Tacos Sinaloa (Mexican), Berkeley, CA

Walking along Telegraph Avenue is something special. As the main thoroughfare between Oakland and Berkeley, it is a place that captures, cultivates, and concentrates the funky elements of both cities over a two mile stretch of four lane wide pavement. The first three blocks South of campus are particularly interesting, home to a quirky mix of college eats like Fat Slice and Blondie's, "upscale" bites like Muracci's and Thai Noodle, and boutique clothing stores and dessert stops like CREAM and Sheng Kee. Street fairs are a daily occurrence, and jaywalking is a pastime. Upper Telegraph, as it's called, is where grunge and class meet and mingle, making it a fitting location for Tacos Sinaloa, a brand that had been kept secret and cherished by the streets of Oakland for a decade. Sinaloa's underground and underdog reputation adds to the collective vibe of most restaurants on the stretch, that of dives overshadowed by the towers of San Francisco and world famous restaurants in North Berkeley's Gourmet Ghetto.

Sinaloa's expansion to Berkeley followed in the footsteps of successful ventures like the Melt and KoJa Kitchen, a pair of fast casual restaurants based off food trucks that opened early last year. Though neither found the success of local shack Top Dog and New York import Artichoke Basille's immediately, both played a role in revitalizing the Telegraph Area. Their additions also helped expand the foodie paradise formerly centered around Asian Ghetto further West to include most of the Southside neighborhood below College Avenue. Pancho's and La Burrita, the two resident Mexican eateries in the district, each have long histories of dissatisfying food and high prices. Their lack of quality contributed to a void of Hispanic eats that could only be filled by a true powerhouse, one by the likes of Sol y Luna or El Burro Picante, Downtown Berkeley's top two stops. 

Sinaloa's addition filled that void and then some. Here in the capital of South Berkeley, the spunky little Mexican restaurant has already made a name for itself. College students whisper about their burritos and stumble over each other for a taco trio between classes. Older, more established residents of the North Berkeley Hills and North Oakland travel here for to-go lunches and catering orders. Even professors take breaks from lecture to swing in for a quesadilla and horchata. Their selection of a dozen meats is the main reason. Simply put, no other taqueria for miles offers the variety of protein Sinaloa does. Highlights include Al Pastor (spicy pork), Chorizo (sausage), and Lengua (tongue), a threesome most restaurants have no more than one of. Sinaloa also prepares Buche (pork stomach) and Tripe (intestine), both of which are relatively uncommon. On top of all those is the Suadero (rose meat), a special cut of beef fried in its own fat best described as a cross between roast beef and bacon. Greasy and delicious, it makes for the perfect filling for anything that goes into your stomach. 

Tacos are the unquestioned kings at Sinaloa, and anyone who doesn't get them is either in the wrong or so experienced they've already tried all twelve. House made salsa, lime, and pico de gallo top each one, which otherwise consists of a warmed tortilla and your choice of meat. The salsa, though overpowering in some ways, has a nice warmth and powerful kick that compliments almost all the proteins. No single item on the menu is better than the $2 carnitas taco, one surely on the list of best in the East Bay. Burritos are naturally the second most sought after dish on the board. Sinaloa prepares them in the Northern California Mission style, with pinto beans, rice, sour cream, cheese and salsa all rolled up together in the tortilla. Steak or chicken are the most popular next to carnitas in the wrap, but the best burrito might be the Chorizo with salsa on the side. Chorizo, arguably the spiciest and most flavorful of all Mexican meats, can be hard to eat when it is the star of a dish or heaped into a taco. Smashed together with rice, balanced by sour cream and cheese, and encased in a tortilla, however, it shines. Sloppy, steaming, and delicious, this burrito is perfect for cold days as it will heat your hands while warming your insides.

The rest of Sinaloa's menu is often overlooked after the two main choices are considered, but that's really a shame. Quesadillas here are thick and greasy, often crispy and perfect for dunking. The Suadero quesadilla leaves strings of cheese trailing each bite of magnificent crisped beef and sour cream. Even more overlooked is the entire third of the menu dedicated to seafood, a section that includes cocktails and ceviche tostadas along with the usual suspects. Their mixta tostada stand out as the best of the fish, with a heap of crab, octopus, and shrimp marinated in citrus and cilantro on top of a fried tortilla. Sinaloa features an array of Aqua Frescas that pair perfectly with it, namely Pina (pineapple) and Jamaica (hibiscus). Easily the best of all is the Horchata (rice water), which can be upgraded to a drink unique to Sinaloa - the Strawberry Horchata - for no additional charge. 

Tacos Sinaloa has taken less than a month to inspire a rabid following amongst the Berkeley community, and it's easy to see why. Its closest competitor in taste, El Burro Picante, is over a mile away in distance and a dollar heftier in price. No other restaurant in the city combines quality and quantity as seamlessly as Sinaloa, a small shop that does it while maintaining the unique, laid back vibe that helped it earn its delectable reputation in the first place. In a city best known as the birthplace of California cuisine, Sinaloa is quietly doing Oakland proud one taco at a time.

Rating: 8.8/10

Smitten Ice Cream (Dessert), San Francisco, CA

Gourmet ice cream is, arguably, the tastiest of the dozen trends that have swept the nation in recent years (honorable mention to food trucks). From Portland's Salt and Straw to New York's Big Gay Ice Cream, New Orleans stalwart Creole Creamery to San Francisco's own Bi-Rite, shops specializing in thick and gooey cream are opening to massive crowds and critical acclaim. Arguably the most innovative of these locations (no, not Humphry Sloccombe and its Foie Gras and Prosciutto scoops) is Smitten, a place that pumps out surprisingly traditional flavors from the inside of a refurbished shipping crate. Its humble address aside (the container is located adjacent to the decrepit alley that gave birth to Blue Bottle Coffee), this tiny creamery wins impressive points in numerous ways, most notably the manner in which it crafts decadent frozen treats.

Unlike other creameries who churn ice cream by the gallon each morning, Smitten revolutionizes the industry by making (not mixing like Coldstone, actually MAKING) each serving to order. To the surprise of many first timers, this approach results in quick and delicious cones that arrive to customers "in 90 seconds". Smitten's not-so-secret secret weapon/ingredient is liquid nitrogen, which can be observed billowing in plumes from the buckets, mixers, and stirring bowls behind the counter. This nitrogen is harnessed by the ice cream mixers themselves, a quartet of unique and aptly named "Brr" machines. Five years - and apparently three patents - went in to the design and construction of these mixers, creations that can't be found outside Smitten's four corrugated metal walls. Though risky, the time and money spent more than paid off; many now consider the establishment to be the best in the competitive Bay Area, if not the world. Much of this praise stems from the smoothness of the ice cream; liquid nitrogen's low temperature (-300 degrees) keeps the majority of ice crystals from forming.

Smitten's brilliance goes well past science. Beretta Creamery Milk, TCHO Chocolate, Swenton Strawberries - each ingredient used here is crafted by local, artisanal, and organic vendors. Though these ingredients are understandably more expensive (Smitten's price tag is insanely high as a result), the expense is worth it; each and every flavor tastes pure and unadulterated. My personal favorite is the Apple Crisp, only offered in November, an option that features rich, cinnamon-coated apples in a slightly sour vanilla cream. Crushed and spiced Graham crackers add a light crunch and doughy note, the perfect compliment for the fruit. Easily the best scoop I've ever sampled, it's often hard for me to walk away without a few pints around Thanksgiving. As delicious as the seasonal flavors such as this  are, the standard daily choices (offered year round) are equally delicious. Smooth, silky Salted Caramel is a favorite of most customers, with the TCHO Chocolate coming in a close second.

At $5 a scoop, the price makes Smitten's ice cream a luxury item. Though stunningly smooth, chalk full of local ingredients, and made fresh to order, the dessert here isn't completely worth the cost. Local superstars Bi-Rite and Humphry Sloccombe, two business known for expensive treats of similar quality, charge two dollars less a scoop. Smitten, because of this, is a place I visit occasionally, but not frequent. There are far better deals scattered throughout the city I like to take advantage of, and some of the best ice cream on the West Coast, made by Strauss Family Creamery, can be found at most local markets for half as much as Smitten. Regardless of price or convenience (parking's a hassle, too), Smitten is easily the best ice cream parlor in a city in love with ice cream. Though it may break the bank, do yourself a favor and give this spot a try if you're ever touring San Francisco.

CREAM (Ice Cream), Berkeley, CA

Overrated restaurants exist in every state, city, and town, muddying the waters for foodies dedicated to finding the best eats. CREAM is Berkeley's answer to San Francisco duds Scoma's and Fog City Diner, a pair of restaurants so underwhelming that you wonder why reservations are unavailable for the next six hours, much less six months. Though not quite on the same scale of duddery, this tiny ice cream shop in the heart of the University District draws massive lines for a mediocre product day in and day out. Their vast array of tiny treats are idolized by newspapers and bloggers alike, some of whom compare the place with true giants like Humphry Sloccombe and Bi-Rite Creamery. To put it in perspective, such praise is like the New York Times claiming the Mark Wahlberg reboot of "Planet of the Apes" is of comparable cinematic merit to "Pulp Fiction" or "The Godfather" (I think not).

I ventured to the "Planet of the Apes" of ice cream establishments on a warm summer day in Berkeley. Though I initially made the trip to Telegraph to buy a Pineapple Bun from nearby Sheng Kee Bakery, a strange, mirage-like sight caught me off guard. CREAM, for possibly the first time in its existence, lacked a line. Stunned and with dreams of a delicious frozen treat planted firmly in my head, I walked down the block and into the shop ("shop" is generous terminology, as Berkeley's CREAM is little more than a cramped counter with two tables in the corner). Blue signage, orange walls, and perturbed servers surrounded me, the latter prodding for my order. After purposely taking my time to glance over the short menu, I confidently purchased a brownie and a $2 build your own ice cream sandwich, though I was torn on what to fill it with.

My caramel-craving taste buds won out it the end, as I took a scoop of Royal Caramel Swirl between two Snickerdoodles. The cookies, buttery and warm, were among the best I'd had in a long time. Their lack of firmness, however, didn't win points. Putting two fresh-out-of-the-oven cookies around ice cream sounds great until you realize it creates a runny mess. CREAM's Snickerdoodles did just that, melting my Caramel Swirl, which in turn saturated the cookies to the point of bread pudding. Though terribly tasty, it was nearly impossible to eat without dumping goop all over my modest khakis. Grabbing a cup and an arsenal of napkins, I coaxed the center out and ate it with a spoon while sitting on the curb outside. Rich and creamy, the ice cream actually wasn't half bad; that said, it wasn't Bi-Rite, either. Putting the namesake dessert aside, I reached for the brownie, took a bite, and threw the remainder in the trash. It had the consistency of brown sawdust and the lack of flavor associated with said wood shavings. Deciding I had come, saw, and conquered, I got up to leave. Looking back at the store, I noticed the universe had righted itself - CREAM's line stretched around the corner and halfway to Unit 1 in the distance.

My visit to CREAM was a welcome insight into crowdsourced restaurant recommendations. The trip affirmed my long held belief about Yelp's trustworthiness, a website on which hundreds (maybe thousands by now) of locals and visitors alike have raved about a tiny ice cream shop on Telegraph for the past two years. It's not that CREAM was bad - or, for that matter, Yelp was wrong - it was simply overhyped to the point where anything short of Gordon Ramsey divebombing a dragon into my taste buds would have been underwhelming. All attributes considered, I actually like the place and would recommend it to friends uninterested in trekking across the Bay or down to Fenton's for some real ice cream. Is the idea unique and fun? Sure, unique for the Bay Area, at any rate. Would I consider it on par with renowned, award winning scoops? No, not by any stretch of the imagination. Will I return? Surprisingly, I hope I get the chance.

Elmwood Cafe (Brunch/American), Berkeley, CA

Are you Berkeley enough? Elmwood is. This restaurant/coffee shop/people watching spot truly makes College Avenue what it is - a haven for everything I love about this city. The multitude of ethnic markets, pot shops, and dream catcher weavers would seem out of place without this world-class brunch establishment anchoring the block. Lines filled with educated undergrads and ravenous residents from neighboring neighborhoods start forming early in the morning and stretch throughout the day. Locals aren't the only fans of Elmwood, though; visiting speakers, tourists, and high school students from out of town flock here after treks around the campus a few blocks North. They do so for good reason - Elmwood is THE spot for a trendy brunch in the East Bay.

I went to Elmwood with a friend after touring the Berkeley campus back in June. Miraculously, no line awaited our arrival. Waltzing straight up to the vintage marble counter, we ordered a pair of Poached Egg Sandwiches, a Blackberry Coffeecake (for me), and a Blueberry Scone (for him). Sitting down at the "bar", a solid slab of marble attached to the coffee station, I noticed for the first time the ridiculous amount of drink-forming-contraptions behind the barrier. Espresso makers, French presses, strainers, Percolators, and other foreign machinery lined both walls, forming a caffeinated gauntlet. Lamenting my lack of hyperactivity, I got up to order a Cafe Au Lait, but was sidetracked by the array of "French Cream Soda" syrups marinating on the window sill. Deciding coffee would affect the hue of my pearly whites, I opted for a Peach soda and returned to my maroon bar stool.

All the food arrived simultaneously, with the drink floating over the bar to my right as egg sandwiches and pastries joined it from the left. The portions were personal, aka small, and pricey. Though disillusioned by the expense, I pushed forward and sunk my teeth into the poached egg. Wow. Perfectly cooked bacon (organic Niman Ranch bacon, to be precise) added a delicious smokiness to the otherwise excellent egg (equally organic). Underneath, tomato (notably organic as well), herbed mayonnaise, and arugula (organic-ness unspecified) added notes of a summer garden. The fresh baked ACME Bread Roll containing it all soaked up the juices of the tomato and ovum alike, allowing the whole sandwich to avoid degradation into an arugula salad topped with bacon.

Next, I sipped my Peach soda. Double wow. I never knew soda could be so beautiful. Fresh peach flavor mixed with the silo of cream I dumped atop the drink and mixed in. It tasted almost dessert like, yet surely cost me no more than 200 calories. The second dessert-like item, the Blackberry Coffeecake (triple wow), cost me upwards of 2,000. Rich and delicious, the thick treat made my arteries feel like Chris Christie's after his third Big Mac. Each bite contained firm little bits of peach and blackberry and almost no sign of blackberry seeds, the bane of my existence (I mean, the fruit would be perfect without seeds, am I right?!). My friend adored his scone, claiming it was the "best he ever ate", and cradled it like a newborn child. To further elaborate on his adoration, he noted the perfect thickness and multitude of berries, a pair of compliments I was unable to confirm as he refused to let me try it. Finishing our pastries, we reluctantly walked out of the shop, and back to the bus stop.

Any doubt I once held about the excellence of Elmwood vanished after that trip. Since then, I have returned twice, ordered the same meal, and been equally happy both times. Even now, I dream of the perfectly runny, lightly salted egg and thick coffeecake that accompanies it. Long story short, this restaurant is a gem in a city chalk-full of gems. Though it lacks the "grunge" of the University District, it has charms of its own (namely the food). For people slightly frightened by the happenings on Telegraph, too poor for Chez Panisse on Shattuck, yet curious enough to check out the "tamer" side of the city, College Avenue, and its flagship restaurant Elmwood Cafe, is the place to be.

Frost Cupcake Factory (Dessert/Bakery), Campbell, CA

"I've never met a problem a proper cupcake couldn't fix." - Sarah Ockler

Cupcakes are, in short, the best sweet on Earth. They're personal, portable, delectable, and affordable, a fearsome foursome of positive attributes usually reserved for donuts, bacon, and puppies (not the delectable part... ew). Each cake, when done right, features big flavors, creamy frosting, and a heaping spoonful of creativity, the latter of which opens the door to infinite flavor combinations. All the above praise comes from a guy who whole heartedly hated cupcakes until stepping into a little place called Frost Cupcake Factory in downtown Campbell.

The establishment, a pink and brown wonderland of cup-based treats, converted me into a lover months ago, but I didn't get around to documenting my new-found adoration until today. Perhaps I was embarrassed, shy, or simply in sheer disbelief, a disbelief eradicated by my follow-up visits to Frost. My first time, I opted for the childish, yet sinfully delicious Cookies 'N Cream, a chocolate cake covered in thick butter cream frosting layered with crushed Oreos. Though admittedly simple, the sweet was perfectly crafted, with textbook frosting and a light, soft cake balancing each other out. Try two I went for the slightly more sophisticated Lemon Meringue. Frost came through again, crafting an excellent, authentic Meringue (a la the famous cake), not a knock off vanilla cream sprinkled with citrus. The mound of frosting was fluffy and delicate, topping off a bittersweet lemon-vanilla base.

Try three I upped the ante, ordering a ridiculous twosome, the Blueberry Peach Bellini and Oh My Bacon. I was hoping they'd mess it up, pleading for a double punch to my taste buds that would send me back to my doughnut craving ways. Mess it up they did, but only with cupcake number one. The Blueberry Peach consisted of a thick, whipped cream style frosting (yuck) and boring cake filled with mushy fruit. It was, much to my joy, a total disappointment, especially the nasty cream on top, which lacked flavor and a pleasurable consistency. Fully ready to give up on the place and head over to Psycho Donuts, I took a bite of the Bacon offering and fell in love all over again. The cream cheese frosting paired perfectly with the smoky vanilla cake beneath, a cake littered with crumbled bacon bits. It made me forget the Bellini disaster ever happened, all while making me sick to my stomach (cream cheese frosting is nothing to play with, kids).

Frost, no matter how big the dud, always follows with a killer treat. I love this place without having tried their award winning, mind-blowing, flagship flavor, Apple Borscht. At this point, I can't imagine the severity my addiction will deepen to once I sample that treat. For now, my craving only burns, not rages, but that could change in the coming months. Show your solidarity with my waistline by giving this place a look. Cupcakes are officially a part of my life now, and I think they're here to stay.

Los Gatos Cafe (Breakfast/Brunch), Los Gatos, CA

Breakfast is easily one of my top three favorite meals of the day, and few places in the South Bay do it quite like Los Gatos Cafe. Others mass produce mediocre food at lightning speed, pride themselves on carton eggs, and charge ridiculous amounts for tiny portions. LGC, on the other hand, avoids those three negatives by serving quality cuisine at reasonable expense. Each dish is made to order by a skilled staff that specializes in benedicts and "egg souffles", two of the most difficult morning entrees. Outside the kitchen, staff bounce from table to table taking orders and delivering plates, eyes bright and smiles wide. In a small city renowned for overpriced foodie-favorites, trendy flameouts, and improperly popular cantinas, Los Gatos Cafe provides a refreshing reprieve.

Two days back, after a depressingly long early morning doctor's visit at Good Sam, I made the decision to try the "best breakfast in town". After driving in circles for a solid twenty minutes in search of a parking spot, one miraculously opened up right next to the front door. It must have been a sign. Walking in, my heart dropped when I saw the "cash only" placard plastered on the register. An ATM in the corner came to my rescue, and I proceeded to take a seat near the back door. Looking over the expansive menu, I decided to order a classic benedict - the Californian - to establish a baseline.

The food took about fifteen minutes to arrive, and only about five to eat (don't judge, needles take more out of you than a blood sample). My benedict, which I oddly paired with a blackberry pound cake and grits, was fantastic. Both eggs were perfectly poached and placed atop a pair of avocado halves and thick ham slices, which in turn rested on a toasted English muffin. A layer of thick (but not too thick), creamy, and well spiced Hollandaise topped it all off. It may have been the best benedict of my life. My side orders did not reach the same level of excellence. Though well made, the blackberry pound cake was hard to eat (too crumbly and full of seeds), while the grits next to them were basically terrible. They had the consistency of a tomato bisque your uncle dropped a bag of oyster crackers in (a.k.a. mushy and runny). The ball of pancake butter placed on top didn't help matters, and even after asking for cheddar of brown sugar, the bowl was still a mess.

Grits aside, my first experience at the downtown Los Gatos Cafe was a positive one, unlike previous ventures to the uptown location. Here, I left a handsome tip for the service (tipping is almost against my religion) and took a delicious cinnamon roll for the road. There, I threw out my order and nearly got in an argument with the waiter over the proper fillings for a Denver Omelette. Needless to say, I enjoyed this spot far more, and look forward to coming back in the future (preferably without getting shots first).

Kumako (Japanese/Ramen), San Jose, CA

Japantowns everywhere are renowned for their top-notch Asian cuisine (be it Japanese, Chinese, or Korean), excellent festivals (Obon, Cherry Blossom), and peerless ramen. Kumako, one of San Jose's numerous noodle joints, has helped maintain the latter of these three attributes since its opening in 2006. Like many others in the area, this tiny, "New York-style" restaurant boasts a half dozen soups and a loyal cult following of foodies. Said foodies, many of whom hail from nearby San Jose State University, swear by the traditional Tonkatsu and Charsu Ramens, a pair of pork bone based dishes. Other creative ramens like the Tan Tan (Spicy Pork with pepper) and Curry (curry broth with crab) are equally big hits, helping Kumako keep its reputation as the "Best of Silicon Valley".

Last night marked my tenth (or hundredth, who's counting?) trip to Kumako. Per usual, I started with a nice order of Charsu Don, a small bowl of rice covered in succulent chunks of roastedpork, and a side of Gyoza (pan fried pork and vegetable dumplings). The Charsu Don was delicious, although a little fatty, but the highlight of course one had to be the Gyoza, a dish Kumako makes in house unlike most other local establishments. Five came in the $3 order, making it more than worth the price. A crispy crust crackled on the bottom of each dumpling, protecting the sizzling ingredients inside that burned my mouth on first bite (I never learned to wait before eating them). After nearly searing my tongue and ruining my meal, I made short work of the other four pouches and proceeded to order my main dish. I opted for Tan Tan Ramen over the neighboring Tonkatsu Ramen, as "trying something new" sounded like an excellent idea.

That idea turned out to be a mistake. The Tan Tan, though tasty, was $10 of pure spice with a few pieces of pork thrown in. Its broth, what I assume was a Shio or Miso, was so chalk full of pepper flakes, pepper oil, and curry spice that it was nearly inedible. Though I ordered the dish knowing it would be hot, I sincerely hoped for a complex, slow burning heat as opposed to a face punch of chili. As inedible as the broth was, the main ingredients floating in it were pretty perfect, most notably the noodles, which had the nice, slightly chewy consistency I search for. While the fat fest on top of the Charsu Don was good, the pork in the Tan Tan was equally juicy and tender, with half the blubber weighing it down.

Needless to say, I learned my lesson: never stray from traditional types of Ramen at fast casual noodle houses. Shio, Miso, and Tonkatsu are the only types worth sampling, especially here. As enticing as "Italian Style Clam Ramen" sounds (not), I won't ever be giving it a try Kumako, I apologize. Next time, I fully intend to stick with Kumako's respected, edible, and borderline good Tonkatsu Ramen with sliced pork and bamboo shoots. Just thinking about it makes me salivate a little, while the thought of another bowl of Tan Tan induces gagging.

Falafel's Drive-In (Middle Eastern/Greek), San Jose, CA

San Jose has long been a town devoid of culinary creativity and quality. Many say most of the city's greatest establishments would not last a month in more competitive regions like San Francisco or Berkeley. Falafel's Drive-In, one of the South Bay's oldest and most cherished establishments, might be the lone exception to that generalization. Since its founding in 1966, this Middle Eastern joint has been serving up hundreds of signature Falafels and Banana Shakes a day to throngs of hungry customers. Its success stems in part from its unique design and vintage appeal; a lone service window fields orders from long lines of visitors attracted like gnats by the restaurant's iconic twenty foot high neon sign. Design aside, multitudes more are attracted by the great, simple, and affordable food. Regardless of attraction, the vast majority of customers leave happy, helping Falafel's Drive-In keep its title as the best cheap choice in West San Jose.

Though I initially dined at Falafel's back in 2000, my first return visit did not occur until last week, when I drove down San Carlos scanning the sides of the road for a quick bite. After passing up a McDonald's, Jack in the Box, and an arsenal of taquerias, I nearly gave up hope before spying the giant "Falafel" sign in the distance. Reluctantly, I agreed to drop a Middle Eastern lunch into an already upset stomach. After parking, I shuffled up to the window and quickly decided to order the classic meal (a large banana shake and large Falafel) and a Koubby. All the food combined cost a cool $12 (the meal $9), a reasonable price for the portion size. The service, though slow, was kind, wishing me a nice day as I took my seat and waited on my food.

My lunch came quickly, just five minutes after I paid, even though a large crowd had ordered right before me. I started with the Koubby, which, in retrospect, wasn't the best choice. The thick ball of ground beef and pine nuts coated with a cracked wheat shell was essentially a bad deep fried meatball - greasy and flavorless, as well as slightly overcooked. Though initially put off, I recovered my appetite by sipping the banana shake, a delicious, simple drink made with real ice cream, a little ice, and fresh whole bananas. Thick and creamy, the milkshake turned out to be the best part of the meal.

My Falafel was simply not of the same caliber. Filled with four freshly fried Falafel balls, iceberg lettuce, and a half cup of Sriracha, the large sandwich was certainly worth the price. The entree came laid out on its side, though, a position that allowed the ingredients to spill out onto the tray. Once placed upright and re-stuffed, the pita holding it all together instantly began to disintegrate, far too saturated by the lake of Sriracha to stay together. Grabbing a fork and knife, I ate my sandwich like a nice salad. Though tasty as a whole, the excellent Falafel balls were overwhelmed and equally saturated by the unnecessary amount of pepper sauce. A tangy Tzatziki would have done a far better job of accenting the flavor of the Chickpeas, assuming that's what the chef intended to do. After throwing the last hunks of iceberg lettuce away and cleaning my place, I left the restaurant and returned home slightly unhappy.

Though my first return trip to Falafel's did not live up to expectations, I found enough positives to give the place a second chance. Two days later, I returned with an empty stomach and mental note to skip the Koubby. My second sandwich was far better than the first (less Sriracha and lettuce, and a hint of Tzatziki on the Falafel), but the shake was icy and boring. This left me with only one possible conclusion: Falafel's Drive-In is the definition of hit-or-miss. Some days, the food pumped out by this tiny kitchen is the best around. On others, the shakes are sad and sandwiches soggy. It all depends on the date, your stomach, and, apparently, the phase of the moon or other arbitrary factor. Flip a coin, heads you buy a falafel, tails you get a taco down the street. Either way, you have a chance of getting some great food that won't break the bank.

Brazil Cafe (Brazilian/Sandwiches), Berkeley, CA

The art of Churrasco is one of the few arts rarely practiced in the Bay Area. Music can be heard on every street corner. Great painting is highlighted in a dozen museums. Theater thrives in performance districts surrounding the Civic Center and Castro. Delicious Latin Barbeque, on the other hand, is regrettably rarely seen. Its uniqueness is one reason why Brazil Cafe is so adored by masses of undergrads and foodies alike, hundreds of whom purchase sandwiches, plates, and bowls each and every day from the Shack off Shattuck and more substantial location on Shattuck itself.  Another obvious reason is the quality of the food offered by this clear-cut hole in the wall, an establishment you would likely pass by a hundred times before trying had your hipster friend/dorm mate/Latin lover not recommended it sooner. Regardless of reason, Brazil Cafe is a star in the local restaurant scene, one that will most likely shine for many years to come.

My first encounter with Brazil Cafe's excellence happened on a sunny Spring afternoon. Hunger had struck an hour prior while I shopped for a new bike at the neighboring Mike's Bikes. I decided to give the brightly painted, yet slightly dilapidated, shack ten feet away a try. Walking up to the counter, I was greeted by a bright-eyed, pony-tailed man named Pedro (who I later realized was the owner). Upon revealing it was my first time at his shop, Pedro bolted to the window, grabbed an array of samples, and ecstatically flung them into my arms. After all were eaten and their individual complexities had been dissected by the founder himself, I was left alone to choose a sandwich. With his strong recommendation in mind, I chose the "Pedro's Favorite Tri-Tip" (clearly a favorite of Pedro's).

After an unbearably long wait that may have only been ten minutes (my phone and watch stayed at home), I was handed a depressingly small sandwich. Eight inches of lightly stuffed bread for $9 is never a good sign, except, apparently, at Brazil Cafe. My first bite reassured me that I had received my money's worth. Mouth watering Tri-Tip, easily the juiciest and freshest I had ever tasted, dominated every bite. Sweet pieces of pineapple contrasted the sharp spice from the half dozen slices of Jalapeno. Queso and pieces of olive added notes of salt and a touch of acidity. Between the five ingredients, every major type of flavor known to man got its fifteen minutes of fame, all inside one tiny sandwich. Though the food was excellent, I would have enjoyed an additional hunk or two of Tri Tip. Included sides like black beans, rice, or plantains would have made the price more reasonable as well.

As tasty as the meal was the atmosphere, a lively slice of South America highlighted by the vivacity of the owner himself. Patio chairs and small tables gave the whole restaurant a beach vibe. Lively Sertanejas and Bossa Novas blasting over the pair of tiny loudspeakers attached to the side wall only added to the lovable feel, one of rich community and culture. After finishing my meal, all I wanted to do was sit back, relax, sunbathe a bit, a listen to the Latin beats streaming through the speakers.

 Brazil Cafe, a fixture in one of Berkeley's numerous (and famous) cheap eats districts, elevates the concept of "college town food" to the next level. Music and cuisine intermingle beautifully at this locally renowned joint, a bastion of Latin flavor and rhythm. Tourists and residents alike flock here day and night to claim one of the Bay's best Churrasco sandwiches for themselves. Such popularity is understandable; on a sunny day in Berkeley, few meals are as enjoyable as the one devoured while tanning next to a bike shop, a gentle Samba playfully dancing away in the background.

Huong Lan (Sandwiches/Vietnamese), San Jose, CA

Huong Lan Sandwich, San Jose's own little taste of Saigon, is one of the city's most prized eateries. Thousands of hungry customers craving a Vietnamese lunch flock here daily, swamping the already packed East Bay intersection of Tully and King. Many come for a chance to taste one of the dozen signature items, twelve types of sandwiches known collectively as San Jose's best Bahn Mi, while others make the journey to pick up a pack of Xoi La Dua (Sesame Sticky Rice) or Chuoi Chien (Fried Banana). Regardless of intent, all leave happy, cradling some of the best take out food around.

My first pilgrimage to this budding institution finally occurred last week, some six months after it first landed on my radar. On a whim, I hopped in my car, set the GPS to Tully, and made the long drive over the half-dozen freeway bridges separating my home from a bite of Bahn Mi. Parking proved shockingly easy given the restaurant's location; it shares a giant lot with various other ethnic markets, Pho joints, and Panaderias. Walking inside, after a brief pause to take a mental photograph, of course, I was whacked by the aromas of toasted bread, pickled vegetables, and roasted duck. Needless to say, I was happy from that moment forward.

Huong Lan's decor was, well, interesting. Dangling precariously low above the sliding door, a massive crystal chandelier rested adjacent to an indoor fountain. The ceiling, a mosaic of composite tiles and fluorescent lights, looked like your average office building. Underfoot, a linoleum floor added a touch of supermarket flair. A conglomeration of tables sat in the far corner, almost daring the customer to stay and eat. Approaching the counter, I was met by a multitude of glares from the waiting kitchen staff. Though I felt unwelcome, I shrugged off my apprehension and ordered a BBQ Pork Bahn Mi, single pack of Sesame Sticky Rice, and Mango Smoothie. "Five dollars", muttered the cashier. In awe of the low price, I put my twenty back in my pocket, pulled out a five, and proceeded to take a seat.

Less than a two minutes later, my number rang out over the loudspeaker. Caught off guard by the rapidity of Huong Lan's food preparation, I tentatively approached the counter, grabbed my meal, and returned to my seat. Unwrapping the Bahn Mi, I did a inconspicuous fist pump and bit down on the end of the crispy, flaky French roll. The sandwich, as expected, was heavenly. Burning Jalapenos and succulent sliced Pork battled for prevalence from the first bite until the last. Underneath it all, hints of Cilantro and vinegar from the pickled carrots added refreshing flavors that contrasted the carbohydrate fest above. Coming in at one foot and $3 a sandwich, the value was nearly as spectacular as the taste.

My joy at finding a sandwich spot was dulled after sipping the Mango Smoothie, an icy mess of artificial fruit (unlike many other establishments in San Jose, Huong Lan uses fake syrups to flavor their drinks). Though disappointing, for the price, it wasn't a deal breaker. The Sesame Sticky Rice, thankfully, made up for the smoothie. Coconut Milk and Sesame were highlighted in the half dozen thick blocks of starch that made up the dessert. For $1.75, it was more than worth the price. After finishing my sandwich, engulfing the Sticky Rice, and throwing out the smoothie, I returned to my car and set out the long return journey home, stomach full and happy.

Special: San Francisco, A Treatise on Tourism and Cuisine

San Francisco, California - a mecca for tourism, a sports-lover's dream home, and a bastion for culinary ingenuity - is where Taste travels for this month's Special Report, a post inspired by multiple journeys to the City By the Bay's most famous trap for visitors, Pier 39.

Delicately balanced on reinforced wood boards, rusted metal, and sturdy concrete rests one of the few "cities inside a city" (think Chinatown, Japantown, Little Italy) dedicated solely to the pursuit of a tourist's income. Pier 39 has come to symbolize what residents both love and hate about their town; they adore the fresh food and emphasis on sustainability found on the wharf, but despise the crowds, traffic, and overpriced merchandise. My venture to what I formerly considered the pit of San Francisco (you can guess which side of the love/hate border I resided on) opened my mind to the hidden gems of one of the world's most watched (and most frequently spat upon) attractions.

The day started like any other before in the town I considered my second home. Walking along the Embarcadero, looking up at the high rises and down at the deep blue bay, I felt the joy I had observed as a child trudging down the same pathway. It was a happiness unlike any other - the feeling that, at any moment, the magic of San Francisco would sweep me off my feet. Where that magic would come from - whether from a trip to the Ferry Building or an angled glance at a skyscraper - was, at that point, unknown. All I knew was that it was time (finally) to man up and return to the place I had so fiercely despised in my time as a resident in "The City". After coming to such a tepid realization, I hesitantly hailed a bike-powered taxi and rode down the street, around the bend, miles away from SF I loved, into the unknown.

Alright, let's be honest, that intro was far more dramatic than it needed to be. Though venturing to Pier 39 was, at first, unpleasant, as heavy traffic and angry drivers bogged down my vehicle, it soon turned into an experience I will never forget. The joy began to creep back to me the second I rolled up to the entrance of the wharf, as crisp, yet lazy notes of jazz flowed to my ears from a trio of brass performers showing their stuff in front of the famous Hard Rock Cafe. As I moved past the musicians and into the heart of the the pier, I felt a child-like flame flicker inside of me. For some reason I still cannot comprehend, I was enjoying myself BEFORE I took a single bite. After collecting myself, I decided it was time to complete my mission by scarfing down a few plates of overpriced food at the many "cheaper" places to grab a bite (I dined at just one of the half dozen "fancy" eateries)

The first establishment I ventured into (or should I say up to) was the ToGo Chowder Counter at the Boudin bakery, where I promptly ordered the special, a New England in a bread bowl. Though the bread was perfect (as you'd expect from a famous bakery) the chowder lacked flavor. The base was far too thick and tiny pieces of clam floated in a salty sea of cream. Through one experience, the score was 1 bad, 0 good. The negative tally was soon to be equalized by a positive one, The Crepe Cafe. Upon walking into the not-at-all-charming, slightly cheesy Crepe Cafe, I was struck by the overwhelming smell of crepe batter. In addition, I was uneasy about the tiny1 half-a-dozen-item menu. Thankfully, I pressed on, ordering the classic strawberry and banana crepe with nutella. The sweet was tasty; then again, it is hard to go wrong with chocolate and fresh fruit. Regardless of difficultly level, it was a positive mixture of flavors wrapped in a decent crepe, so I tied the score at 1-1.

After the Crepe Cafe, I continued my sweet kick with a stop at the Fudge House. The Fudge House, a Pier 39 staple since it's opening in the 1990's, did not disappoint. Delectable, belly-busting caramel apples and smooth, rich fudge awaited me. My favorite was also the number one choice of most children - the chocolate-shelled caramel apple, a Granny Smith topped with gooey sugar and milk cocoa. The score? 2-1, in favor of team positive, a lead that would continue to grow with a dinner visit to Fog Harbor Fish House's main dining hall. Though Fog Harbor broke my bank, it did a decent job with every fish it cooked. My favorite, whole Dungeness crab, was a highlight. The cooking prowess displayed at Fog Harbor, though not impressive, rivaled some of the mid-to-high level West Coast fish houses that dot the city. Also, I gave additional props to the restaurant for promoting the conservation of the oceans by fielding a sustainable menu for customers to choose from.

The 3-1 lead I enjoyed two-thirds of the way through my stay was, apparently, not meant to last. With my final dollars and last two meals, I chose to try a pair of the Pier's most adored tourist restaurants - the aforementioned Hard Rock Cafe and the ever-confusing Bubba Gump Shrimp Company. I have little to say about my meal at Hard Rock except that it was overpriced and underwhelming. The Norwegian Salmon, often hailed as the best entree, was frightfully dry and obviously overcooked. Though the music was a welcome distraction, the meal made the score 3-2. Bubba Gump, on the other hand, was a place I expected to enjoy. After reading reviews and recommendations, I was convinced BG would be the place to go to make Pier 39's final score a shocking 4-2. How wrong was I. After walking into a massive room with muddled decor, I sat down in the insanely loud space and tried to concentrate on what I wanted to order. Dancing on the menu were various shrimp entrees, San Franciscan classics, and Bourbon Street favorites. Though I expected a little of all three, I was not prepared to see Texas Baby Back Ribs ($24.00), Montana Angus Beef ($23.00), and South-of-the-Border Fish Tacos ($13.00) as highlighted items. Though every dish I ordered BORDERED on edible, the prices and scattered options made my head spin and the third "dislike" rating to fall.

A 3-3 finish. Initially, I was overcome with disappointment as I trudged out of Bubba Gump's, empty wallet in hand. Walking towards the pier's exit, I wondered to myself "where did I go wrong?" and "HOW much did I pay for that?!" My growing discontent was interrupted by a soft jazz melody from the front of Hard Rock Cafe. I recognized the piece as an instrumental cover of Michael Bolton's "By the Dock of the Bay". As I turned to look at my surroundings, I realized for the first time why tourists of the great Californian city of San Francisco had flocked for generations to the place where I stood: the people and the view could not be beat. With a flicker of a smile, I realized my 3-3 record was not so bad; I had enjoyed a great day at a place I formerly despised with 10,000 strangers, most of whom I would never see again. And that, that right there, is the magic of San Francisco. With a greater understanding, a replenished wallet, and a suddenly empty stomach, I walked to the curb and hopped on a cable car, intent on seeing the city I so adored in an entirely new light.