Tandoor e India - Oakhurst, NJ

Tandoor e India is the only nearby option for Indian food, and that's perfectly fine with me.

I remember the first time I went here with J and C maybe ten years ago, I thought it was so adventurous that they were the kind of people that eat Indian food and how cool it was that they invited me along. In the decade since, Tandoor e India has become a takeout staple of ours, and we even head over to dine-in once in a while.

The decor of the restaurant is right out of Jaipur. And not some amusement park gimmick version of Jaipur, but typical of actual restaurants in India. The walls are decorated with diagonally laid wooden planks, on which are hung velvet paintings of scenes like the Taj Mahal and Ganesh. All plants are plastic, Christmas lights are used in places as accents, and the neon signs in the window cast a soft glow on one whole section of the restaurant.

There is a buffet table, but we've only eaten it once. There is just too much other good stuff on the menu.

When we went the other night, M and I were joined by V and J, and when we walked in were pleasantly surprised to find a very pregnant J and her husband T already seated at a table. J heard that spicy food gets babies rolling on the born train, so this was her second visit there in a week. We shuffled seats around a bit and they joined us for dinner for six.

There aren't often a lot of people in the restaurant. This night, there was only two other tables seated, and both had left halfway into our meal. It's great to have the restaurant to ourselves, but I'm always disappointed that more people don't know about the restaurant, because they don't know what they're missing out on.

We brought a couple of bottles of Indian wine with us (theme night!) and had screwed off the tops and had it poured into our water cups before the server could even bring us wine glasses. Not pregnant J, of course. She stuck with a mango lassi, which was sweet and delicious.

The menu can be confusing. It's a list of Indian named dishes, under which is an English description of what the dish includes. The descriptions aren't evocative at all, though, so if we're feeling like being adventurous, that could work out wonderfully or disappointingly. It's kind of a crap shoot, but I've never gotten anything that I actually really disliked.

We all went a bit apeshit with the ordering on this particular night, and here's what we got:

Samosas - classic Indian street food. These were larger than ones we bought on the streets of India, and very spicy. My mouth was on fire for ten minutes after I finished just one. M ate the other down to the last bite.

Korma - this is on the menu as a chicken dish, but I asked them to substitute lamb instead. The dish is creamy and delicious, and is my de facto option when we order here. J tried it and agreed that it was fantastic.

Naan, Cheese and Onion - I don't know why I always go with the cheese naan, but when I'm hungry it sounds like such a great option. And it definitely is tasty, but it's so filling that it's a meal on its own. I should stick with garlic naan, which is kinda the bread version. J and M shared the onion version, which was also really good, and filling.

M and J both ordered some kind of lamb dish for their entree, as I recall. It was pretty good and M loved it, but I thought my lamb korma was definitely the best option on the table.

V had a tandoori chicken and seemed to like it enough. It was funny that when we were ordering, the server looked at us and said "too much food". I laughed and said "lunch tomorrow!", when I of course thought in my head "we fully intend to stuff ourselves tonight!". He replied with that cute sideways head thing that Indian men do when they are thinking "yes" or "I agree" and took our order back to the kitchen to get the food started.

In a funny moment, J was eating her breaded vegetarian entree and chuckled when she realized that she was not only eating her food, but the sheet of paper that they had served it on. Mmmm paper. Alas, whatever spice was present in her food didn't set her loins on fire, because baby D didn't come around until a few days later. Said baby D is adorable, by the way. Can't wait to meet her.

As for Tandoor e India, there is actually a second location over by the 7-11 in Long Branch that's right by the Wind Mill. I miss seeing the owner Balwinder at the Oakhurst location because I understand that he's usually in the Long Branch restaurant these days. Must get over there soon, but either way, they can count on us for take out at least once every couple of weeks.

My Korma:

Spicy samosas:

 

 

 

Neon love:

 

Morton's - Chicago, IL

I travel a lot with my boss, and he has an obsession with Morton's. Every time we're in a town where there's a Morton's nearby, we're guaranteed to go for dinner at least one night of our trip. Great right? Great. I give him grief about not venturing out and trying other places, but every time I have finished another dinner at Morton's, I am completely happy that we've gone.

The Morton's we dined at this night is the one downtown, and not the original up north a bit from downtown. The building it's in has lit up lettering running down the side of the building twenty stories up that says Morton's The Steakhouse. It drives me up the wall every time I see it because "Morton's" and "The Steakhouse" are in two different fonts. It gives me a headache.

Morton's is a chain, but the most consistently perfect and excellent version of a chain I have ever seen. You can always expect an attentive and gracious greeting from the host at the front entrance and prompt seating. The atmosphere is dimly lit and inspired by dark wood and beige walls, with open views of the kitchen one one side of the room, and it's always pitch-perfect for what they're trying to accomplish.

We started at the bar and had drinks - J had a beer and I had a sapphire tonic while we waited for our third to arrive. As usual, there are lots of loud business types, and the occasional awkward companion who seems intimidated by the rest of the people at his or her table.

After M arrived, we were brought immediately to our table and the bread was placed on the table. They dropped a hot loaf of onion bread in a basket in front of us, not sliced. Ours is to grab the loaf and pull or slice off our own portions, and the bread is delicious. They serve it with a patty of butter on a separate plate, which is annoying, because the knife is warm from having just cut the bread. So, when the very next thing to do is to take that same knife to the butter, the butter inevitably melts and slips off the knife. Remind me to use my fork next time to get the butter.

The server brought over her display tray and then the gimmicks began. It's their shtick: the presentation. They push over a two tier cart and introduce all of the different things on the menu in a long-winded presentation. They present and describe each different cut of meat, pick up a massive living lobster and show him off, and present all of the cuts of seafood and vegetables. After this ten minutes has passed, she handed us a menu that included everything she just showed us.

Some people love this presentation, but I say just give me the damn menu already. I haven't actually said this, of course, because J is one of those people that loves this presentation.

For my appetizer, I ordered a beefsteak tomato salad with blue cheese. This may well be the best thing ever. Ever. The tomatoes were cut thickly and were juicy and crisp and perfect, and the blue cheese cream and crumbles atop are the perfect dressing. I swear I could eat that every day, and especially theirs.

For dinner, I ordered a Cajun ribeye, medium. This is a Morton's specialty, where they marinate a ribeye in Cajun seasoning for a while (did she say overnight? I don't remember) and serve it with some extra pepper added. It's truly an amazing thing to taste, and makes me happy that I'm still a carnivore.

They do sides for the table, so we ordered mashed potatoes and steamed asparagus. The mashed potatoes, too, are excellent as far as mashed potatoes go. Can you really screw those up? I bet I could, but that's why I eat out so much.

But the asparagus is crazy! Every piece was the biggest piece of asparagus I ever saw, and each was really good. The dress it with a little bit of balsamic glaze.

Our guest M ordered a double filet mignon on the bone, which I have never seen before. He reported that it was equally delicious.

For the table, we ordered a bottle of Stag's Leap. Some kind of red, not sure what year, but had I known how expensive it was when he ordered it, I would have drank (drunken?) it more slowly.

They do have a dessert tray that they bring to the table as well. It all looked delicious, but there was no room in my life at that moment for dessert. All in all, a fantastic dinner.

I'm sure I'll be back to a Morton's again, and gratefully so. I'll still roll my eyes for effect, but I know I'll be guaranteed to have a great meal.

Shaw's Crab House - Chicago, IL

This restaurant is a Chicago institution, and deservedly so.  One of my favorite details about it is it’s very entrance, with a wooden rotating door that is thoroughly small by current American standards.  Entry inside has its moments of wonder and disappointment.  The wonder is in the décor and sound of the interior, and the disappointment is that the next sensory experience is the visual of the snarky maitre d and his blonde propped-busted cohort with the fake smile.  At least they weren’t European.  The disappointment is further enhanced by my fellow patrons, clad in leather jackets with elastic cinched waists and some still wearing their trade show name tags around their necks.  This is an expense account kind of restaurant, which is partially a criticism, but also only an observation.  I actually really like Shaw's.

The maitre d stand and bar are centered directly between the 85 table dining room on the left and the oyster bar on the right.  In all the times I’ve been here, the other night was the first time I wandered into the oyster bar and really absorbed the atmosphere of the room.  It’s incredible.  It’s visually perfect in every way, and has to have served as a period set for a dining room for some 40’s movie set in Chicago.  I just loved it.  The character was so thick that it absorbed the business-guy blech from the room completely, rendering everyone therein as part of the charm.  The room is almost completely a seated bar, with tables around the perimeter.  The bar guests all had plates of food before them, but seemed to be enjoying more than their meal, with cocktails being consumed as frequently as the oysters were being eaten. It seems like a loud and appealing place to have a meal, and I hope I get to do just that one day. 

Our table was reserved in the dining room.  Even though our reservation was for 7pm, Snarky McSnarkerton and Her Boobness handed us one of those TGI Friday’s blinky remote controls that would vibrate and alert us to our table’s readiness.  So, we ordered cocktails, which were prepared with lightning speed.  My boss and dinner companion J accidentally spilled a bit of his drink on the leather jacket belonging to a woman sitting at the bar, over whom he had to reach to collect said drink when the bartender had it ready.  Before she noticed, another guy waiting for a table conspired with us to clean up the mess and make things right before she had any idea.

Our blinky blinker notified us that our table was ready about ten minutes later, and we were escorted to a table that wasn’t ready yet.  We stood and chatted amidst the very loud and lush dining room while staff scurried around us getting everything sorted out at our table.

I have literally sat at this very same table every single time I’ve been to Shaw’s.  It’s amazing to me that that is true, but I swear that it is.  If you’re facing the bar, step into the entrance on its left.  The first two-seater immediately to the right is officially my table at Shaw’s.  This night, J sat with his back to the wall and I faced out that same entrance.  It’s a perfect people watching spot from both vantage points. 

The menu is unusual for such a classic place, because there’s a large section of sushi and sushi-related preparations, which seems out of place for a restaurant whose menu consists otherwise of the most traditional American apps and entrees one can imagine.  Our server informed us that they are famous for their Alaskan king crab legs that are flown in fresh daily, and I couldn’t help but immediately wonder if the cost of those crab legs included carbon credits, seeing as how we were nowhere near Alaska.

For bread, they serve a basket of warm assorted bread, and the butter rolls are to die for.  Thankfully there were only two, because we each had one and any more would have ruined my appetite.

I decided on a sushi item, thinking I’d give it a shot.  This is a seafood restaurant, after all.  For my entrée, I opted for The Club Room, which is their dated name for surf and turf.

The shrimp tempura sushi was fine.  It’s as good as any sushi place I’ve ever eaten at.  Interestingly, the server poured my soy sauce for me, and then separately served the sushi with a ponzu sauce.  She also delivered chop sticks, which seemed even more out of place in the restaurant than the sushi itself.

I didn’t use them.  The chopsticks.  M and I learned a few months back that it turns out that chopsticks aren’t for sushi, and that the whole point behind how sushi is rolled and sticky is that it’s meant to be eaten with your fingers.  Chopstick eaten sushi is an American bastardization of the sushi concept, so we discovered.  And man I hope Wikipedia was right.  Because if it’s not, then I’m just the asshole eating sushi with my fingers.

When I ordered the entrée, the server asked me if I wanted any crust on my 6 ounce filet mignon.  That’s a weird question.  When she elaborated, I realized she meant a dressing of sorts.  I opted for blue cheese.  Once served, the steak looked like a little baked potato, with the blue cheese browned and crusted atop the meat.

The Club Room consisted of that steak, shrimp, and scallops.  The filet mignon was cooked as requested, and the blue cheese gave it a nice little kick.  As steaks go, it was pretty good, but I kinda think all filet tastes basically the same and is always good as long as it’s cooked properly.  This fit the bill, and I enjoyed it.

The scallops were equally fine.  I actually am not a huge fan of scallops, unless there’s something else going on with them.  Without having been marinated or dressed or served within something else, I find them to be pretty bland.  These were on the better side of fine, served with some spinach.   I mean, I ate them, so they couldn’t have been that bad.

The shrimp was delicious.  The menu calls it garlic shrimp, but I swear it was prepared with a light lemon cream sauce.  I wish there was more of it on the plate.  One downside though is that it’s served with the shell still on it, butterflied down the middle.  It’s irritating to have to disassemble the shrimp to get a bite of food, hoping I got all the pieces of crunchy skin out of the way in the process.

I think maybe if M were with me I would have been a bit more adventurous with my menu choices, but all in all it was a decent meal in a great atmosphere.  This is a great restaurant to visit on your second night in Chicago.  It’s necessary, even.  Just try not to notice the patrons around you for fear of realizing you’re surrounded by expense accounters making awkward conversation, and that you’re probably one of them.

My Club Room:

http://www.shawscrabhouse.com/

33 Club - Chicago, IL

An old friend met up with me at the bar, late.  The ‘late’ wasn’t her fault, her cab driver got the address wrong by three neighborhoods and she wound up taking a drive to downtown and back, even though she lived just a relative few blocks away from the OId Town location.

With the extra few minutes, I had a chance to hang out and soak up the atmosphere a bit.  The entrance to the restaurant is down a short alley and from the side, and the first steps into the restaurant are actually directly into the bar, without really a hint of the dining room until one looks around a bit.  The bar is a dark-wood paneled beauty, with a single wall of glass separating the bar from the dining room.  Said wall must be three stories high, and is shelved with libations of all sorts, which can be seen from both sides, in the bar and in the restaurant. 

I had an interesting conversation with the bartender about the Hindenburg and the weather in San Diego, and then J arrived, looking lovely as always, wearing a red scarf but no jacket.  She’s a fantastic dinner companion, and immediately the star of any room she enters.  She ordered a martini with a blue cheese olive and I, a glass of wine.  We stayed at the bar for a while and caught up, and we didn’t make our way to our reserved table until a half hour after we told the hostess we wanted to be seated, but she didn’t seem to mind.

The dining room is thoroughly decorated, with large gold framed mirrors, ceiling height blue velvet curtains, and art of all sorts on the walls.  It’s a very colorful and warm experience to sit in this room, and the highlight is clearly the massive staircase that leads to a second level of seating and which lands directly in the middle of the dining room. 

I also learned from the bartender that the restaurant had only been open for a couple of months and that the proprietor is a Chicago local restauranteur who has a reputation for opening trendy restaurants in trendy neighborhoods that attract trendy clientele.  This was a matter of pride for him.  For me, I thought, “well let’s see how the food is”.  Turns out the place is about more than the food.

J and I immediately launched into conversation, and conversation of the sort that only old friends that trust each other can carry on.  It was supplemented by a fantastic bottle of wine, that she ordered because she’s much better at it than I.  She taught me the nuances of the differences between Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc in a way I had never heard before, and I expect that I may never drink a glass of Chardonnay again for having not realized what I’d been missing.  (I don’t think I’ll ever look forward to the wine bottle presentation extravaganza, though.)

My entrée was delicious.  I had the sea bass on the regular menu, which the bartender had mentioned was everyone’s favorite.  I could taste why.   It was perfectly cooked and glazed with a sweet sauce of some sort.  It was super delicious and not especially heavy or filling.  Loved it.  I wish I could remember what J had for her entrée, but I didn’t try it and it doesn’t matter, because the experience of eating here is clearly not about just the food.  It’s an all-senses type of meal.    We settled into the restaurant like we were in our living rooms, and the atmosphere took over.  The food was good, but the experience was better.

By all-senses, allow me the opportunity to offer two examples:
1.  I visited the men’s room at one point during the evening.  I was surprised to enter a new aesthetic once behind the bathroom door that featured framed photos of women in all states of undress.  Very strange.  I managed to snap a photo of the photo of Naomi Campbell’s beach-sand covered naked ass that was hung directly above the urinal.  See below.

2.   As we finished our dinner, J mentioned that she had been noticing a table of people sitting a few feet away that seemed very familiar to her.  She had a suspicion that amongst the patrons at the table were a few members of the Chicago Bears.  For those of you like me who couldn’t give a shit less about national sports, that’s a football team.  Remember that god awful music video that was all the rage back when we had friendship pins on our sneakers and made emergency breakthroughs before they started charging for them, that featured football-gear-clad men doing some ridiculous rapping and dancing?  That was the Chicago Bears.  The Super Bowl Shuffle.

     Her suspicion got the better of her and she discreetly asked our server if she was right, and he assured her that she indeed was spot on.  Several of them were on the team, and one of the guys was the quarterback, whatever that means.  Which is funny, because when he arrived wearing a white sweater with the collar popped up, and a scarf that he never removed (for the entire evening), my gaydar smacked me upside the  eyeglasses. 

At dinner’s end, we dutifully split the check and made our way out.  We were too busy enjoying each other’s company to have a conversation about the meal specifically, but I have a feeling she liked it.  I recommended it a couple of times during the rest of my visit in Chicago, and I would definitely head back next time I’m in town.


The bathroom:

And the Super Bowl Shuffle:

Tapas Valencia - Chicago, IL

Tapas dining is a strange thing to me.  It seems appealing, but I haven't done it enough to be comfortable with the variation from the usual app/entree/maybe dessert system.

I also happen to be easily overwhelmed by menus.  I hate when I'm handed a menu with six hundred things on it and have to pick just one.  That burden is lightened a bit at this restaurant, because the portions are small, but even still, soooo much to choose from.

I was joined by a friend from a company I do a lot of work with.  When I arrived, she was waiting for me near the bar, so we had a cocktail before we sat at our table.  Once we got the grub under way, we shared lamb, goat cheese crepes, crab something or other, really delicious scallops, some kind of fritter, and a few other things that escape me.  They were almost all delicious and I'd be happy to partake of all again.

Granted, we were there on a Sunday, but the venue was really massive compared to the amount of guests that were eating.  I can think of only maybe four other tables seated when we arrived, and we were the last table to clear.  We were out of there by 9:45.  There are dozens of tables, and a very large bar.  The walls are vibrant and really interesting, with huge mosaic tile murals.  All of the staff were friendly and competent and the whole experience was solid.

Getting a cab in that neighborhood in the midst of a hurricane of a rainstorm was a bit complicated.  So call ahead when you get your check, if you ever wind up here.

http://www.mesonsabika.com/valencia/index.html

The Harrison - Asbury Park, NJ

I admit to walking into the Harrison with a bias.  A couple years ago, we made a reservation here and arrived on time to be seated, and the host told us it would be a few more minutes before our table would be ready.  She showed us the bar and suggested we have a drink, and we were happy to oblige.  After literally an hour and 15 minutes of watching parties the same size as ours arrive and be seated while we were still parked at the bar, we gave up and left, heading over to Moonstruck instead.  I swore I’d never go back.

Since I’m writing this blog now, tonight’s dinner companions convinced me that it was time to give it another shot.  I think M’s real motivation was that a friend of ours told him they had carpaccio on the menu, which is a favorite of his whenever he’s in Amsterdam.  He was disappointed to find that this was mere myth when the menu was handed to us.

We arrived on time to be seated, and the host told us it would be a few more minutes before our table would be ready.  Ugh, here we go again, I thought.  Thankfully, it truly was just a few minutes, and long enough for the three of us to finish a Sapphire & tonic, a glass of pinot grigio, and an apple martini.

The restaurant is small and narrow, and we had a distinct view of the very small kitchen from the vantage point of our four-seater table.   A small criticism is that the lighting in the restaurant is low and subtle, and the glare of the bold white fluorescent light coming from the kitchen detracted from the mood in the rest of the venue.  

The décor theme is mixed, with paintings of Asbury Park icons interspersed with more generic beach and sailing themed photographs of sailboats and lighthouses.  It’s tough to put a finger on exactly what the aesthetic is trying to accomplish – is it contemporary, is it modern, is it casual chic?  I dunno, but the lights were just low enough that the details were invisible, anyway. 

The menu is equally ambiguous in it’s theming.  The options are of the steak and seafood variety, with a bit of pork and duck thrown in.  I’m not an expert in cuisine, but if I were to describe the fare, the best thing I could come up with is ‘American’.   That’s not to criticize, but just an observation through my lens of having just been to Cajun themed Ragin Cajun the night before, where the menu had a distinct and unmistakable personality.   

The waitress took our order without writing anything down.  Have I mentioned that that drives me crazy?  I have.  See: The Globe.  However, as happened last time, the food we ordered came exactly as requested, and delivered to the correct person without question.

Here’s the run down:

Chicken and vegetable dumplings – I had these as an appetizer, steamed, and they were god damned DELICIOUS.  They were served with a cup of Thai peanut sauce and they were perfect.  (Why is everything that’s peanut flavored automatically labeled ‘Thai’?  They should just call it peanut sauce.)  I could have eaten three times as many and made that my entire entrée.  One strange thing about them is that I had originally asked for them to be pan seared, which was another option on the menu, along with steamed and fried.  The server said that they couldn’t actually pan sear them because there weren’t enough burners in the small kitchen on the busy weekend night.  No big deal, but why is it on the menu then?

Jamaican jerk scallops – M’s appetizer and as good as my dumplings, with raspberry compote on the side (could have been cranberry, I was too distracted by the dance of deliciousness happening in my mouth to note such details).  Ohhh man we were off to a good start.

E didn’t have an app, but we also ordered baked brie for the table to share.  Brie is brie and I think it’s kind of hard to screw it up.  This one was served with almonds on top and had a dressing of what I really do think was Aunt Jemima’s pancake syrup.

M & E headed out for a smoke break, and as they came back, entrees were served.

Escolar – My entrée, from the specials list.  What on earth is escolar?  I had no idea, except that it was under the ‘seafood’ category on the specials menu.  It turned out to be a really tasty white fish, served with a cool and fresh salsa on top.  Very light and delicious.  I tend to like dinners just a bit heavier, with a cheese or cream or mashed potato involved somewhere, so it wasn’t a perfect meal for me.  But, that’s to no failure on the part of the restaurant, I knew it would have none of the above when I ordered it.  For me, a half-size portion would make a fantastic lunch meal.

Penne with chicken – E had a pasta staple, even though we all agreed that we weren’t heading to Nicchio in Belmar tonight specifically because we didn’t want Italian.  You can take the girl out of Jersey..., as they say.  She is a great dinner companion.  The portion was large, so I tasted a few bites after she was done and it was pretty good.  As long as the pasta isn’t overcooked or the sauce blandly stale, I tend to not be much of a critic of pasta.  I did love that this one came with shredded parmesan on top.

Delmonico with worsterschire (hmm spell check can’t figure this word out and I don’t have the energy to check and see what the correct spelling is, but you get the idea) – M, out of character, ordered a steak.  And it was a big steak.  It was served rare as requested, with rice on the side.  The steak was pretty tasty – not the best steak I’ve ever had but perfectly acceptable.  The wild rice on the side, though?  Ugh.  It was nasty.  And not ‘nasty’ in that way that the guy on So You Think You Can Dance uses it.  (“Yo, that dance was buck nasty!”)  It was vanilla flavored rice blech-ness.  The only thing on the table that we all universally hated.  Thankfully, there was enough steak to bring some home to Smeek Face Monster, so she had a special Saturday evening treat.  I also guarantee that she cannot spell worsterschire, in case you’re wondering.

Other observations about the Harrison:

- The hostess was wearing zip up boots that ended just below the knee.  Each time she came back to the kitchen to talk to the cook, she would lean up against the wall, unzip her boot, and scratch her leg down to her ankle.  Every time she did this, I imagined the smell of feet and had to take another sip of wine to get it out of my head. 

- The server brought out the bottle of wine we ordered –Relax Riesling with a screw top – and immediately filled our glasses, without any of the bullshit wine presentation.  Love that.

- There was a table of two women sitting directly behind us, and one of them sent back the tuna she had ordered.  She said it was inedible.  I couldn’t hear the details about what her issue was, but I heard the two of them use the term ‘consistency’ a couple of times.

All in all, I’m sorry for myself that we didn’t give the Harrison a second shot after the sitting-at-the-bar debacle a couple of years ago, because I am really excited to visit again and try some of the other stuff on the menu.  Or maybe I’ll just order a table full of dumplings and call it a day.

Ragin Cajun - Belmar, NJ

If you live around here, you probably know someone who swears by Ragin Cajun in Belmar.  "I LOVE that place!!!" is a term I commonly hear associated with it.  People love it.  I'm on the fence.

I should preface anything else I say with the disclaimer that a friend of mine works here. 

The restaurant is a casual oasis, set in an old house on route 35 between Fratto Brothers used car lot and a 7-11.  There's patio seating, porch seating, and a few tables indoors.  "A few tables indoors" is a funny thing to say about a restaurant.  In the winter, getting in here is a pain in the ass.  All those people who LOVE the restaurant are all looking for a Friday or Saturday night table at the very same moment.  Don't show up in the middle of the rush, or risk being yelled at to go wait on the porch.  We did once and wound up going to Taka in Asbury after 20 minutes of standing on the porch in the cold, after we were shooed out on our arrival at Ragin.

When everyone says they LOVE Ragin Cajun, I always think "hmm, I'm sure I'm missing something".  I definitely like it, but I don't get that warm fuzzy in my belly the way other people do.  We always try to sit outside on the patio, so obviously it's a warm weather destination for us.  The patio is laid out with white plastic tables and chairs, and is moderately maintained from a landscaping perspective.  That means small weeds growing between the pavers and dead leaves in the bushes, for the gardeners in the house.  What's interesting about the patio is that my immediate reaction is always "but the traffic?", where four lanes of route 35 are literally steps away and constantly busy with cars and motorcycles.  After a few minutes, it becomes background noise, really.  Except for the occasional loud bike that passes by.  Everyone stops talking for a few seconds until we can all hear ourselves speak again after the two-wheeled monster passes.

What's up with motorcycles lately, anyway?  I swear they are getting louder and louder.  WTF is going on with men on two-wheeled machines making their means of transport intentionally louder and louder, to the point that they shake the ground as they pass and set off car alarms in every neighborhood they are in?  Assholes.  News flash: if your motorcycle is loud, you're a shit head.  No one is impressed by the fact that your vehicle rattles our windows, and we all think you have small penises. 

Anyway, inside the restaurant is a completely casual affair.  The decor is a very comfortable and lived-in aesthetic of bookshelves and coziness.  An extra special touch is what I imagine to be the staff's mound of backpacks, flip flops, and bags piled in front of the kitchen, which also happens to be immediately next to a four-top table.  It's like everyone arrived fresh from the beach, dropped their bags on the floor, pulled out their aprons, and started working tables.  I love that about a place.  No pretension whatsoever.  Casual is the theme here.  Though, casual may have been taken to an extreme last night, where there was literally a hair dryer on the counter.  Or was it a shrink-wrap heater?  I dunno. 

I also love the specials board.  It's always presented on a chalkboard, at an extra seat placed at the table.  We all get to peruse the board long enough to make our selections and then it's passed along to the next table.  The specials last night were familiar from the regular menu, with a few blackened options and some other goodness.

They bring bread to the table with a perfectly special accompaniment: heated whole garlic.  It's a great alternative to butter or olive oil that I never see anywhere, and that makes for a really interesting pre-starter.  The bread is actually rolls, and they are served warm with a slightly crispy baked exterior.

We were a group of 9 last night, and C with us suggested I get a Baton Rouge with a special request combination of blackened sirloin and blackened chicken, and she got the same.  It was pretty good, and huge.  I also happen to not like peppers or large chunks of onion, so I pulled both out in large quantity and set them aside.  The remnant rice and meat was an oily mix of tasty blackenedness, though mine was brought out 10 minutes after C's because the kitchen had made mine a blackened mahi Baton Rouge instead.

For an appetizer, I had a caesar salad.  I wanted the tomato salad that I've had in past visits, but the server told me it's not available anymore because the tomatoes are Jersey grown tomatoes and they're all bad now, which is a bizarre thing to say given that my friend A's tomato vines are flush with perfectly delicious ready-to-eat tomato goodness.  What's more is that a caesar salad seems completely out of place at a restaurant that professes to be distinctly Cajun.  I'm no historian, but I have a feeling that the caesar salad recipe isn't indigenous to New Orleans.

M had the jambalaya, which was also a heaping mound of rice and Cajun flavor.  And SPICY.  He usually gets it when we come to Ragin, and it's always good, but it's never eaten to the point that he can see the plate before it's taken away.  Downsize.  The portions don't need to be so large!

In visits past, I've had the various blackened appetizer concoctions, and they are my favorite thing at the restaurant.  Blackened tuna bites, in particular, are really delicious.  And though they are an app, the portion is plenty large for an entree if you're not wanting to have your dinner companions cart your ass out of the place because you're too stuffed to walk proper.

As we wound down from the food, one of my friends pointed out that our waitress was about to sing a song with the band that was performing inside.  A cute idea, right?  Your server does double duty as guest-star with the band.   She did a song with the guys with the tuba and everybody was happy.  And then she performed a second song.  I felt like Ebeneezer Scrooge when almost everyone at our table got up to go inside and watch her sing while I remained seated at the table outside in the increasingly cold autumn breeze, thinking "um, can we get our check?".

After showtime at the Ragin Cajun, our check eventually came, and dinner for 9 people was $180!  Great price.   All hail the BYO.  We'll definitely visit Ragin again, because it's such a comfortable and casual atmosphere and an easy place to get a meal on a not-so-busy night.  Is it one of my favorites?  No.  But it's an area staple that I'd definitely visit ahead of some of the other destinations in the neighborhood, especially for the chance to sit outside on the patio in summer.