TASTE TEST: Chocolate Baby Back Ribs at Ember Room

Hidden on 9th ave. between Hell's Kitchen and the Theatre District is an Asian Fusion restaurant known as Ember Room. As usual, I read about it in my Thrillist newsletter. It mentioned ribs. I love ribs. So I was totally game. However, when I got there I took a closer look at the menu and discovered that the "ribs" were actually Chocolate-covered Baby Back Ribs. Chocolate? On my ribs? (shakes head)

I like chocolate on my sundaes. I love Dunkin Donuts hot chocolate--only from the Bronx, where they add milk. I only eat chocolate cake. Crumbs makes the sickest triple chocolate Blackout cupcake that is mind-blowingly good. However, I don't really like chocolate candy, or chocolate sprinkles, or chocolate ice cream, and if someone suggested that I try putting chocolate on my ribs, I'd say that was gross and that they're insane...and I'd be wrong.

First off, it's important to clarify that while these ribs are dripping in dark sauce, it's not all chocolate. Most of it is barbecue sauce. You can taste and smell some of the chocolate, but it's not a completely jarring experience. It eases you into the flavor. However, if you're not a fan of chocolate, I wouldn't recommend it. After the second rib, you'd have your fill.

The companion dishes I'd recommend are the BBQ Short Ribs and the Roasted Oxtail. The latter is super salty and I could feel my blood pressure rising with every bite, but it balances out the sweetness of the chocolate flavor.

I've been to the restaurant twice already in two weeks and I plan on going again this Friday before I see The Motherfucker With Hat, due to my new theater kick. But I must force myself to try other places all summer. I cannot have a repeat of last summer, which consisted of me gorging myself on BonChon Monday through Saturday. After all, I didn't make a list for nothing.

647 9th Ave, Btwn 45th & 46th St

TASTE TEST: Korean Fried Chicken at BonChon

I haven't sat down and had a long talk with my buddy Kristine in a very long time. So I made her trek all the way from Jersey City to meet me for something I've never tried before: Korean fried chicken. Originally, we were supposed to meet up at Dok Suni's in the East Village, but I didn't feel up for the travel—I know, I'm a douchebag; she traveled plenty far for me—so we scrambled for somewhere closer to eat. She told me that if my heart was set on trying Korea's version of fried chicken, I could meet her at BonChon Chicken. Sounded good to me.

As usual, I immediately perused the menu for what was edible. The chicken menu was broken up into wings and drums and combos of wings and drums, and then there were sauce options. I, being the wuss that I am, chose the non-spicy garlic soy sauce and 3 drums. I thought they might be appetizer small, but when the meal arrived, they were adult-sized. Still a little wary of the taste, I took a timid bite.

Crunch!
Sweet!
Juicy!
Mmmm.

I can still taste it. It's like Chinese fried chicken, but ten times better. It's like they fried the chicken twice, and rubbed honey and duck sauce all over it. Where has this been all my life?

I'm a chubby girl, but my chubby friend Ty decided to get a lap gastric band and her doc said she wouldn't be allowed to eat fried foods for several months. That meal, among many others, are why I exercise whenever I can and eat healthy when I eat-in. Because there's no amount of medical warnings that would stop me from consuming that again...unless at least three experts proved it was poisonous. lol

98 Chambers St.

SWEET TREAT: popbar, a Topper's Utopia

I haven't had a popsicle since I was 12. I used to love them. They were extremely refreshing and I was always eager to read the riddles that were printed on the sticks. (i.e. What is black, white, and red all over? A newspaper. Get it? Read all over.) But of course, like everyone, I hated the fact that they dripped all over you and ruined a perfectly good shirt. Plus, I was soon eternally enamored with vanilla ice cream smothered in chewy rainbow sprinkles, and indoctrinated into the gelato-loving cult. Thus, I retired my love for pops.

Then one steamy summer day last week, lost in the Village while searching for gelato, Ali and I passed popbar, which sells handcrafted gelato, sorbet, and yogurt on a stick, made with 100% real fruit. We were so excited to see a childhood favorite in the neighborhood, we vowed to return, and so we did this weekend after a rousing game of ping pong at Fat Cat.

Even though their menu consisted of cream, pistachio, coffee, chocolate, coconut chocolate, vanilla chocolate, vanilla splash, hazelnut, strawberry lemon, raspberry mint lemon, and their exclusive popyogurt, I ordered the super simple strawberry sorbet (which I'm allergic to, shhh!) and Ali ordered mango. Our friend Kristine was the most adventurous. She chose mango drizzled with Italian gourmet chocolate. 

I rarely indulge in toppings. Even when I bought my Baskin Robbins sundae to score that baseball cap, I stuck to the basics: whip cream, sprinkles, and a cherry. But if I were a top-aholic, I could've had my pick of almonds, hazelnuts, pistachios, shredded coconut, granola, coffee grains, biscotti crumbles, brownie chunks, dark chocolate, milk chocolate, or white chocolate. AND popbar encourages double-dipping and allows requests for one layer of one topping and another layer of a different topping and yet another layer on top of that. It's a topper's utopia...totally wasted on me. lol

BUT, I am interested in trying the coconut next time. Since I love coconut gelato, I might like a coconut pop. Of course, I'm not too keen on paying $3.75 again, when I can just get a pop at my local bodega for a buck. Then again, I can't pretend those are healthy when I'm pretty sure they're not even 10% real fruit.

popbar, 5 Carmine Street

FLASHBACK: Gelato for Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner

The cliche American things to do in Italy are to eat gelato, "hold up" the Leaning Tower of Pisa, eat gelato, visit the Vatican City, eat gelato, and shovel pasta—fistfuls at a time—into your mouth...then top it off with gelato. And since I'm American, I did as the Americans would do, minus Pisa—couldn't make the trip.

This gelateria in Florence is just one of the many shops I went to while in Europe. I swear, I ate at least three servings in one day while wandering around Rome. My favorite flavors are coconut and stracciatella, which is basically chocolate and vanilla mixed together. The best I had was next door to a pizza shop called, if I'm not mistaken, Caffè Accademia, right outside the Spanish Steps train stop. That's right, there are train stops near historical monuments in Rome. Your mind would be blown if you exited the Colosseum train stop.

My friend Anna was the most adventurous. She tried a different flavor every time we stopped in every Italian city (Rome, Florence, Venice, and Milan) we traveled to—from mango to Nutella. I always tried hers, but stuck with my beloved coconut. When we returned to Madrid, we "settled" for the gourmet gelato at Giangrossi, two blocks from our apartment. Like in the shops of Chelsea Market, you can watch them make your gelato in their kitchens.

Nowadays, I settle for the Village's Grom whenever I need a fix. $6 for a little vanilla delight. I wouldn't say it's the best, but I will say that I'll be trying a few more places around Bleecker Street this summer.

SWEET TREAT: Baskin Robbins Mini Baseball Caps

When I was a kid, I vaguely remember eating ice cream out of a black plastic baseball cap. Nothing odd about that...except I think I was in the Dominican Republic. Hmmm I have the worst memory.

But I still have the cap. I didn't notice which team it was for though until a few months ago. The White Sox. I'm no Boston fan, but when I was in high school I liked a White Sox fan. If I was superstitious, I would've thought it was fate. Instead I thought, "Man, I wish I could get the Yankee mini cap." lol

 That's Wile E. Coyote and Bugs Bunny under there.

So me and Ally made our way to the nearest Baskins and basically just asked for the cap and whatever else we had to buy to get it. $5.99 for a two scoop sundae (I recommend America's Birthday Cake, despite the embedded cake cubes, or the Daiquiri—it's so weird) with fudge, whip cream, a cherry, and assorted toppings (sprinkles, nuts, etc.), plus a bottle of water. I know, the water is kind of random, but appreciated. The promotional ads say to collect all 30, but I honestly can't picture myself eating 30 sundaes this summer. I mean...if they were gelato, maybe. lol

FLASHBACK: Cerveceria 100 Montaditos

In the summer of 2005, my Chinese friend Anna convinced me to study abroad in Madrid with her for our Junior Spring semester. I mention her ethnicity, because even though I'm Dominican, she was more confident speaking Spanish than I was. Of course, she learned Spanish in a classroom, five days a week, and I learned it in the barrio. Not everyone knows this, but all Spanish people do not speak the same Spanish. We all have our own cultural colloquialisms that get lost in translation once we cross the border, and it can lead to plenty of misunderstandings. Not to mention, Spaniards pronounce the letter "z" as "th," and they use the "vosotros" tense. The idea that I would have to be a mime for 4 months was freaking me out. What I didn't count on—despite my history of being a picky eater—was not liking the food.

When we first arrived, our school treated us to a few snacks at orientation. I passed. I rarely like buffets at meetings. Then they told us to meet them at a restaurant for lunch, and bought us all paella. I rarely if ever eat seafood. Chalk it up to my deep fear of aquatic animals or the fact that it just tastes like salt, so I didn't eat much. To top off the day, a few us met up at a restaurant for dinner—safety in numbers and all that. I had the chicken. It was a little weird. I figured I just needed to get use to Spaniard menus and learn all the translations, and eventually I'd find something I liked. Until then, I was a frequent customer of Burger King and TGI Fridays. Yes I know, how American of me.

As a part of the study abroad program, our school organized several weekend trips to some of Spain's cities. Places, like Segovia and El Escorial, that tourists rarely think to go. On every trip I played it safe: chicken, with a side of chicken, drizzled with chicken. Then one day I saw what looked like spaghetti and meatballs on the menu…only to discover that "meat sauce" was alfredo style with chunks of pork. The Spaniards are HUGE fans of pork. The cow has no stock here. Babe is king. So I gave up. It was no wonder I lost 20lbs in 2 months. With all the walking and the serious lack of food, I might as well have been on a diet.

Then one magical day in Seville, on a birthday weekend trip for one of my roommates, we all went to Cerveceria 100 Montaditos for lunch. It's a restaurant that runs like clockwork. At each table is a list of 100 tapas, small dishes—each for 1 euro. You check off as many as you'd like (or can afford), bring it to the counter, and wait to be called for pickup. I tried my friend's tortilla española: eggs, potatoes, onions, and a shaker-full of salt. At last! It was like my stomach had finally arrived from America. It got stuck in customs, but once it was cleared, it was ready to party. After that, I was a little more adventurous to try more tapas. There were a few hits (ox tail) and misses (patatas bravas - eck!). I was just happy to finally feel like I was in Spain.

Photos by jordanfischer and E Vön Zita

Best. Dumplings. Ever!

Alright, full disclosure, I'm not an adventurous eater. The first time I had dumplings was because a co-worker pretty much called me out as a woose and demanded I tried a variety at 23rd Street's Rickshaw Dumpling Bar. I tried the steamed and fried dumplings filled with pork, chicken, and other mysterious contents, and it was…decent. It wasn't exactly a mind-blowing, life-altering, palate-changing experience, so I confidently resigned dumplings to the Inedible column.

Then I went to Pocha 32 (15 W. 32nd St.) in Koreatown and, at the urging of my friends, tried chicken-filled fried dumplings for the 2nd time. It was perfect!!! I'm Dominican. Our dumpling-equivalent is pastelitos. We have beef-filled and chicken-filled, and I hate the chicken-filled. I've never liked chicken-filled anything in all 24 years of my life. But these dumplings were perfectly fried and perfectly juicy. I couldn't stop eating them. I felt bad about it. I hadn't ordered them, but my friends insisted they couldn't finish them all, so I kept going. If they let me, I would've eaten every last one. If I weren't on a budget, I would've ordered some to go. Instead, I just kept reminding myself, "You can come back!" You know the food is good when you've already decided you're coming back before the main course arrives.

Speaking of which, I ordered the Korean BBQ thinking it tastes the same everywhere—my favorites being from Seoul Garden, Friend House, Aoki, and a food truck in Midtown. But it doesn't. My friend's roasted beef tasted way better. I know what you're thinking. This could be one of those situations where everyone else's food just tastes better than yours, a.k.a. grub envy.

n. the ravenous sensation that eaters get when they realize someone else's food tastes better than there's and they've made a horrible mistake picking what they ordered. Example: Monica's got grub envy. Look at the way she's drooling over your fried dumplings.

But everyone agreed. Fried dumplings and roasted beef was the thing to order at Pocha!

Of course, being the negative-Nelly that I am, I fear that it won't be as good the second time around. What if they're not fried to perfection again? What if the chef from that night is out sick or on vacation? What if I get the order wrong? lol I'm a fatalist. I rather expect the worst than fantasize about the best. This Saturday, I'll return to decide once and for all if fried dumplings go in the Edible column.

6/26 Update: ALL of it was still amazing.


Photo by Charles Haynes