Having lived in Boston for a year, I’m ashamed that I’ve only had one bowl of clam chowder. In a town crazy for seafood, clam chowder is one of the most contested culinary warzones—and the results are amazing, as restaurants fight to outdo themselves year-in and year-out, improving upon their own secret recipes and house blends.

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But almost none have received the accolades of Turner Fisheries, a name practically synonymous with clam chowder, having won the city’s clam chowder competition so many years that I’ve lost count.

Turner is more than willing to boast about it, too. It doesn’t just serve Clam Chowder, but “Hall of Fame Clam Chowder.” Such arrogance from a restaurant that knows how good it is must be either the sign of an overhyped disappointment or the mark of a mind-blowing experience. I had to go see which.

So I arrived at the gigantic restaurant, glimmering blue in every corner, and took a seat at one of the bar stools. I didn’t even look at the menu, instead simply calling for a bowl of chowder. At $8 for a relatively small portion, I was expecting something incredible.

It finally arrived. I took my first sip: extremely creamy, with a very balanced thickness that’s not overwhelming. That’s because the chowder has been thickened at least partially the natural way—that is, with chunks of hearty vegetables. And it’s those veggies that make this soup stand out. Expect everything from potatoes to celery and onions, all of which add a layer of freshness that the rather neutral soup needs. Underlying that neutrality, though, is a very, very subtle fishy savoriness. Simply delicious!

I took a second sip. This time I got in a slight bit of fatty bacon, kicking up the flavor a notch. But I began to notice some problems. The clams are not only incredibly scarce, but just a bit tough. They really don’t add much to the total flavor, unfortunately. Moreover, the soup is too light for me, though I know that’s a matter of personal taste. Finally, the chowder could use more salt and some seasoning.

Regardless, I kept eating, completely satisfied. While Turner Fisheries may not quite deliver “Hall of Fame Clam Chowder,” its savory soup is more than a fitting match for most all its competitors in town. It’s also a huge step up from the typical overwhelmingly rich, cream-drenched renditions that the city’s lesser restaurants have grown accustomed to serving.

Scores

Taste: 4.5/5.0
Value: 4.2+/5.0
Verdict: 4.4/5.0

The scene: A Wednesday night. Three young law school students on the hunt for the cheapest, simplest, most filling meal around. Outside: 50 degree weather impeding our every step. And, to make matters even more difficult, my two companions eat nothing but Asian cuisines.

Needless to say, our options are pretty limited.

My friend MS, though, has the perfect solution: the Shops at Porter, a miniature shopping mall where half the stores specialize in Japanese or Korean food, including everything from sushi to udon, ramen, and sweets.

After some intense negotiations and compromises, we finally settle on Sapporo Ramen, a tiny outpost serving more types of ramen than I even knew existed.  Unfortunately, it is so small that, even with only a few diners, they can’t fit our group of three. So the blunt waitress goes and practically commands a lone woman waiting for takeout to move down to a smaller table, setting the stage for a night of horrible service. That same waitress somehow manages to splash water all over the table every time she comes to fill water. And when she brings the check, it feels as though she tosses it onto the table. Even for a food stand, the service is simply horrendous.

But when you’re paying $8.50 for one of the most filing meals in town, it’s hard to complain. So we gave our orders, unperturbed by the setting or the service.

We started off with an order of seaweed salad. The salad surprisingly doesn’t taste all that fresh, drenched as it is in thousand-island dressing. Unlike more traditional seaweed salads, which consist primarily of seaweed with some oil, this one consists mostly of lettuce and dressing, with just a bit of seaweed on top. Still, the combination of crisp lettuce and carrots with the softer but still crispy seaweed works, and the sweet dressings contrasts nicely with the saltier, earthier seaweed. The dressing is just too heavy-handed and the lettuce too bland. Score: 2.5/5.0

For the main, I went with the house special, which comes loaded with egg noodles, a hard-boiled egg, and pork. It’s tasty, but ultimately forgettable. The noodles are well-cooked—soft enough to be slurped up, but not terribly soggy—and the broth has a delightfully light richness. Unfortunately, the dish is also overly salty (though not quite overpoweringly so), and the ingredients don’t seem to mesh. The hard-boiled egg on top helps to add some texture when its chewy yolk is crushed into the bowl, but it feels tacked on. Finally, Sapporo skimps on the pork, relegating it to three tiny pieces. All starch and almost no protein or fat.  Score: 2.5/5.0

To add some more flavor, I’d recommend going for the Spicy Miso Ramen, which includes tofu, shredded bits of meat, soy paste, and a surprisingly intense spice that kicks in lightly near the end, almost like cayenne pepper. The soy paste, though, leaves the broth slightly sandy and gritty. Score: 3.0/5.0

Overall, then, Sapporo Ramen simply doesn’t deliver on quality, even though it specializes in only one dish.

But again, I’m not one to complain for such a value meal. You get what you pay for, and for students looking for a cheap fix, Sapporo Ramen is not a terrible option.

Scores

Ambience: 1.5/5.0 (Not factored into overall score)
Service: 0.5/5.0 (Not factored into the overall score)
Taste: 2.7/5.0
Value: 2.7/5.0
Verdict: 2.7/5.0

I love dining in restaurants, particularly in a city like New York with so much quality dining. But sometimes I just want to keep it simple, kick back, and head to a pub for something greasy, quick, and cheap in a lively, raucous environment.

Hence, my trip to Corner Bistro, a grungy gastropub packed with NYU college students. Full of pitch-black dinky booths lit by small lanterns, it’s the perfect place to relax and grab a drink, though small, tight, and very low-key for such a hotspot. It features an equally small menu with just a burger, a couple sandwiches, and some fries—simple, just as I wanted.

So I headed down very early (at around 8 PM), to snag one of the few coveted seats—and luckily, I managed to grab the very last booth. My waiter came—a younger gent who took my order and then disappeared for what seemed like an hour. Very little attention and very casual service was the norm, as I’d expect from a place literally brimming with people.

But as soon as I saw the Bistro Burger, a traditional burger stacked high with so much bacon that I couldn’t even fit the burger in my mouth, I forgot all about the flaky service and focused on somehow tackling this behemoth.

Unfortunately, the burger is just as flaky as the service. It’s misleadingly attractive, with its glistening bacon and it’s budget-friendly, $6.75 price tag (particularly impressive in New York). The bacon is great on its own, too—very crispy, chewy, and oily without being cloying. The problem: There’s just too much bacon, and it really doesn’t go well with the meat.

The meat itself also fares badly. While it’s well-cooked, it has a meatiness that attempts to get at steakhouse quality but fails drastically. Instead, it tastes artificial and lacks both flavor and seasoning. In fact, it comes out tasting like very low-grade, horrible beef.

That’s really the biggest problem for the burger, since it goes for a “fresh,” simple take. It comes with just some meat, bacon, raw white onion, lettuce, tomato, and cheese, yet the endless stack of bacon and the flavorlessness of the meat contradict any freshness that the burger might have had. Moreover, there’s no sauce to help cover up those flaws, and the burger comes off as dry. Score: 1.0/5.0

The fries do only slightly better. They’re slender and crispy, the way I like them. But they have very little seasoning. Even worse, they’re extremely greasy, as though they’re from a fat food restaurant. They even left me feeling a bit nauseous. Ketchup is essential. Score: 1.6+/5.0

Ultimately, then, Corner Bistro manages to do what I feared from the start: cater to a young college crowd simply looking for a cheap meal, rather than a good one. Corner Bistro may be convenient, trendy, and constantly packed, but one thing’s for certain: It can’t cook a pub-quality burger. Nor can a cheap price tag cover that up.

Scores

For the Burger

Taste: 1.0/5.0
Value: 2.0/5.0
Verdict: 1.4/5.0

For the Whole Experience

Ambience: 2.0/5.0
Service: 0.9/5.0, but not all that important for a place like this. (Not factored into verdict)
Taste: 1.3/5.0
Value: 2.0/5.0
Verdict: 1.6/5.0

Only in New York can you be charged $4.50 for a slice of pizza…and think that you actually got a bargain.

But late at night, there are few decent options, even in the Big Apple.

So, going out to enjoy the nightlife on my 2^nd night in New York City, a good friend and I decided to stop by for a quick meal at Artichoke and Basille’s Pizzeria, a legendary pig-out joint catering to the endless throngs of nightwalkers. As we neared our destination, we noticed flocks of college students either emerging with gigantic slices of pizza and faces content, or heading in large, unmanageable groups towards an unidentified hot spot. I could sense that this was going to be a good pizza.

We finally arrive at the diminutive shop, lined with diners flooding out the door, and took our spots, waiting patiently for 15 minutes amid the ravenous crowd of NYU students all out for a dirt-cheap meal. It was a claustrophobia-inducing, raucous experience, and one far better suited to a young college kid than a foodie looking for some great pizza.

It didn’t matter, though, once I finally got a taste of the pizza. Artichoke keeps it simple, producing only four varieties, three of which are rather normal varieties, like margarita. The signature, though, is, as the shop’s name suggests, an artichoke pizza, which comes loaded with spinach and cream in lieu of marinara. Never having seen such a novelty (or atrocity, as some would have it), I just couldn’t resist.

And it only took me one bite to understand what all the fuss was about: so original, so flavorful, and so downright greasy that it deserves every bit of its legendary status. The pizza tastes rich, creamy, and extra cheesy, both from the actual cheese itself and from the cream. The artichoke and spinach, meanwhile, contrast and lighten the richness with their green freshness and a slight bitterness. It’s all very easy to eat, though still quite rich. Since the pizza is so creamy, you don’t even notice the oiliness too much. The cheese, grated over the top for a semi-melted grittiness, also adds a very satisfying texture.

And as for the price, $4.50 might sound like a lot at first…until you see the slice. It’s so big that it’s rumored to have 1600 calories in it—80% of your daily recommended intake!

The one big complaint I have is with the crust—far too crunchy, tough, and flavorless, though it comes very thick and doughy as well. Regardless, this is easily one of the best fast food pizzas I’ve ever had—greasy but still fresh, cheesy, creamy, and humungous. Score: 4.3/5.0.

As if one of those behemoth slices weren’t enough, though, I decided to outdo myself and munch down a slice of the margarita pizza. The margarita has a much thinner crust, which I somewhat prefer. It has larger problems than the artichoke pie, though. Lacking the richer cream, the pizza’s oiliness stands out a lot more. It’s to the point that the pizza sinks under the weight of the oil and toppings, making for a very messy pie as the toppings continually fall off. Moreover, the crust is extremely burnt.

That doesn’t stop it from being a great fast food pizza, though. The freshness of the parmesan is almost unheard of, particularly for fast food. It’s again grated right on, and you can again feel that gritty cheesiness but even more so than in the artichoke, since there isn’t any rich cream to interfere with the texture of flavor of the cheese. Score: 3.7/5.0.

While I might not recommend every slice at Artichoke & Basille’s Pizzeria, then, at its price point Artichoke has few rivals, particularly for a late-night dining affair. As long as you don’t mind the rowdy crowds, the claustrophia, or the 1600 calories worth of grease dripping off your pizza at a rate of a liter a minute, Artichoke is definitely the place to go to fight off late-night hunger pangs.

Scores

Taste: 4.0/5.0
Value: 4.8/5.0
Overall Score: 4.4/5.0 

If there is one place in Boston I can never grow tired of, it’s Craigie on Main. I’ve been to the always packed restaurant three times already, and every single time has been a completely different, but superb, experience. First was a “whim” tasting, where I got a mystery selection of six courses, served at the chef’s whim. Next was a carnivorous feast involving whole roasted pig’s head and whole chicken.

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But the third time, I didn’t feel like a long, multi-course affair or an extravagant feast. All I wanted was a simple American classic, a burger. And even there, Craigie had the perfect solution.

Keeping with the aim of providing local, sustainable, fresh cuisine, Craigie opts for a burger that seems deceptively simple: beef, ketchup, cheddar, and some vegetables. On the surface, at least, you get none of the fancy innovations of other joints in Boston, like Radius (horseradish lemon mayo with fried onion crisps) or KO Prime (foie gras). No, here the emphasis is on taking the real burger—as boring as it may be—and elevating it to the standards of Craigie’s new American cuisine.

And yet, ironically, in order to re-create that traditional burger, Tony Maws (owner and head chef) has gone to incredible lengths to reinvent each ingredient, much more so than any other restaurant in town. Just a glimpse at the ingredient list and the cooking techniques is shocking. First, Chef Maws begins with 8 oz. of local grass-fed beef. That beef, though, doesn’t have quite enough fat for a juicy burger patty. So to get it up to the right fat content, he mixes in pure beef fat from bone marrow and suet (from around the cow’s kidneys). He then bolsters the umami or savory quality of the beef with miso paste—something, by the way, which I’ve never seen anybody think of using in a burger. But the intense flavor of normal miso paste just isn’t enough for him, so he even dehydrates that paste to concentrate the flavor further.  He then employs two different cooking methods to get the patty to the quality he demands.  First, he steams it in a CVap oven (low temperature vapor cooking) and then griddles it on a steel plancha to get the right char and succulence.

The rest of the ingredients, while true to the traditional cheeseburger, are all again far-higher quality takes on those classics: 3 year-old aged cheddar; sweet, mace-flavored ketchup; house-made toasted sesame seed bun; sweet fried onions; some very thin strips of bacon; and—on the side—red-wine vinegar pickles and celery root cole slaw. The one untraditional component is just a bit of fresh watercress and a couple leaves of spinach that Maws places inside, in lieu of a blander ingredient like lettuce—a welcome addition, in my opinion. For sides, you also get a fresh garden salad and gigantic, thick-cut wedge fries that are easily the biggest in the Boston.

Is it any wonder that this “traditional” burger comes at a hefty price tag of $18 (and $21 with bacon)?

But, believe me, once you take just one single bite of this burger, you will realize that the price tag is completely justified, as this burger simply screams flavor from beginning to end. The meat is, beyond question, the best patty I’ve ever tasted in my life. The problem with grass-fed patties is that, while they have that deliciously wild, rawer, bolder savoriness that you don’t get in really fatty patties, they can overpower you with their over-the-top meatiness. The texture’s also typically a mess, as the patties taste can become clumpy or gritty. Here, though, you get the best of both worlds, as the patty preserves that somewhat wild savoriness while at the same time retaining an almost indescribably good gelatinous texture. You can see what looks like the coarseness of the meat on the interior, and yet when you actually chew on it, it never feels clumpy, rough, or abrasive. Instead, it’s more like a succulent sponge, oozing meat juice and yet never drying out. The bone marrow also leaves you with a graceful, smooth, and mellow fat flavor, a very nice counterbalance to the slight wildness that you get from the grass-fed beef. Finally, just as you think you’re done with the flavor, the miso paste kicks in at the very end to give you an added burst of slightly bitter savoriness, leaving you in a state of confused, beefy euphoria.

But best of all is simply how the patty is cooked. The CVap allows the patty to retain so much moisture that, as I mentioned, it literally gushes out springs of meat juice. Yet, even after pressing the patty down a couple of times and letting that juice run out, the patty never became mushy or soggy, it never broke up, and it retained the vast majority of its hefty size. Then you add on the slight griddle char on the exterior of the patty, and the smokiness takes the patty to another level.

If that weren’t enough, Craigie nails the bun—the one ingredient that almost everybody fails at—like nobody else I’ve seen. The homemade sesame seed bun tastes almost like wheat bread with its delicious wheat-like sweetness. And, surprisingly, that bun never becomes soggy, even with so much juice running out from the patty. The whole time I was eating this burger, I feared that it was going to fall apart, but not once it did it even begin to sag in my hands. The bun is toasted just right, too, so that it has some firmness but never a flakiness or abrasive crunch. Very high marks.

The bacon, too, is extraordinary. Most restaurants try to tack on bacon like it’s the star of the burger, giving you gigantic, salty, crispy, greasy strips that completely overpower both the flavor and texture of the beef. Here, though, bacon is, as it should be, just another topping, coming in paper-thin slices that are almost as tender as the meat, if that’s at all possible. The grease and salt hit you only subtly.

And the cheese? Perfectly gooey. It comes in just the right proportion so that it adds enough richness to bring all the components together like a strong glue, but not enough to ever overshadow the savory components. It has some very nice saltiness to it, too.

Finally, the vegetables work well to add some balance, especially the somewhat bitter, fresh spinach leaves. However, since both the watercress and spinach are on the flimsier side, they don’t have that fresh, crunchy quality that I was really craving. Thankfully, sweet-sour pickle slices and celery root slaw on the side add the necessary crunch.

So as a recap: This burger has the best meat, the best bun, and the best bacon I’ve ever tasted in a burger, plus a slew of delicious, flavorful toppings. But does it have any flaws?

Yes, and it is unfortunately in the immoderate seasoning, which leaves you with an overdose of sweetness, pepper, and salt. While I enjoyed all the flavors from start to finish, at several points I felt that the seasoning started to overpower even the extraordinary beefy taste. The ketchup, while delicious, is infused with mace (the outer membrane of nutmeg), giving it a very concentrated sweetness that can become just slightly too much. Even more problematic is the burger’s pepperiness. I’m not sure if the burger just tosses on pepper as an afterthought, but it hits you very, very aggressively near the end of each bite. And just as you think the worst is over, the burger becomes aggressively salty near the very end, as you’re swallowing.

Regardless, those complaints are really just quibbles, because this is probably one of the city’s two best burgers (I’d only put the burger at Radius up there with Craigie in terms of quality).

Score: 4.6/5.0

That’s not all the burger has to offer, though.  It also comes with wedge fries. To be honest, I was disappointed when I found out that Craigie had removed its traditional shoestring fries in lieu of these gigantic monsters—I’m not really one to like a very strong starchy flavor in my potatoes. I have to say, though, that they’re done very well. As with the burger, these fries are cooked evenly throughout, never becoming mushy or clumpy. Moreover, since they’re so thick they can stand up to the sweetness of the ketchup without losing much of their flavor. I also enjoyed the very nice crisp on the outside,for some crunch. And, as always, I appreciate a good stack of fries that does not leave you feeling greasy afterwards, and Craigie’s meets that quality with its very natural, fresh taste.

A few complaints, though. They could have used some more seasoning. While they come tossed with herbs, I really didn’t get all that much from those herbs, particularly because the fries were so thick. Moreover, you just can’t get enough ketchup on these fries, since they’re so thick that you’re always left with their dominant potato flavor.

Score: 4.2+/5.0

As for the accompanying summer salad, it’s a basic affair of some leafy crunchy greens in a light tangy vinaigrette. There’s not much to say about it other than that I appreciated the freshness on the plate as a counterbalance to the fatty burger, though the salad ended up picking up a bit too much of the grease of the fries.

So, after a feast of a burger like that, you might think I’d be done for the day. But you can’t just leave Craigie on Main without have tasted the extraordinary dessert, and after taking a look at the unique dessert menu, my sweet tooth took over. Hearing that the people raved about the Bourbon Pecan Ice Cream Tart (sounds delicious, doesn’t it?), I knew I had to order it.

And as soon as my plate landed, I was immediately impressed, as I saw a thin, nicely crafted three-layer cake placed neatly across a splashed line of chocolate sauce.

The cake’s texture is, in fact, incredible. It combines a very crunchy, nutty crust that crackled like a crispy cookie with an incredibly rich chocolate ganache and then integrates the two with the harder, denser, but ultimately less rich, ice cream in the middle.

Flavor-wise, I was also impressed with the flavors. The menu mentions “smoked Mexican salt chocolate” on the plate, but never did I expect such a full-bodied dark chocolate to make my mouth pucker with salt. The crust has an even more interesting interplay of salty, sweet, and nutty, providing you the freshness of pecans with a very moderate, clean sort of bacon flavor. The ice cream’s controlled refreshing bourbon flavor may be so subtle that you might miss it at times unfortunately. But it was there more for body and texture, providing a great subtle nutty backdrop for the more intense chocolate and the nutty-bacon crust to shine through.

I have just two big complaints, which drop this dessert from incredible to merely recommendable. First, the ice cream portion is somewhat on the frosty side, suppressing some of the bourbon pecan flavor—a shame, because I thought this dessert could have used a bit more of that sweet nuttiness as a counterbalance to the salty chocolate.

Second, and this is what really holds this dessert back, the chocolate is way, way too salty. In terms of chemistry, a tiny bit of salt actually makes sweets taste sweeter, but Craigie on Main goes way beyond that. Even though it only gives you a thin layer of that chocolate on the tart itself and two miniature extra dollops of it, the salt is so overpowering that it can literally erase any trace of any other flavor from the palate, so that using any of the extra chocolate on the side would be completely absurd. Moreover, I think the salt is kosher salt, i.e. the most flavorless salt possible, so that it doesn’t actually add any aromatic or otherwise interesting qualities. (As an aside, I think the chocolate they’re using is Taza’s Mexican Salt Chocolate, which uses kosher salt).

Score: 4.2+/5.0

Finally, as always service was fantastic, with some of the most amiable waiters around. The burger is served only in the bar, where the bartenders are quite a bit more fun than the rest of the staff. They chat you up constantly (if you’re interested), explain the food and the cooking techniques in depth, and show off some massive skill in mixing some of the wildest, most inventive cocktails in Boston while barely spilling a drop (Craigie, in fact, even has cocktail “whims,” or tastings).

In any case, the meal at Craigie delivers as usual. Even with my minor quips about dessert and the fries, Craigie manages to perfect the classic burger—and I mean, the truly classic burger with only the most traditional of toppings—in a way that I’ve seen nowhere else in the entire country.

Craigie on Main has again set a bar that nobody in town has yet to come close to toppling.

Scores

Ambience: 4.2/5.0
Service: 4.4/5.0
Taste: 4.4/5.0
Value: 4.0/5.0
Verdict: 4.2+/5.0 for the experience. A 4.5/5.0 just for the burger (based on taste & value).

The setting: midday New York, my second day there. I’ve been traveling through the gigantic city on foot, exploring every nook and cranny that I can. Hunger has finally struck, and I’m looking for a quick, fast, filling meal to refuel me for another round of exploration. I also want a meal to remember, though. It’s my first time in the food capital of America, after all.

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So, like the typical out-of-towner, I made the trek across town to Katz’ Deli, home of America’s most famous pastrami. I imagined a rinky-dink, old-fashioned deli, but was I ever wrong. Upon stepping inside, I was shocked by how humungous, clean, and professional it was for a deli.

Katz’s, though, isn’t your normal deli.  And it took only one bite of my hot pastrami with cole slaw to realize that.

As I expected, the sandwich is all about the meat, which is juicy, moist, and fatty, but doesn’t gush oil. Instead, you can savor it. It’s also cooked a little more than usual and so has a more well-done, balanced flavor to it rather than a raw, bold, or cold cut quality. Moreover, Katz’s smokes its meat through an extremely intensive process for one of the smokiest flavors around.

The bread, on the other hand, is a toss-up. It doesn’t really contribute much to the sandwich, since it’s plain, unseasoned rye with no oil or any flavoring whatsoever. Still, it’s on the soft side and easy to eat, allowing the meat to shine.

Finally, I was impressed with the unorthodox take on coleslaw. Katz’s includes pickle relish in the slaw, which fundamentally alters the sandwich, giving it a big tangy sweetness. And unlike other sandwich shops, Katz’s smacks on a boatload of it. you can easily tell that Katz’ is proud of its slaw, as it should be. It can interfere with the taste of the meat, but I really didn’t mind too much, since it was so delicious. It’s not for everyone, though.

Katz’s gets extra points for nailing down the proportions of the ingredients. Everything is stacked, but not overloaded, so that you can fit the whole sandwich in your mouth and taste every single ingredient. Not even the slaw is too powerful. If the sandwich had been served just a little hotter, it would have been nearly perfect.

My other complaint would be the price tag: $15 for a pastrami sandwich that, while filling, can’t compare to some of the other monsters in town, like Carnegie’s. Tourism and hype have been generous to Katz’s business and prices.

As a side note, Katz’s does a nice job with its pickles, too, serving up two varieties: a salted cucumber and a true briny pickle. Not that you need them all that much—the sandwich is incredible enough on its own.

Overall, then, Katz’s Deli more than lives up to its legendary name, regardless of the touristy vibe, the shady neighborhood, and the $15 price tag. It’s easily a must-stop for anybody who wants a true deli experience in the New York area.

So, with a full stomach and my replenished energy, I left the deli, feeling like a million bucks and ready to tackle the rest of New York.

Scores

Ambience: 2.0/5.0 (Not factored into verdict).
Service: N/A
Taste: 4.7/5.0
Value: 4.0/5.0. Pricy, but too large, too filling, and too delicious for me to complain.
Verdict: 4.5/5.0

Famished after a long day of exploring Jordan, and battered by the flaming hot Amman sun, I was looking for a way to refuel: ideally something quick, cheap, and starchy. That is, I was looking for a falafel.

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Thankfully, Jordanians are as crazy for falafels as any population on the planet. Walking down Amman is walking through a veritable maze of fast food stands, all hawking their own particular take on Middle Eastern classics, like falafels, hummus, and shawarma, all for less than a $1.The problem, then, isn’t so much finding the meal as it is picking just one option.

Amid the swarms of indistinguishable stands, though, one is said to stand up above all: Hashem’s, the almost undisputed king of falafel and hummus in the city.

Of course, these days, every restaurant is the “best of” something in America, with accolades and awards tossed out for the most pointless of reasons, and all conflicting with one another. In Jordan, however, no such dispute exists. Not only had every single local I ran across heard of Hashem’s, every single person I asked for a falafel recommendation pointed me straight to the shop. Hashem’s place as the falafel king is simply a fact.

To inspire that much admiration, and all for fried balls of greasy mashed beans—now that’s the type of hype that I can really get into myself. I headed right over after my day of venturing, looking for another filling cheap meal in Amman’s extraordinary fast food scene.

I finally arrived, entering onto a little alleyway filled with four imposing warehouse-like buildings. Little did I know that Hashem’s is so popular that it actually requires all four buildings—two for seating, one for falafels (the take-out station), and one for hummus duties (the sit-down station). So much compartmentalization and specialization for a fast food joint that charges about 50 cents for a falafel? That’s impressive.

I crept along to the falafel stand, admiring the work of the man who was almost instinctually taking out falafels at just the right time. He spoke almost no English, and I had to practically sign out exactly what I wanted. But as I ordered a sandwich and extra falafels, I noticed that he didn’t bother giving me the falafels that had been sitting out cooling off. Instead, he took ones straight out from the oil and put them in the bag.

And the price? I ordered a falafel baguette (Hashem’s oddly enough ditches the traditional pita), 6 miniature falafel balls, and 2 larger sesame-covered balls. When I heard the man say “800” I assumed he meant 8 JD, instead of 0.8. Not even surprised, I took out the money to pay him, and the guy just laughed it off and took only what was needed. For literally a feast, then, I ended up paying about $1.15. Hashem’s is definitely my type of restaurant: mind-blowing value and truly honest service.

I immediately took the baguette out and munched right into a delicious mix of tomatoes, falafel, garlic sauce, and even some French fries. The extremely juicy, large chunks of tomatoes inside add tons of freshness, while the French fries work surprisingly well as a kind of starchy filler with some more crunch.  The cream sauce is very light, included mostly to cut against the bolder flavors and any oiliness with its light richness.

Yet the baguette simply doesn’t live up to its legendary mystique. The baguette is uninteresting, and its fluff covers up some of the flavor, though it’s not a bad piece of bread at all. More importantly, while the falafel balls (described below in-depth) are excellent, they’re not anything extraordinary, mostly because they lack much seasoning. The baguette thus doesn’t live up to its legendary mystique. Still, for 50 cents, this is probably one of the best sandwiches you’ll find anywhere in the world. Score: 4.3/5.0

The best part of Hashem’s, though, is surprisingly not the falafel baguette. No, the real patrons like their falafel at Hashem’s the old-fashioned way: with a fluffy piece of pita on the side and a large scoop of Hashem’s famous hummus. And only in that combination do you begin to see the glimpses of Hashem’s true greatness.

Somehow the restaurant manages to preserve the traditional hummus in all its simplicity, using only the traditional ingredients (except for some lime instead of lemon), and yet elevates it to almost an artform. First, the staff scoops on pre-made hummus, which is rich, creamy, but with an intense chickpea flavor that is never overshadowed by the creaminess or oiliness. Next, it tops off the hummus with fresh lime juice and olive oil, which not only help make the hummus smoother, but amp the flavor. The very pronounced lime cuts against the starchiness of the chickpea, while the oil helps to balance out both the lime’s and the chickpea’s bold flavors. Hashem then finishes it all off with a scoop of fresh chickpeas, a touch I’ve never seen before—and one that makes all the difference. Not only do the chickpeas intensify the hummus’s natural flavor, but they add a slight, but incredible, crunch to the otherwise rich hummus.

I just have a couple complaints. Hashem’s is way too heavy-handed on the olive oil, making the dish feel overly heavy and oily. Moreover, the hummus needs maybe one or two more ingredients, like some spice, to add some nuance and lightness to the dish. But then it wouldn’t be quite so traditional, and for a traditional dish, this is almost as good as it gets. Plus, at less than $1.20 for a large take-away bowl, this is easily the best value dish in the whole city (and one of the best values I’ve ever found in my life). Score: 4.6+/5.0

It’s also worth noting that the pita bread is made fresh and served hot. Unlike most pita breads, this one comes a bit thicker. That starchiness both gives the hot bread an extra-soft fluffiness and makes it a great utensil for scooping up the hummus.

As for the falafels themselves, Hashem’s features two varieties, both about the same in terms of quality. The miniature form is the traditional plain variety. It’s deliciously fried and cooked, but with unfortunately too little seasoning to be anything extraordinary. The falafels come with just the right amount of fry, making them incredibly crispy on the outside and still well-cooked on the inside, so they’re never too greasy or muddy. Even better, the falafels have a light touch of salt in the finish, cutting against some of the oiliness. Flavor-wise, though, the mixture is pretty basic—you won’t be tasting anything you haven’t tasted before. Score: 4.3+/5.0

The second variety is what I like to call the behemoth: a large falafel ball boasting a sesame seed coating. It has quite a bit more flavor than the last, with more of a burnt, crackly crust. These balls come slightly tough on the outside and feel heavier on the inside, but in a good way. The interior tends to be softer and smoother, since it’s filled with delicious grilled onions, whose sweetness kicks up the flavor of the normal falafel. Moreover, I enjoy how much the sesame adds, both for extra crunch and for the herby, earthy flavor to give the falafels the nuance I was seeking. The one big problem lies in the oiliness. Gigantic as they are, these behemoths feel far, far greasier than the last, making them slightly less enjoyable. Score: 4.3/5.0

Regardless, when you’re paying a dollar for a feast that includes freshly cooked, crispy falafels right out of the oven, freshly baked pita bread, and some of the best hummus at any vendor in the Middle East, it’s hard to quibble about such minor points. Hashem’s may not quite get a place on my “last meal” list, but it fully lives up to the hype.

It’s a must-try whenever you’re in Jordan—as I proved by trying it repeatedly every single day I was in Amman.

Scores

Taste: 4.5/5.0
Value: 4.9/5.0
Verdict: 4.6+/5.0. 4.8/5.0 for the hummus alone.

Cuisine: Fast Food (Shawarma).
Location: Right off the 2^nd Circle in Amman, Jordan.
Price: 0.65 JD for a sandwich (about $1).

The best part about Middle Eastern cuisine? It’s gotta be the fast food.

I know—an odd thing to say for a devoted foodie, particularly one marred by the American fast food experience, where food seems like it comes straight out of a factory. But in the Middle East, you don’t need to worry about ingredients frozen and preserved for days or weeks, cooked in additives, and simply tossed on by assembly line workers who practically leave all the work to timed machines. And you don’t need to pay $10 to get a filling meal.

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Instead, you’re faced with an infinite number of tiny falafel and shawarma stands, each producing a decent sandwich filled with fresh tomatoes, onions, garlic, and tahina for less than a $1. True, fast food may still be excessively oily, greasy, and fried, but at least you know where it’s coming from, and you can see it cooked right in front of you by people, rather than machines.

So when I finally got to Jordan, I was more than looking forward to my fare share of street food.

My first stop? The supposed “best” shawarma stand in town, Shawarma Reem.

I started making my trek to the tiny stand, located off the Second Circle—quite a bit ways out of Amman’s center, where I was staying. In the hot summer sun, the climb up the mountainous Rainbow Street felt like an eternity.

Arriving during midday, I thought the stand would be near empty. To my surprise, though, once I arrived I saw a line full of hungry diners, both tourists and locals, looking for a cheap fix. I got in line, ordered my shawarma, and took it to eat on the side. There is no seating or even a counter for you to enjoy this sandwich, so I had to perform a balancing act just to snag a couple photos while standing up and eating.

My first bite was, unfortunately, a mouthful of disappointment. I couldn’t see how anyone could consider this shawarma “best” of anything, even if it still outranks most of its competition.

The sandwich at Shawarma Reem does admittedly have some key strengths, particularly in its oiliness (or lack thereof) and sauce. Shawarma is almost always cloyingly greasy, with oil practically glistening on the meat. Here, not so, as the meat not only tastes somewhat less fatty, but the high proportion of garlic sauce and raw white onions to meat leaves your palate with an aromatic, fragrant, herby aftertaste, rather than a greasy one. That sauce doesn’t feel too rich, but still has plenty of creaminess, along with an extra strong, but never overpowering, garlic flavor. The raw onions both add some crunch and amplify the aromatic quality of the sauce.

Unfortunately, Shawarma Reem’s sauce couldn’t cover up the lack of flavor in the beef, which feels tough, rubbery, and slightly burnt across the top. In fact, I’d rather have had a little more grease on the beef, if it meant a bigger flavor. Moreover, there was very little beef in the miniature sandwich from the start. So the high proportion of sauce—while good to control oiliness—actually made the beef feel weaker.

But it wasn’t just the meat. There was far too much pita and far too little filling. The sandwich tasted too much like starch and too little like shawarma.

The accompaniments seemed one-dimensional, too: garlicky, oniony, herby, etc. While the shawarma packed tomatoes, I barely tasted them. The sandwich could have used some more fresh vegetables, seasoning, or spices.

Finally, while the sandwich definitely wasn’t a bad value at 0.65 JD (about $0.90), the miniature price tag also came with a miniature size, as one small pita was rolled up with  an even smaller amount of filling. You will need at least two to three to satisfy an empty stomach.

The climb to Shawarma Reem, then, may not be worth it. Still, the combo of sauce and crunchy onions is so good, and the shawarma so elegantly not greasy, that this shawarma is still very easy to enjoy.

Having munched down a $2 meal, I made my way back down, somewhat satisfied with the price, but still searching out a true Jordanian fast food experience.

Scores

Taste: 3.0/5.0
Value:  3.0/5.0
Verdict: 3.0/5.0