My infatuation with intricate Broadway lyrics even predates my food obsessions. So it’s not surprising (with an ear trained on the rhyming wonders of Sondheim) that I’m attuned to lyrics of popular songs that often provide the dinner soundtrack at local restaurants. Music, after all, sets a tone, particularly for the wonderful mix of ethnic cuisines that are available around the bay. Ragas say Indian, jigs evoke Ireland, finger cymbals kindle thoughts of belly-dancing just as sure as hummus.
So when I enter Sate Southeast Asian Grill with its sleek, spare decor dotted with Asian wall accents, the pulsing sounds of alternative rock seem out of sync. Perhaps it’s a concession to market forces (given its proximity to USF Tampa and a price point that’s student-friendly). There are certainly ample portions and, in the case of the pad Thai, nearly enough noodles to feed an entire sorority.
But the running score that fills the room is an alt-rock playlist: Bowling for Soup, 3OH!3, All-American Rejects and Sugarcult. Seems like alternative via Pandora is the new sound of the Viet-Thai kitchen. Unlike many Asian menus that sometimes overwhelm diners with pages and pages of choices, Sate’s is selective and easy to follow. The descriptions of each dish are clear, and there’s an alpha-numeric tag (A1, A2, etc.) plus a national flag by each one, lest you confuse a dish’s country of origin.
It’s time to order from our friendly server and the tune of 3OH!3’s “Don’t Trust Me” fills the room. Yes, please, we’d like to try S2: Tom Yum Kai. The speakers blare, “Don’t trust a ho.” We continue, A2: Cha Gio, “Never trust a ho,” A4: Curry Puff, “Won’t trust a ho,” E7: Pad Thai, “Do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips.” Va-voom, and so it goes.
Our appetizers fare well. Tom Yum Kai is a yummy chicken soup with coconut milk, fresh lemon grass, mushrooms, galangal (a cousin to ginger) and just the right hit of acid from lime juice. I want to bottle some and take it home. It’s served with a tiny teaspoon that requires a rigorous elbow workout to fill a big American mouth.
Cha Gio, crispy brown Vietnamese egg rolls, are filled with pork, shrimp, clear vermicelli, taro and carrots, served alongside sweet peanut sauce. The main impression is of texture rather than of distinct, specific tastes, but the peanut sauce coats the rolls as you dip. It’s a pleasant, sensual contrast.
The wonton skin-wrapped curry puff is reminiscent of an Indian samosa filled with ground pork, potato, onion, taro and just a touch of curry paste. It’s a Southeast Asian comfort treat. Two puffs come per order, along with a surprisingly delicious shredded pickled carrot and daikon salad, which walks a sweet-tart knife edge that’s exhilarating. And I am actually able to do a reasonable job with my chopsticks despite my mediocre skills. I always try to eat with authentic implements, and I urge you also to do so. It gives us a sense of cuisine as part of a larger culture, and if you don’t try, your skills can’t possibly advance.
As we wait for the entrees to appear, more alt-rock sounds fill the room. And we wait, and we wait. The kitchen is sloooow, even though the restaurant isn’t crowded. Lyrics fill the void. “And I’ve waited long enough to make it,” shout The All-American Rejects as if they’re running the kitchen.
Finally, a lightly seared tuna steak, densely coated with sesame seeds, appears. It’s thinly sliced, but presented whole instead of tiled to reveal the pleasantly pink interior, a missed opportunity since we eat first with our eyes. The accompanying sliced ginger is fresh, the wasabi has bite, but the result is merely pleasant with nothing notable to distinguish it from the pack.
Suon Kho To slowly caramelizes tiny pork spare ribs, barely an inch or so long, in a cute covered clay pot, with a handle like an onion soup ramekin. There’s also a flavorful broth dotted with scallions. The pork, unfortunately, while tasty, isn’t falling off the bone like many sigh-inducing ribs, but more reminiscent of chewy protein — sort of a soft, moist pork jerky.
The soundscape brays Sugarcult’s 2004 hit, “Memory.” “So get back, back, back to the disaster,” which is almost prophetic. The pad Thai, while short of disaster, is maddeningly one-dimensional. The portion size, as previously mentioned, is enormous. That’s all to the good. But, unfortunately, what arrives at the table is an unappealing blob of brown, brown, brown. Even though the shrimp are overcooked and slightly rubbery, they are buried instead of placed as a much needed contrasting color garnish. And any accompanying sprouts or veggies meant to provide texture don’t register. This one has “food court” written all over it.
When it’s time for dessert, the flan and brownie don’t promise anything new, so we opt for fried banana with homemade coconut ice cream and a scrumptious-sounding pineapple-coconut pie with peach sauce. Sadly, the pie skipped town, but we enjoy the fried banana with vanilla ice cream that’s substituted without comment. Seems that “alternative” applies to the kitchen as well as the music.
This article appears in Feb 12-18, 2015.