Last little while, my food experiments have been failing left and right. Popcorn? Burned. Dumpling soup? Too lemony, not oniony enough. Heck, my last frozen-perogies-from-a-bag were kind of boring, even.

But today, I’m three for three. I started by putting a brine together. A half cup of salt, a full cup of brown sugar, mustard powder, and black pepper, in a bowl, and then hot apple cider vinegar poured over the thing. Mix it up, give it some time to dissolve. Throw in two racks of ice, and shake a bit to cool it all down. Bam, brine.

Then, I tossed some pork chops in the brine. Just let them sit there and soak up flavor and juiciness.

Later? I got hungry. Chicken broth with green onions, fresh ground ginger, garlic, soy sauce, and rice noodles. It needed meat, so I fetched one of the half-brined chops, sliced it into convenient little strips, fried it up, and tossed it in the soup. Verdict? Delicious.

Even later still? I fried up a full chop. Flavorful, juicy, and delicious.

And then? Popcorn in a pot. My last two attempts at popcorn used a stock pot and fairly low heat, and the popcorn ended up being not-quite-burned-but-definitely-pretty-overdone. This time, I used a much smaller pot at a much higher heat. The smaller pot, while offering a decreased popcorn payload, was easier to ’shake’ over the element… and the popcorn came out fluffy and perfect. Nice. Three for three, baby.

When I was sixteen, my uncle gave me a job in his kitchen. I was to wash dishes.

I wasn’t much of a punk – my blue hair was more an attempt to be unique than to rebel against anything in specific, but nevertheless, I had to wear a hat, all summer long, in the sweltering heat, in a cramped kitchen. It was a nice restaurant, and certain standards had to be kept up. My station was right next to the stove. I washed dishes.

The golf course where I worked had a few customers, occasionally. During the day, it was never more than a few plates or mugs. The dishes were so minor as to be inconsequential. A couple of plates, or a strainer, maybe a glass or two. I tried to help out in the kitchen whenever I could, but the cooking staff never wanted to trust much to the dish boy, and, in all fairness, I wasn’t too handy with a pan anyways. I could grill a burger six ways from Sunday, and I even made my way through about 30% of the lunch menu, but toss a more difficult pasta dish at me and I was lost. In the end, the only person I ever cooked for was me, on my lunch break. The hierarchy was clear, with my uncle at the very top, the cooks beneath him, then the prep cooks, and then, at the very bottom, me.

In order to try to clear my name of the stink of nepotism, I helped wherever and however I could. It was my first job, though, and I was just getting the hang of not being a lazy lump of teenage uselessness. I like to think that I helped more than I hurt, anyways. For one thing, I pioneered a nacho-cooking technique that managed to save anybody washing nacho pans (see: me) minutes a day of furious cheese-scraping. Protip: toss a tortilla shell under those bad-boys. It looks good on the plate and you can just toss it out when people are done eating.

But why would they hire a dishwasher when they don’t need one during the day?

It’s simple. They needed a dishwasher at night. The course had beautiful grounds, and on the weekends, they would have huge, catered weddings. The kitchen would be blazing with prep cooks and real cooks, hurrying around and preparing food in hundredweight buffet pans. Cooking for two hundred people at one event is more fraying than one would imagine, even if it’s in the same kitchen and the same grounds every Sunday. The dishes would fly my way, faster than I could handle them.

The dishwasher itself was a huge, lumbering beast, the likes of which I had never seen. At home, I had a little Maytag dishwasher that hummed and phutted and took 50 minutes to get through a load. In the kitchen, we had a rattling goliath that belched steam and cleared a plastic pallet of dishes in three minutes.

Even with the gargantuan dishwasher, though, dishes came faster than they could be run through the machine. The dishwasher also had to be run from both sides – dishes in, dishes out, put them away when they’re done. Quickly, the wait staff needs more knives!

Over the course of the job, I received more cuts and burns than in my entire adult life to date. At the time, I was shocked that they expected me to continue working, even though I had just touched my knuckles to the sides of a hot oven.

It paid $6.50 an hour.

Those brief glimpses of my uncle at work were totally different from what I had experienced from him at home. The big, jovial uncle of mine was dead serious. The messy uncle who slept 20 hours at a stretch was instead a whirlwind of serious activity, criticizing anything so much as a smudge in his pristine kitchen.

That’s my experience with the food industry. My whole family’s been in and out of it, all of them, much longer than I ever have. It’s a different sort of world. Interesting, though.

So, a few months ago, my uncle opened a restaurant. Tony-O’s- just in Surrey, on King George highway.

A tonne of money and time went into making the place look nice, getting the kitchen up to code, fixing what was essentially a crappy little Chinese-food dump into a respectable little cafe.

Everything on the substantially-sized menu- every last thing- was delicious. Some of you have eaten there- I had a big event there ’round September, and I tried to drag people to the restaurant when I had the chance.

Dinehere had a favourable review of the place, and so did the local newspaper. I stopped by now and then, but the in-and-out flow of the place seemed pretty slow.

And now.. it’s closed. Not enough money to stay in business.

I’m a little disappointed- My uncle’s cooking is highly nom-worthy, expertly executed, good eats. The ability to get it any-time was fantastic, even if the restaurant was a little bit out of my way.

But I can’t say I’m overly surprised. From my first experience with the location, foot traffic around the area is almost nil. The people who do walk by are not the type I’d categorize as the sort who would go for higher-end food- they seem a pretty fast-food bunch. The bright red canopy and clean, attractive little restaurant can only go so far to attract foot traffic that isn’t there.

The new condos being built could potentially provide a large burst of higher-end clientele.. when they’re finished. If they finish. That’s a year or more down the road, though.

As for King George road- well, it’s a major thoroughfare, but that doesn’t mean that the nook-sized restaurant is going to attract a lot of customers. The giant “Food experience” on the banner doesn’t help, either- what’s a “Food experience”? Are they going to rub potatoes on my nurps?

Given that, the little shop had the sort of food that could survive with a cult following- good food, good value, what’s not to like? Thing is, though, developing a cult following takes time. If the restaurant is out of money after being open for 6 months, either overhead’s too high, they didn’t plan far enough ahead, or both. As for the overhead- with the huge menu, one can only expect that food costs are pretty high.

On top of that, the restaurant had little-to-no advertising budget and was only open 11-7, Monday to Friday- leaving out late-night and weekend eaters, not to mention most 9-5ers.

Poor Uncle Antonio- last time I saw him, he just seemed deflated. I hope his next scheme is more successful.

… So, anybody interested in buying a restaurant? ^_^

So, downloading a bunch of Good Eats episodes has had a negative effect on my ability to cram random objects I find around the house into my mouth.

Instead, I thought to myself.. ‘omelette’. So, I found the relevant episode of the show.

My omelette had paprika, chili flakes, basil, cheese, and fresh tomato. Before that, I took some leftover potatoes and fried them up with seasoning salt and black pepper.

… it was delicious. On top of that, it was only marginally more difficult than my more-frequent breakfast fare of ‘poached eggs n’ toast’, which are roughly as easy as just showing up. Thank YOU, Alton Brown. I’m going to have to do this more often.

Recently, in my friend Ryan’s blog, he wrote:

Enter the fast-food outlets in Harbour Centre. Then exit them, because the service is crap. Yes, you’re earning minimum wage, but still, take some pride in your work! I know I did when I was working retail two years ago. When I order my burger, don’t stand around and gossip with the other customers while my food is getting cold. I’m looking at you, A&W staff. Don’t be all grouchy and intimidating, Quizno’s lady. And most importantly, speak English, Tim Horton’s girl!

and was then immediately smacked down by a commenter:

So you’re one of those assholes who expects the royal treatment from immigrants and teenagers who are stuck working minimum wage food service jobs. Nice! As if those jobs aren’t bad enough, they have you demanding they put a fucking bow on your super-sized papa burger combo.

Now, here’s the deal. Currently, in Vancouver, we have a huge shortage of high-quality teenagers and easily-taken-advantage-of immigrants- that is, people who are willing to work hard for low pay, on account of their lack of experience and part-time requirements.

This is not a bad thing- hard workers are now worth more than the minimum wage. That’s actually great!

For a fast-food restaurant to maintain a dedicated staff, now, they either need to ride everybody’s ass 100% of the time (at which point they’ll quit and get a better job), maintain an interesting and exciting job (which is impossible because it’s FAST FOOD), or pay a little bit more. They can’t fire people who aren’t good at their jobs- there’s nobody to replace them!

The restaurants that aren’t willing to do these things are not going to end up with the best people- because a better job is always just around the corner, and the job market is good.

I have two relatives in the food service industry right now. If you want to sell food, you’ll always do it better with polite, efficient workers. This is a hard and fast rule.

If it’s in a good area- in a WalMart, or at a Harbour Center, they’ll have customers no matter how bad their service is. They don’t have to pay, they won’t.

So the quality of service in local fast food restaurants- especially ones in high-traffic-areas, has been dropping dramatically. A few weeks ago, I ate at a McDonalds which was apparently manned entirely by sullen-looking 14-year-olds. They were incredibly slow, the restaurant was a mess, and they put my pickles outside my burger. How do you fail at making a double cheeseburger? It’s not that hard!

Slow service from a worker who looks like he’d rather be at home? I don’t want to eat there. I do expect better. I will go to a different restaurant in the future. Service matters. If the restaurant doesn’t want to pay to maintain a polite, efficient staff, I don’t want to pay to eat there.

So, yes, I’m one of those assholes who expects the royal treatment from immigrants and teenagers who are “stuck” working minimum wage food service jobs. I’m not going to try to make their lives more difficult, but if they’re terrible at their jobs, I’ll go somewhere else. (In the case of the SFU pub, that’s the Mountain Shadow, for example.)

Now, I don’t know about you guys- I worship at the altar of good barbeque.

Okay, it all started when my mom was dating a guy who had a serious barbeque hobby- he had a smoker, and went to competitions. When they broke up, I was hurt- not because I’d miss him, but because I’d never have those delicious mustardy smoked ribs again. They also made a Texas-style chili that turned me into a chili-lover. This chili is the only concievable reason I would return to the Cloverdale rodeo, even risking exposing Kristen to grizzled, attractive, cowboy-hatted horse-ridin’ men in order to get it.

Hours of watching the Food Network celebrate the many varieties of traditional southern barbeques didn’t help.

But I digress- good barbeque is an art, and an exceedingly rare one in Vancouver.

So, one of my dad’s old roommates, Boonie, has opened a little restaurant, just in the Cloverdale fairgrounds- inside the Curling rink. It’s more a cafeteria than a restaurant, really- except that there has never been a cafeteria that could prepare food of this calibre- or for these ridiculous prices.

No, the venue is not exactly the Ritz-Carlton (or even the Taco Bell/KFC), but it doesn’t need to be. Boonie has a website, featuring the location and the menu, and a few other things. It’s very 1995, but it gets the basic idea across.

Enough of that, though. The ribs will blow you clean out of the water. They’re good. Really good. There are a few little Italian places (Rosa’s, in Port Moody) that serve ribs that have been braising in tomato sauce all day, and those ribs are knockout delicious- but that’s a totally different class of food, a different type of meal. If you’re looking for Southern style home cookin’ (with the apostrophe instead of the ‘g’), Boonie’s is the place to go. Let’s take a quick look at the menu.

Sandwiches and Burgers

• Boonie Burger – 2 patties, cheese, Louisiana Hot Links … $6.00
• Pulled Pork Sandwich … $5.75
• Hot Link Sandwich … $5.75
• ~ add a half pound of fries (seasoned or plain) ~ $1.50

BBQ Chicken:

• BBQ Chicken: 1/2 Chicken + 2 southern side + cornbread … $11.50

BBQ Smoked Ribs:

• Sampler – 3 ribs + 1 southern side … $6.00
• Small Dinner – Half rack of ribs + 1 southern side + cornbread … $10.50
• Large Dinner – Half rack of ribs + 2 southern sides + cornbread … $13.50
• Full Meal Deal – Full Rack of ribs + 2 southern sides + cornbread … $19.50

Southern Sides:

• Mac ‘n Cheese … $2.50
• Red Beans ‘n Rice … $2.50
• Blackeyed Peas ‘n Rice … $2.50
• Collard Greens … $2.50
• Cornbread Muffin … $1.25

Desserts (when available)

• Peach Cobbler … $3.75
• Sweet Potato Pie … $3.75
• Granny Miles Zucchini Loaf … $3.00

Now, the first thing that you might notice- this food is not expensive. A full rack of ribs is a lot of food. A 2-patty burger should not be reasonably possible for under $8. It’s confusing, to say the least.

The food is plentiful, too. The “Full Meal Deal” managed to fill up my brother. Now, my brother, a pretty normal guy in most respects, qualifies as almost demi-human when it comes to his capacity for meal consumption. He’s the only person who’s ever gone head-to-head with Rosa and almost come out on top (I’m pretty sure Rosa had emergency food on the occasion that some champion eater came around.). He’s the only person I’ve ever known to go to IHOP, point at the window at the top of the menu (the one with about 5 breakfasts on it, all laid out attractively), and say “I want that“. Filling Jonathan up on $20 is tantamount to stopping the Mongol Horde with a toothpick and a half-can of beans.

The thing that the menu can’t get across is the taste. The ribs are worth the trip out to Cloverdale, even for those of you who regard Cloverdale as “Somewhere between Vancouver and Toronto”. Everything else on the menu is delicious. I had the first ‘real’ pulled pork sandwich I’ve had in years, and I do plan to go back for more- I’m taking Kristen there next available opportunity.

Boonie is tonnes of fun, if you can keep up with him.

Great food, great prices, no atmosphere. My highest recommendations! Go eat there now! Do it! Spread the word and let the joyous ribs spread across the land!

Edit: Phil’s Response below has a lot of additional information as well as the correct name of the restaurant, “Taste Nice”. Silly me!

A few days ago, me and Ryan were getting a ride to the bus station from Phil.

On the way, he asked if we were hungry and suggested a nearby Jamaican place.

I was snorgbaffled. Jamaican food? I had experienced some Caribbean food before, once, but it was in a strange little cafe in North Vancouver and the thing I had (A sort of spicy avocado eggs benedict) seemed more like a once-off concoction than some sort of traditional food.

Okay, I wasn’t that hungry, but I volunteered, and cajoled Ryan into it, too. Who would miss an opportunity to try something new?

Phil took us to a little hole-in-the-wall called “Taste Nice” just next to Gateway Station in Surrey. Now, I’ll say this right now- I have nothing but respect for this sort of restaurant. Nothing compares to little family-owned joints with fresh, authentic home-cookin’. Apparently, the proprietors of this restaurant are also pretty close to Phil.

Upon entering the restaurant, I was immediately confused. There weren’t many tables or chairs. Maybe it was it a take-out restaurant? Nothing on the menu-board seemed like it would be a portable item, but why else would there be so few tables and chairs? Maybe they were just cleaning up for the day when we arrived- or maybe the menu really is a more casual take-out kind of fare. (Phil?)

Some unidentifiable reggae music was playing- I can differentiate 86 individual types of electronic music, from Trance to Electroclash, but to me, reggae always falls into the fairly large and faceless category of “music that is far too slow to concentrate on”.

Phil just blazed in to the kitchen, greeting everybody. An older fellow came out and started bantering back and forth with Phil in a thick, unintelligible Jamaican Patois. I’m sure they started by talking about the music- how it was a remix and something something, but everything after that just faded into a blur of sylabbles with the occasional English sounding word.

He turned to Ryan and me, dialed down his accent a bit, and explained a few things about his restaurant- his simple home-cooked philosophy, and how “Taste Nice” was his attempt at truth in advertising.

We ordered beef patties and drinks- Ryan had a Cream Soda and I tried a excessively refreshing citrus drink called “Ting“. The patties were mildly spiced beef surrounded in a slightly-greasy home-made pastry- I liked them, and I’ll have to go back for a more substantial meal at some point. I don’t know what to order, though. ( Phil? )

Then a younger guy came out- the proprietor’s son, perhaps? He had a bit of Comp-Sci education and talked shop with us for a bit. While a patois may leave me high and dry, I’m sure nerd jargon can be an impenetrable mass to digest for outsiders, too.

So.. Taste Nice tasted good, awaiting further scrutiny. And I’m going to have to find some sort of local Ting supplier to satisfy my newfound grapefruit-drink cravings.