BRIAN DUFF

Persian perfection

BRIAN DUFF — Wed, 03 May 2006 15:16:46 GMT

Shahnaz struts its stuff
Recently the readers of the Portland Phoenix voted to name Shahnaz Persian Grille as Portland's best Middle Eastern restaurant, so I decided to head up Forest Avenue to see if the voters were onto something.

Recently the readers of the Portland Phoenix voted to name Shahnaz Persian Grille the best Middle Eastern restaurant in Portland. (See "The Best," April 21.) As scholars have noted, there is sometimes wisdom in crowds. At the 1906 West England Fat Stock and Poultry Exhibition 800 visitors guessed the weight of a massive prize ox. Their estimates, when averaged, were off by a single pound. About a century later 120 million Americans guessed whether John Kerry or George W. Bush would be a better president for the next four years. Their estimates, when averaged, said Bush. We need a tiebreaker.

So I headed up Forest Avenue to see if the voters were onto something. As if they had anticipated my experiment in democracy, owners Shahnaz Mahager and Dan Eldert have erected a miniature Statue of Liberty in the parking lot. Along the side of the restaurant they have set up an eclectic patio on a green carpet. Inside, a fountain surrounded by leafy plants dominates one corner — the sound of its trickling mingling with the Persian music. Six small tables topped in cracked blue tile gather in one half of the room. Photos of plated Persian dishes line the counter where you order, and photos of family hang on the wall. This is the immigrant spirit, and as usual it charms. It was a saddening pleasure to regard images from the Tehran of the ’80s, even as our freshly paid tax dollars help the folks who brought us “shock and awe” dream up ways to unleash exterminatory air power upon Tehran’s 2006 incarnation.

Shahnaz and Dan, both short and engaging but nonetheless a bit of an odd couple, noted I was a new customer and immediately offered me samples of several dishes. Very quickly I knew the Phoenix voters were onto something. I am not sure if it is one of the charms or the curses of living in Maine that one must eat so much good food off paper — brunch at Sophia’s, the Lobster Shack, even Scales if I remember correctly (and fondly), and now Shahnaz.

Eventually we ordered a platter with all the appetizers. The best was the hummus, mustard yellow, with oil pooled on top, and a texture almost like baba ganoush. The yellow comes from turmeric, which adds a nice sharpness atop the chickpea, sesame, and garlic. The Bademejan, mostly eggplant and tomato, was both smoky and sweet. It is also offered as an entrée but I think it’s probably best as an appetizer. Dolmeh almost never appeals to me, though a particularly slimy grape leaf sometimes gives the palate a pleasing shock. These were not very slimy.

Cold comfort

BRIAN DUFF — Fri, 13 Jan 2006 02:20:47 GMT

Frozen foods warm the heart
Like any good codependent, frozen food’s effects are soporific. It prolongs and deepens our suffering even as it makes it bearable.

Frozen entrees have seen many of us through tough times. Like any good codependent, frozen food’s effects are soporific. It prolongs and deepens our suffering even as it makes it bearable. Not long ago my heart was as icy and tough as a slab of Hungry Man turkey. But this fall, as the weather grew colder, my soul thawed and warmed in the company of a lovely young woman. Now she is gone — moved south. In her absence I have turned to my old friend frozen food to help me cope. Together we repeatedly recreate the drama of the last few months. I perforate the plastic wrap, much the way she pierced my heart, and peer into my microwave to watch what was once cold begin to simmer in a dizzying spin and with miraculous speed.

Amid any grocery store’s frosty alleyways we face important choices. The classic frozen entrée involves a rubbery meat slathered in a salty goop. But within this genre there are real differences. There was a time when the best of the best was the simple, elegant, Stouffer’s fried chicken breast with mashed potatoes. You could have plucked that crisp-yet-tender chicken out of its plastic tray and served it at Spago. But one day the cooking instructions changed subtly and I got worried. Sure enough, four minutes later I found that the magic was gone — the breading was more moist than crispy, and the chicken more soft than juicy. Why, Stouffer’s? Why? For months I searched the store shelves for the original variety like that guy from Chungking Express looking for the right can of pineapples.

Marie Callender’s frozen entrees have since emerged as the best in the classic American style. The problem, as my sister pointed out, is that the cooking instructions are complex to the point of being prohibitive. You have to begin the cooking, harvest the meat, resume the cooking, stir, vent and unvent, replace the meat, heat sauces separately, et cetera. Serving as Ms. Callender’s sous-chef is like cooking under Gordon Ramsay. The exception is her turkey with stuffing, which is simple to prepare and really quite good. The cranberries sprinkled among the green beans add a classy touch.

Finding the Range

BRIAN DUFF — Fri, 13 Jan 2006 02:45:10 GMT

A Portland eatery goes too far, not far enough, and just right
Caiola’s, a new venture on Pine Street in the West End of Portland, sets you at ease from the moment you walk up to the door.

My neighborhood is the Old Port so there are a lot of restaurants around. But very few of them feel quite like a "neighborhood restaurant." In even the most comfortable of the Old Port’s nice food spots you get a sense that they are trying to get things exactly right — to earn their place as a destination people are willing to struggle with parking to visit. This striving is infectious, and soon you find yourself expecting this perfection, scrutinizing the meal, conscious of too much.

True neighborhood restaurants have a way of setting you at ease. Caiola’s, a new venture on Pine Street in the West End, does just that from the moment you walk up to the door. It is just far enough from Congress to feel tucked away. Inside the space feels intimate and warm. There is a pleasant buzz of conversation from the nook of tables to your right and the modest bar to your left. If you eat in the back you notice that even the doors to the kitchen, salvaged from some old house it looks like, are charming. Once when I was working at a small gallery, an artist painted the walls a dark maroon, trying to make the place feel womb-like. Caiola’s uses that same color, and it enhances the feeling of deep-comfort the place creates. By the time you rip off a piece of the wonderful bread (and wonderfully familiar — it’s from One Fifty Ate), you have been subconsciously prepared not to examine, but to enjoy.

Though Caiola’s very nature dissolves the impulse to scrutinize, the food rewards attention. Caiola’s patrons get the best of both worlds, a neighborhood restaurant with a destination chef — Abby Harmon, recently of Street and Company. She has put together a quirky menu, loosely focused on southern Europe it seems, changing a few things from week to week, while establishing some regular dishes. There are enough interesting entrees under $17 to make Caiola’s affordable, as a neighborhood place should be. There are also plenty of reasonable wines — our waiter pointed us to a nice and inexpensive bottle. She, like the rest of the staff, was both attentive and easy-going. She seemed as happy to offer relationship advice (how soon is it appropriate to call someone your girlfriend?) as to explain the menu.