriating people for failing to appreciate the awesomeness of birria only to turn around and screech NO NOT LIKE THAT when they finally do.

I know the problem is me.

I have no beef with neo-birria. I’m just kinda bummed that it’s almost always beef, and most often beef that’s a little flat in the flavor department. Which, okay, if you’re going to bury it in half a pound of cheese or pour it into a tub of instant noodles, does it really matter how much care goes into the meat? I just get cranky sometimes and have a hard time reconciling Exhibit A, a luscious plate of carefully steamed, then seasoned, then roasted plate of goat swimming in a clean and vibrant consommé with Exhibit B, stewed beef with a crapton of cheese and oil.

           birria de chivo at ¡Hola Cabrito!      |       ramenbirria at AZ Taco King (I think)

Let us be clear, I am all too happy to get sloppy with stewed beef and a crapton of cheese and oil, and I’m pleased as punch that birria has finally entered the vernacular. I... just... kinda wish we’d covered the traditional stuff first? But, hey, tell you what. I’ll put on my most garish Saul Goodman suit, give you the fingerguns and propose a compromise. Maybe we can split the difference a bit? Work with me, here.

All credit to my friend Mike Todd for making this episode possible.

Over the years, Mike has demonstrated a knack for sniffing out unheralded little Mexican joints that stand out from the crowd but aren’t getting the attention they deserve. So when he tells me that Birrieria Cañeros merits further investigation, I’m making plans to investigate yesterday.

Birrieria Cañeros has been open since November, and it is now June, which I would have considered a colossal personal failure a couple of years ago. (My personal bandwidth is a little thin these days, so I’m trying to cut myself some slack.) And the things that make Cañeros notable are threefold:

• It’s the only birria joint on my radar that’s doing birria de borrego, i.e. lamb.
• The offerings strike a nice compromise between old-school birria puritans and new-school birria hedonists.
• The logo is awesome, they’re slinging salvation with the salsa, and “El Home Run del Sabor” is now my favorite restaurant motto.

That third item you’re just going to have to experience for yourself. It’s a hoot, and the folks running the place are absolutely lovely. But rather than getting long-winded about the first two, let me just show you this:

birria ramen at Birrieria Cañeros

New school fans can get their fusion fix! But instead of dumping oily birria de res into a cardboard tub of Tapatio ramen, they’ve actually composed a nice little dish here. The base is instant noodles, but rather than reeking of a powdered flavor packet (might be some in there, but it's mellow), they’re swimming in a luscious and clean consommé that’s flavorful and light. And that isn’t spent beef on top, but lobules of silky, gelatin-rich lamb possessed of complexity and grace.

I know that for a lot of folks, quesabirria tacos dripping with crimson oil is a feature, not a bug, and I get it, I really do... but hear me out. Maybe more isn't always better? Maybe bold is bold enough? These may not produce a three-foot cheese pull or leave a slick in their wake the Exxon Valdez would envy, but they're still smooshy crisp, and if you taste them side by side with your current quesabirria joint, I think you might find that they don’t need to scream to be heard.

clockwise from top left: birria tatemada  |  quesabirria tacos  |  birria tatemada with house tortilla

And maybe — just maybe — when the birria is good enough, it doesn’t need a heavy hand at all. Posting Cañeros’ birria tatemada on Instagram isn’t going to get you 50k followers, but if they could taste it, the flavor might. It’s pure and tender, it’s stupid delicious, and folded into a thick, freshly griddled house tortilla with a little crisp veg and a splash of killer salsa, eaten with a sip of volcanic consommé (seriously, be careful, don’t injure yourself)... look, I dig the new stuff too, but this is the birria I wish so many people weren’t missing out on.

Whaddya say? Meet me halfway?

Cupbop

"hot bop" with Korean BBQ pork, rice noodles and 27 different sauces (give or take) at Cupbop

No.

Dreaming of Fast Food

No, I do not smell toast.

Recently, I’ve been having some rather enthusiastic... discussions... with a local fast food restaurateur (IYKYK), but my commitment to our cease fire is unwavering and I will continue to avoid that discussion unless fired upon.

That said, the back and forth has given rise to a philosophical tangent that’s taken roost in an oversized chunk of my brain, so I hope you’ll forgive me for trying to relieve the pressure via newsletter.

What’s keeping me awake at night (sometimes literally... I have a problem) is the way we think about food populism, about what it means to make good food affordable and available to all, and what types of foods we do and don’t expect people to eat. To wit, I find myself dismayed by the philosophy that helping people to afford good food means taking stereotypically “upscale” foods and figuring out ways to make them cheap.

The problem with this approach, IMO, is that it almost inevitably means dumbing stuff down to the point where the “affordable” version is just a cheap knockoff of the original. What you’re left with is no less of a two-tiered system, you’ve just re-labeled the tiers from “can afford” and “can’t afford” to “gets to eat the delicious version” and “has to eat the crappy version.”

There’s a better way that’s grounded in culinary history, and I don’t know what we have to do to make it happen, but man, I wish we could shift the focus.

Thing is, dishes that we now regard as cultural icons of fine cuisine were often born of poverty, developed by skilled home cooks who figured out ways to make something delicious with whatever cheap stuff they happened to have on hand. What is paté, after all, but a way for a pig farmer to use up his leftover scraps?

But what’s common sense among the food-obsessed still hasn’t quite wormed its way into the broader public’s consciousness. Want to eat absurdly delicious food on the cheap? Forget about premium ingredients. Focus instead on taking ingredients that are already cheap and figuring out ways to make them absurdly delicious.

This is why my brain gets stuck on a place like Casa de Falafel.

I know I’ve been pimping these guys on social media an awful lot lately, but I’m going to do it one more time because this, to me, is a perfect example of the way we should be thinking about democratizing good food.

Fast food, fast casual, call it whatever you want. It’s a quick service, order at the counter joint with a relatively small menu that’s designed for simplicity and speed. If we took a bunch of photos of the place and Gaussian blurred the crap out of the food, it could pass for a national burger chain, with one key difference:

The food is sooooo flipping good.

There are a couple of shawarma wraps and while they’re solid, it breaks my heart that Arizona’s unquenchable meatlust means that’s all some customers will try. And this is because — as the more observant among you may have deduced from the name — the falafel is the thing, and it is glorious.

It is not fancy. Its flavor and composition is not unusual or distinctive. But it is so beautifully executed — sizzling rings of ground chickpea, seasoned with garlic, herbs and sesame, light and crisp and steaming hot, but substantial enough to satisfy. The killer app is the falafel wrap, wherein four rings canoodle with tahini, pickles and some simple fresh veg before being wrapped, pressed and toasted inside a crisp flatbread shell. For me, a splash of the fresh green chile sauce is non-negotiable, but YMMV. If you prefer, there’s a milder red, a mayonnaisey garlic sauce (not quite toum?) and amba — a cumin-heavy pickled mango sauce — as well. It's the contrast of temperatures, the chaotic textures, the creamy, nutty base and the lingering slow burn. But if you get the falafel wrap — which I strongly recommend — order an extra ring or two a la carte just so you have the opportunity to fully appreciate them in their naked splendor.

I mean, yes, it’s falafel, and maybe I’m overselling it, but it is REALLY good falafel. And even more importantly, a wrap and a small cup of yellow lentil soup is less than $10, it’s prepared fresh on the spot, it’s way healthier than any extra value meal out there, and it’s orders of magnitude more delicious.

If we agree that making cheap, convenient, healthy, delicious food available to everybody is a goal worth pursuing, THIS is how we do it.

Yup... Still Kicks Ass

It occurs to me that there is absolutely no reason I shouldn't be including this in every single newsletter. Food media suffers from some seriously hardcore recency bias, and I figure it's always good to remind people (and yourself) that the old favorites are still awesome:

Fried shrimp at Harold’s Chicken Shack — cornmeal dredged, heavily seasoned with a healthy shot of spice, fried hot enough to make the tails crisp and keep the meat inside juicy, and served with the requisite slice of cheap white sandwich bread. Yup... still kicks ass.

Kabobs from Kabob Grill N’ Go — an assortment of Tony Chilingaryan’s not quite Armenian, not quite Persian, not quite Mexican or Argentinian kabobs, slathered in his signature creamy mop and smothered with smoke and char from his fiery dungeon behind the restaurant. Yup... still kicks ass.

Spaghetti alle Vongole at Andreoli Italian Grocer — which is feisty and toothsome, swimming in luscious olive oil, laden with sweet clams, garlicky as all get out and absolutely perfect, which I don’t need to tell you because Giovanni’s reputation precedes him. Yup... still kicks ass.

More Cupbop

I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. If I'm going to criticize, I should be more specific about it.

the same "hot bop" after vigorous shaking, per Cupbop's instructions

HELL no.

Unfortunate Acronyms

In the interest of honesty and introspection, I kinda feel like I should just rebrand Something To Doux as Food Angst Biannual and spit one out every time I get frustrated to the point where I can’t keep it bottled up any longer. (If nothing else, FAB is a way better acronym than STD. I, uh... didn't think that one through.) But for now, I’ll try to keep this going in the hopes that not every edition will be so cranky.