Alibi chef Tom Nayder has discovered the secret of eternal life. Actually, it's really only a method for sprouting green onions, and his sister told him how to do it. But we like to make him feel special, so we call him a genius anyway. What Tom does is simple. He buys green onions and keeps them in a plastic bag in the fridge until he needs them. Then, he chops them down to within a couple inches of the root end. He uses the dark and light green parts to top his low-carb tacos, and saves the white bulbs. When kept in a glass with water just up to their tips, the root ends of green onions will sprout again. Tom says he sees growth from the onions within hours, and it only takes about a week for them to grow enough green tops to cut and use again. He cautions not to put the whole green onions in a glass of water; it causes the outer leaves to shrivel prematurely. He says the re-sprouted onions taste just as good as their parents. By the way, the term scallion is often used interchangeably with green onion, but the true scallion is a distinct variety. Milder in flavor than immature (or green) onions, the white part of a scallion has straight sides, whereas the green onion's base is more bulbous.
King Kona is the name of a new coffee shop in the First Plaza Galería (Third and Copper). The walls of the tiny shop are adorned with various ape-themed decorations (get it, King Kona?) and a glorious Hawaiian sunset. But the first thing you'll notice when you walk in the door is the aroma that creeps within your nostrils, hinting at a deep, rich brew. Kona coffee beans, from Hawaii, are the only beans grown in the U.S., didja know? We tried a sweet and mild Gorillacino, but were more impressed by the not bitter, not awful, actually good decaf. King Kona also sells cigars, so stroll on by if you're in the mood for a cup and a puff.
Like a kitten bringing a dead rodent to the back door, our kind and thoughtful receptionist Martin brought me a small bag of cheese snacks last Friday. I should have known to decline them as I once declined a decapitated squirrel from Tiny Princess. But the bag was open and I'm always up for something new, so I said, “Don't tell me what it is. I want to be surprised.” Boy, was I surprised—when I found my self spitting every last half-masticated curd into the trash can under my desk. “Good God,” I said to Martin, “What was that thing?” He showed me the package and explained how he had spit one out of his car window on the way to work, much to the horror of the woman driving next to him. Thanks, Martin.
Walking into ABC Chinese restaurant is like walking into pretty much any family owned and operated Chinese restaurant. The color scheme is red and gold (a symbol of good fortune in Chinese culture), with lighted beer signs and posters on the walls. A fish tank teems with life and giant, round banquet tables topped with lazy Susans are scattered among the booths. But that's where the similarities end.