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Big Flavor at Little Dhaka

Little Dkaha is really little. There are just five tables in this modest Bangladeshi restaurant in Artesia. It's so homey that Sakina Begum, the cook, often comes out front to take a break or chat with customers.

 

Sakina cooks everything—the samosas, so fresh they were still warm when I dropped in for lunch; the curries, the special spiced rice for weddings, the sumptuous chicken biryani and much more.

 

That day, she had made fish curry with rahu, a freshwater fish imported from Bangladesh, and patol, a delicately flavored, gourd-like green vegetable. The fish, patol and other imports are in a freezer case along one wall, and Bangladeshi masalas (spice blends) are displayed at the front, all for sale.

 

The day's dishes are set out in a steam table next to a cupboard of typical Bengali sweets (Bangladesh was formerly East Bengal. Dhaka is the capital). I picked out a mildly spiced goat curry, bright yellow potatoes cut into tiny sticks and seasoned with turmeric and hot dried chiles, and the fish curry, cooked in the typical Bengali way with mustard oil.

 

Sakina's creamy brown chutney is very different from the green and sweet tamarind chutneys that most Indian restaurants serve. It's a heady blend of cilantro, mint and green chiles with tamarind, yogurt and mustard oil. The chutney accompanies the samosas, so be sure to order these. They're filled with chicken or potatoes and peas.

 

Little Dkaha's chicken biryani is fragrant with spices and steamed so that it is less oily than the curries. Pieces of chicken so tender the meat falls off the bone are buried in fluffy rice ornamented here and there with grains of rice tinted cherry red and a spoonful of golden saffron rice. Sakina scatters cilantro and crunchy fried onions over the top, turning this dish into a feast of colors and textures.

 

The prices are as modest as the restaurant, just $3 for individual servings of fish or goat curry and $5 for a generous plate of chicken biryani..

 

The sweets are so tempting that I could make a meal of these alone, but I limited myself to rasmalai, little dumplings of fresh Indian cheese in a thick, sweet milk sauce flavored with cardamom. And I took home a container of mishty doi, sweetened yogurt like that I used to eat in Calcutta (now Kolkata), the capital of West Bengal. There the yogurt is prepared in unglazed clay bowls, which draw out the liquid so that it sets firmly and stays cool.

 

After I finished eating, Sakina gave me a cup of milky tea that was so strong it made espresso seem wimpy—a steamy eye-opener that helped me navigate the freeway on the long drive home.

 

Little Dhaka, 18159 Pioneer Blvd., Artesia, Calif. 90701 (in the Artesia Town Center in Little India). Tel: (562) 865-5230. Open 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. daily.

Back in L.A., Korean Noodles

I would guess that few people in the towering office buildings on Wilshire Boulevard near Normandie realize that a very good Korean restaurant, Myung Dong Noodle House, is around the corner.

 

Small and homey, Myung Dong is almost hidden between a dry cleaning establishment and a hair salon in a mall on Irolo, which is the extension of Nomandie Avenue south of Wilshire.  The neon sign in the window is in Korean, not English. And you have to buzz to get in at night.

 

Except for myself and a few friends, I haven't seen a soul there who isn't Korean, which tells me the food is authentic and delicious.

 

The handmade noodles are certainly good. They're springy and firm, adding great texture to soups such as kal guksu. This bowl of rich broth, shredded chicken, noodles and vegetables is a lovely mild restorative. But watch out for kal guksu in which kimchi replaces chicken. If you can't tolerate the spicy broth, just pull out the noodles. They're delicious with a little of the red-hot liquid clinging to them, like sauce.

 

A third kal guksu is made with anchovy broth, which tastes pleasantly of the sea and not at all like anchovy-topped pizzas or Caesar salad dressing.

 

When is a noodle not a noodle? When the dough is torn into raggedy strips and dropped into broth. These dough flake soups are called sujebi.. One is spicy with kimchi. The other, hang a ri sujebi, is mild, unless you spice it up with table condiments. It too is made with anchovy broth, and the tradition in Korea is to eat it on rainy summer days.

 

The chewy fine noodles in jjolmyeon are not handmade, but that's no reason not to order this dish. As a matter of fact, it's a favorite with teenagers in Korea. You may never have had a bowl of pasta this red. The noodles are tossed with Korean sweet-hot red pepper paste and topped with fine cucumber shreds and hard-boiled egg.

 

The English translations on the menu help, but can lead you astray. Handmade noodles with clams is nothing like the common Italo-American dish of pasta with clam sauce. It's a bowl of seafood soup containing clams, squid, mussels, shrimp and blue crab as well as thin strips of zucchini, potato and chewy seaweed. The soup is delicate and soothing, unless you add some of the extraordinarily spicy red concoction that comes in a little pot on the side

 

Almost a third of the menu is devoted to Myung Dong's other specialty, the popular chicken, rice and ginseng soup called samgye tang. What takes up space is the long description of the traditions connected with this soup and the way Myung Dong prepares it. This is in Korean, with no English translation.

 

Light, fresh and invigorating, samgye tang arrives steaming in a black pottery bowl. Spoon around and you'll come up with ginseng roots, glutinous rice, jujubes (Asian red dates), chestnuts, pine nuts, garlic and green onion tops. The small chicken is cut in half for sharing, and there's a dish of mixed salt, pepper and sesame seeds for dipping.

 

Myung Dong offers bulgogi (barbecued beef), but this is not a barbecue restaurant, so I wouldn't make a point of ordering it. Try instead mandu (dumplings) in soup or steamed, accompanied by soy sauce and vinegar, or one of the jorims�fish stewed along with sliced daikon and whole garlic cloves in a sweetened dark sauce. 

 

The banchan (side dishes) that accompany meals are very good, and the kimchi, which is made in house, is excellent. 

 

Myung Dong Noodle House, 698 S. Irolo Street, #105, Los Angeles. Tel: (213) 251-1066. Open 9:30 a.m. to 9:30 p.m. Monday through Saturday. Closed Sunday. Prices range from $8 to $18.50, with most dishes under $10.

In the Market for Hawaii B.B.Q.

I'm not a fast food eater, but every so often I crave the teriyaki chicken combination at Hawaii B.B.Q., a busy stall in the middle of the Grand Central Market in downtown Los Angeles. The combo is cheap, but unlike a lot of cheap food, it's really good, and that means well-seasoned, lightly cooked and very fresh.

There's a generous amount of boneless chicken on top of rice accompanied by two vegetables--broccoli and green cabbage last year, and now bok choy and green cabbage. The teriyaki sauce is light too so that it plays up the natural taste of the food rather than drowning it in syrupy, salty, goo.

The teriyaki chicken combination is $2.25 at Hawaii B.B.Q., Stall E-10 in the Grand Central Market, 317 S. Broadway, Los Angeles. Open daily,
9 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Call 'Em 'Crispies'

Sweet and crisp--I can't resist this combination, especially when I find it in pan dulce (Mexican sweet bread). The other day I dropped into Gigante Panaderia y Tortilleria on Western Avenue in Los Angeles.

Checking the racks of bread that line the windows, I  came across an extraordinary oval of crisp, flaky pastry, dark brown and glistening with syrupy glaze. Most pan dulce have fanciful Spanish names drawn from their shape, texture, or some other characteristic. But this one does not. "They're crispies," said the baker. I had hoped for something more imaginative, but no matter what the name, I'll be back for more.

Crispies are 60 cents each at Gigante Panaderia y Tortillera, 936 N. Western Ave., Los Angeles. Tel: (323) 464-3139.

Korean Lesson: Say 'Chua Tang'

If you don't speak Korean, you might walk out of YeYe, a friendly little café on the northern edge of Koreatown. The menu cards are in Korean, with no English translation, and the hostess doesn't speak English.

But don't leave.  Instead, sit down and say "chua tang."  Like a magic password, this will bring you a bowl of steaming fish soup, a YeYe specialty.  Cabbage leaves and bright green sesame leaves float at the top, but you won't see any chunks of fish. The delicate freshwater fish used in this soup has been ground to a paste and blended into the broth.

Koreans appreciate chua tang for its healthful properties—it is said to increase stamina. Mild, rather than spicy like much Korean food, it can be eaten as is, or given a jolt of chopped green chiles or red chile paste from the condiment tray on the side.  Other seasonings with which you can dress it up are tiny round wild sesame seeds, chopped green onions, garlic puree and sansho, a perfumed spice derived from the prickly ash tree, accompanied by a spoon so minute it holds only a few grains.

Earthy rice cooked with red beans comes with the soup, and you can eat them together, spooning up a little rice, then soup. You also get an array of banchan (side dishes), which might include kimchi, sweet cubes of kabocha squash, bean sprouts, green beans with tiny dried fish, marinated daikon shreds and translucent cucumber slices. .

After you've eaten this fresh light food and sipped a glass of hot barley tea, you'll feel restored and invigorated. And you'll know that chua tang hasn't earned its reputation for nothing.

Chua tang is  $7.99 at YeYe Korean Restaurant, 946 N. Western Ave., Los Angeles. Tel: (323) 465-9090. Open Monday through Saturday from 10:30 a.m. to 9:30 p.m.
Closed Sunday.

Breakfast in Oaxaca

Breakfast in Oaxaca is as dazzling as the brightly colored handwoven tops the local women wear. Who could possibly want toast, scrambled eggs or oatmeal instead of this vibrant food?

Certainly not me.

Early each morning, before the sun drove the chill from the quiet streets, I would walk  down García Vigil and  cross busy Independencia to the  two zócalos, lush with trees. Passing the cathedral and the sidewalk cafes, largely empty at that hour, I would come to the Mercado Benito Juárez, crammed with indigenous clothing, herbs, fruits, vegetables, cheeses, mole pastes and much more.

A little farther, and I was in the cavernous, cheerful  Mercado 20 de Noviembre,  where cooks would tempt me with black mole tamales, empanadas stuffed with earthy Oaxacan cheese, entomatadas (rolled tortillas coated with tomato sauce)  and other  treats.

At the Comedor Chabelita, where I usually ate,  I might order salsa de queso—cheese in a  bowl of spicy tomato sauce, accompanied by fragrant corn tortillas. A tall glass of foamy, just-squeezed orange juice would come from a nearby stall.  Sometimes I would have coffee, and sometimes chocolate de leche, sweet spiced Oaxacan chocolate dissolved in hot milk and served with an airy bun called pan de yema.

Roving vendors would urge me to buy wooden spatulas, molinillos for beating hot chocolate, handcarved cocktail picks and  bookmarks crowned with animals. An aged beggar woman often came by for a peso or two and any leftover tortillas.

Shift to Los Angeles and the scene is quite different, but the breakfast is the same. Through the window, I can see cars passing on Pico Boulevard, but in front of me is a sumptuous plate of salsa de queso, seasoned with epazote like the salsa in Oaxaca.  On the side are beans blacker than night and a  coarse, chewy handmade corn tortilla as large as a dinner plate. I have chocolate de leche, brewed with chocolate from Juquila, Oaxaca. And there is pan de yema, if I want it.

This breakfast is served in the new dining room of  Tortillería y Antojitos Expresión Oaxaquena, a shop
that sells freshly made tortillas,   Oaxacan cheese, mole pastes, chiles de agua and other essentials,  along with excellent Oaxacan dishes. The food was mostly for takeout, because the shop lacked adequate seating.

Now there is plenty of room at tables set with bright checked Oaxacan cloths and colorful napkin holders shaped like fruits and vegetables. A green chapulín (grasshopper) is embedded in the floor at the entrance, a tribute to the tiny insects that Oaxacans like to eat.

The restaurant is open all day, but I usually go for breakfast. One day's $4.99 special included two empanadas— handmade corn tortilla turnovers--filled with quesillo, which is a long strip of  Oaxacan cheese formed into a ball; squash flowers and epazote. This came with guacamole so fresh it contained chunks of just-cut avocado; very good nopales (cactus) salad and a tiny container of black beans seasoned with anise-scented Oaxacan avocado leaf.

A memela is a long oval tortilla spread lightly with asiento, the savory remnants from frying pork fat;  black beans and melted Oaxacan cheese. Containers of avocado salsa and a fiery roasted red chile salsa come on the side.

Another option is salsa de huevo—eggs instead of cheese in tomato salsa. When you order these dishes, you also get a platter of chips drizzled with mole sauce and sprinkled with shredded cheese.
That's a lot of food for a very small price.

Breakfast drinks include chocolate de agua, made with water, as well as the richer milky hot chocolate. And the tortillería serves wonderful, cinnamon-scented coffee in a giant mug for only a dollar.

If you prefer to go later in the day, there's a full range of Oaxacan food, such as the pizza-like clayudas,  chicken with black mole and tacos and burritos filled with Oaxacan meats

The dining room isn't staffed, so you may have to go to the shop, which has a separate entrance next door, to pick up a menu and alert someone that you want to eat. . Then a waitress will come into the dining room to take your order and bring the food.  I usually pay my bill in the shop, which gives me a chance to see what Oaxacan goodies are on hand and to take home a bag of chips, which are as good as any I've found in Los Angeles.

Tortillería y Antojitos Expresión Oaxaquena is located at 2201 W. Pico Blvd., Los Angeles. Tel: (323) 766-0575. Hours are 6 a.m. to 11 p.m. Sunday through Thursday, to midnight on Friday and 3 a.m. Saturday night.

Shopping for Salpores

Salpores are the Salvadoran version of a scone, less rich  but equally  wonderful with a cup of coffee. You'll find them at all Salvadoran panaderías  (bakeries) and at Mexican panaderías where Salvadorans shop. The most common types are golden salpores de maíz (made with corn flour), pale salpores de almidón (yuca flour) and salpores de arroz (rice flour).

My favorites are the corn salpores at Pacific French Bakery in Los Angeles, because here they're given a special touch. Dollops of rich brown sugar are pressed into  the surface, so that you get not only mellow corn flavor but now and then a tantalizing burst of  sweetness.

Corn salpores are three for $1 at Pacific French Bakery,
4152-4160 Washington Blvd., Los Angeles. Tel: (323) 735-1700.

Recipe: Baby Squash Tacos with Cheese

Strolling through the Wednesday farmers market in downtown Los Angeles, I spotted zucchini smaller than my slimmest finger with tiny flowers attached. "What do you do with these?" I asked the farmer. "Cook them with tomatoes and cheese, anything you like," he said,  "and wrap them in a tortilla."

That's what inspired these delicious tacos. If you can't find baby squash with flowers, substitute ½ pound of tender young zucchini cut into sticks about ¼ inch thick and 1 ½ to 2 inches long. Tuck in avocado slices, chopped tomatoes and perhaps a spoonful of Mexican crema or sour cream and you'll have enough filling for a dozen tortillas.

TACOS DE CALABACITAS CON QUESO
Baby Squash Tacos with Cheese

16 baby zucchini with flowers attached, about ½ pound
2 Anaheim chiles, roasted and peeled
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 large cloves garlic, minced
Freshly ground black pepper
1 ½ pounds tomatoes, chopped
1 teaspoon salt
6 ounces Jack cheese, shredded
8 to 10 corn tortillas, heated

Wash the zucchini and remove the flowers. Open the flowers carefully and remove the pistils. Cut off any stems remaining on the zucchini, then cut each in half lengthwise. Cut the chiles into thin strips about 1 inch long.

Heat the olive oil in a large non-stick skillet. Add the onion and garlic, sprinkle with a few grinds of black pepper and cook until the onion is tender, about 5 minutes. Add the tomatoes, chile strips, the zucchini and squash flowers.  Sprinkle with the salt. Cook until the zucchini can be pierced by a knife and no excess liquid remains in the pan, about 15 minutes. Sprinkle the cheese evenly over the top and heat until melted.

Spoon into soft hot tortillas, fold and eat.  Makes 8 to 10 tacos, depending upon how much filling you stuff into the tortillas.

Note: To heat the tortillas, wrap them in foil and place in a 300-degree oven for 30 minutes.