Not Asleep at the Swich

Food trucks in Edmonton are sandwich-skewed. The overwhelming majority of these exceeds, in terms of quality, the sandwich offerings of many brick-and-mortar restaurants. The downside, however, is for emerging trucks that do specialize in sandwiches to find an original angle on these ubiquitous victuals - an angle that doesn't overlap or intersect with extant sandwiches.

Swich endeavours to accomplish just that: original and creative sandwiches. This neophyte food trailer currently does a lunch service that alternates between the north side Royal Alexandra Hospital, and the south side U of A Clinic. The graffiti-inspired artwork is hard to miss and bespeaks creative minds behind this concept.

Several savoury sandwiches and a duo of ice cream sandwiches grace the menu upon this lunch hour. Mortadella on a baguette features a complementary duality of buttery meat and crusty bread. It is a pity that mortadella isn't showcased more often, for this Italian creation is nuanced but never overbearing.

Green Curry Chicken on a pretzel roll is decent, though the roll is the stronger partner. The chicken is deli-style and, consequently, lacks the rich texture of roasted fowl. Green curry hints of coconut milk and exotic spices, but its presence needs to be amplified. The roll is gorgeous: chewy and tender, salty and sweet.

A chocolate-cherry ice cream sandwich is a frosty handful of nostalgia. Ruby-red crescents of black cherries mingle with dark chocolate nibs between two fudgy chocolate-laced wafers. Swich's 'wiches are indeed quite different from the existing plethora of bread-based lunch items. The ice cream sandwiches in particular are proof that this Swich is on.

Smoke on the Water at That Bar-B-Q Place

Barbecue culture is massive in the States and, though Canadians love to barbecue in the back yard, we haven't the same obsession with Godzilla-esque slabs of meat that are cooked low and slow. American-style barbecue has made a few in-roads in this city, thanks in part to the sadly-burned Bubba's and northside gem Sloppy Hoggs Roed Hus. Sherwood Park now has a barbecue spot of their very own - cheekily named "That Bar-B-Q Place." That Barb-B-Q Place occupies a recently built strip mall, just across from the natty kitchenware store, The Pan Tree.

The protein-centric menu shares quarters with the likes of Nascar memorabilia, John Deere signage, and a hand-written "Redneck Dictionary" on the wall. An enjoyable classic country soundtrack swings from Dolly Parton to Johnny Cash, with a welcome splash of Freddy Fender. Supper commences with a Pulled Potato. This hefty creation centers on a large, baked potato that has been cleaved in two, and topped with a juicy tangle of pulled pork, house-made slaw, mayo, and a criss-cross of dill pickles. This is a baked potato on 'roids: pumped up, no-nonsense, and unabashedly delicious.

The Two Meat Combo permits one to select two meats from a roster that includes ribs, pulled prok, turkey, and beef brisket. Pulled pork, which was very amenable to that buxom baked potato, is fragrant and sweetly smoke-kissed on its own. Indeed, a good pulled pork ought to be presented on its own, and far too many other restaurants quite literally smother their meat with BBQ sauce. If one's pork is as magical as one claims, should it not be allowed to shine? That Bar-B-Place has the right idea, for the diner can choose - or choose not to - add sauce themselves. Smoked Baked Beans are saucy and mealy, and quietly sing cowboy tunes of open skies and dusty trails. A miniature Buttermilk Cornbread Muffin is thoroughly moist and buttery. The ribs steal the show. They taste like a good campfire smells: permeated with the evocative essence of wood and fire. They fall off the bone with so much as a stern glance.

That Bar-B-Q Place is on to something.

Yellowbird Cafe Truck - House of the Rising Sun

Permit me to diverge from my usual omniscient perspective to wax poetic about food and memories. The two are inextricably linked and, often, the most vivid of memories are retrieved by food. One can intentionally conjure up some food-linked memories by intentionally eating, for example, banana bread that tastes just like a family member used to make, thereby transcending the present and reliving rich childhood memories. Other times, these associations are a surprise, and a particular taste can unearth long-forgotten recollections.

Yellowbird Cafe Truck (which is a trailer, if one wants to split hairs) roves around the city and often perches near City Hall, in Churchill Square. A sandwich board - no pun intended - lists the day's specials, which include a Chicken and Avocado Sandwich, Dusty Edamame Beans, Meatball Sub, and Yakiniku Wrap. At this moment in time, I haven't the foggiest that the Yakiniku will suddenly pierce the time-space continuum and revisit a little-known era of my life: my short-lived experience as a flautist.

But first: the meatball sub. A trio of well-seasoned beef spheres relax under a blanket of shredded cheddar. A warm and zesty tomato sauce whispers of chilies. The ranch drizzle could be omitted without missing a beat, for the cheese and sauce work rather well together without this metaphorical third wheel. The crust integrity of the bun could be improved, as it neither offends nor pleases.

The Yakiniku Wrap, however, is magical. This Japanese interpretation of a Philly Cheesesteak is lovingly caressed with sesame dressing, shreds of daikon, and sauteed red peppers. Tender and generous shavings of beef are permeated with a beguiling combination of soy, garlic, brown sugar and, perhaps, knowing hints of sake.

One bite transports me to the kitchen table of my band conductor on a winter's night in Hudson Bay, Saskatchewan. In reference to my earlier allusions to flautist tenure, I use those terms incredibly loosely. My wise father believed in the power of music for recalcitrant teenagers, and I ended up playing flute in the community band for five years. My conductor Mr. Torigai possessed the verve and energy of Seiji Ozawa. He and my father became good friends. We were all invited over to the Torigais' house on a frigid February night and Mrs. Torigai prepared traditional, home-cooked Japanese fare. One beef dish, the name of which I've long forgotten, tasted exactly like the beef in Yellowbird's yakiniku wrap. I hardly expected such strong memories to emerge on a warm June day in downtown Edmonton, but food-memory evocations can pop up in the most unexpected locals.

Bully Food Truck - Talkin' 'Bout a Revolution

Society vacillates through periods of stability and revolution. Smaller oscillations occur within this grander system: everything from science to fashion. Edmonton, it seems, stayed in a period of stability for decades in terms of food culture, but something shifted about three years ago. No one quite knows what instigated this revolution. Perhaps we achieved some sort of "critical mass" that set things in motion. Small, craft eateries are growing like flowers, new farmers' markets appear each spring, and a new fleet of food trucks roams the streets like merchant vessels in uncharted seas.

Bully Food Truck joined the Capital City's growing ranks of vehicular vittles last season, and is easily the most blinged-out truck in the city. Their brand is cheeky; think "give me your lunch money" paired with screaming orange and bold letters. Bully's food, paradoxically, is anything but brash.

Rather, Bully's culinary identity centers on comfort food. On this particular lunch hour, rain relentlessly pounds the pavement and cruel winds up-end the most stubborn of umbrellas. Butter Chicken Pops are an intuitive antidote to inclement weather. Bully's interpretation features tender drumsticks on a bed of nutty basmati, accompanied by purple cabbage slaw. The sauce (mercifully) leans toward the tomato-ish end, rather than the creamy end, of the butter chicken spectrum. It is sumptuous and not too spicy, though a sprinkle of cilantro would do well to replace the tumble of green onions on top.

Mac and Cheese is a portal to childhood school lunches. Far too many versions of macaroni and cheese in this city are inexplicably stingy with cheese. The resultant naked noodles are anything but appetizing. Bully's version veritably swims with cheese. Shavings of cheddar and toasty bread crumbs are a crown worn with pride. Really, if one is going to make mac and cheese, it shouldn't be a game of "find the cheese." Thank you, Bully. This is how it should be made.

The food truck micro-revolution is well underway, and Bully easily owns the "comfort food" niche. One might ponder, though, the connectivity between comfort food and the truck's name which, for the uninitiated, implies all things sharp and spicy. The "Snuggle Wagon" just doesn't have the same impact. Really, during this phase of culinary revolution, any truck or restaurant must own its food. Bully owns mac and cheese.

Belgravia Hub - The Goldilocks Zone

Seventy-sixth avenue, with the recent arrivals of Enzo's on 76 and Belgravia Hub, is indeed a lucky stretch of roadway. Two top-notch - but very different - eateries are within a few blocks of one another. Enzo's opened several weeks ago, and already produces some of the finest Italian fare in the city. Belgravia Hub has been open for little more than a week and already operates like a finely-calibrated, sinuous machine.

A blues-tinged soundtrack (that will later segue into John Lennon and The Doors) lolls about in a room dressed in metal and wood. A one page menu features "Beginnings," "Get Fresh," and "Fill Up." Translation: starters, salads, and mains. For starters, flatbread with goat cheese and veggies is graced with tangy pesto and crowned with little clouds of cheese, roasted morsels of peppers and mushrooms, and gently topped with a small handful of fresh greens.

Shrimp Bruschetta pops with the eponymous pink crustaceans, counterbalanced by coins of spicy sausage. Sweet corn and sunny tomatoes complete this creation, though a few more slices of bread would be welcome.

Shortrib Sliders, though the buns are a bit lost in the mix, present unctuously juicy nests of shredded beef atop a mild fennel slaw. A quick dab of mayo caresses both meat and veg.

Mushroom Risotto shines. Nutty rice that plays with abundant mushrooms falls perfectly within the "Goldilocks Zone" - neither too dry nor too creamy. Zig-zags of balsamic drizzle impart hits of zip and zing that accentuate, rather than overpower, their fungous companions.

Voluptuous Beef Shortrib is tender and marbled in all the right places. A jumble of carrots and brussels sprouts harkens to Sunday dinners of yore. Potato-leek mash is pan-fried to give addition texture and depth of flavour, the latter of which starts with buttery notes of potato and finishes with subtle whispers of leek.

Cornmeal Berry Cake is neither too porous nor too dense. A squiggle of coulis and a puff of whipped cream encourage alternating hits of berry and dairy. Though cornmeal, in the wrong hands, can easily be robbed of moisture, this cake is gorgeously moist.

Jasper Ave and 124 St may have the highest rate of good restaurants per block, but at this rate, 76 Ave will be a serious contender for the crown. This Ave will be the Goldilocks Zone of dining - neither too many nor too few - and it's just right.

Tony's Pizza Palace - Repeat After Me

Writing about a long-established restaurant poses a special set of challenges. How can one provide a fresh perspective, rather than a retread of so many previous assessments? Tony's Pizza Palace has purveyed pizza to the Edmontonian masses since at least 1965 (though the menu below states, "EST 1986") and, as such, has no paucity of coverage in print or electronic guises.

And yet, I have managed to avoid reading any of these reviews. This is not for a concerted effort on my part, but due to the reality of a long-established restaurant blending seamlessly into the city's social fabric. Tony's is not popping up on the latest blog, nor does it appear in the paper or on the radio. Hoards of writers/foodies/etc do not generally float from one long-standing eatery to another but, rather, track the openings of new and chic spots, much like migrating ungulates follow patterns of plant green-up in search of forage.

Tony's interior harkens to the early to mid-1980s, though signs purport temporary closure in June for renovations. A laminated menu covers a few pastas, but centers on pizza. Several incarnations, including the square Sicilian pizza, require 24 hour notice for preparation. Pizza Bianca piques my interest, and I am rewarded with a garlicky symphony of roasted mushrooms draped with mozza, romano and parmigiana. A graceful crust bears these toppings with pride.

Sal's Deluxe provides a luxurious bed of marinated tomatoes layered with capocollo, proscuitto and very milky bocconcini. A generous sprinkle of parsley adds fresh, herbaceous notes. Astute spices within the tomatoes impart a wee bit of most-welcome afterburn, but the subtle bocconcini is lost in competition with its far more assertive comrades.

So, what indeed can be said about Tony's that has not already been said? I am not born-and-raised Edmontonian and, therefore, haven't decades of samples from which to draw conclusions. Regardless, if these pizzas are indicative of a "Tony's" experience, they suggest a rich history of well-made pies. Perhaps there isn't anything new to say, because good things bear repeating.

Pure Kitchen - The Sandwich Generation

It seems there is little left to say about sandwiches. They have been extolled ad infinitum, and even ad nauseum. How, then, would one develop a sandwich-based menu that isn't (a) so far off the beaten track that garnering fans is a challenge, or (b) so narrowly centered on the beaten track that it is merely a retread of so many previous menus? This quandary vexes the "sandwich generation" of both the social sciences and all things culinaria. One must strike a balance between caring for aging parents and dependent offspring, analogues of the aforementioned traditional-iconoclastic sandwich dichotomy.

Pure Kitchen, a newcomer to 124 Street and sibling of nearby The Makk on 124, sets this conundrum to rest. A breakfast/lunch menu features a host of sly sammies that are just edgy enough to outwit other assemblages of bread, meat and veg. But first - salad. The Pure Salad gently tosses together mixed leafy greens, carrot shreds, zippy red onion and lusciously ripe tomatoes. Scatters of sunflower seeds and chalk-white clouds of feta play with a sunny vinaigrette.

A Turkey Club presents as a tender-crisp torpedo roll jam-packed with mild smoked turkey, tenderly wilted greens, sweet and oozy provolone, salty-smoky bacon, soft-spoken maple mayo, and liberal lashings of guacamole. Though maple and avocado would traditionally be written off as strange bedfellows, this non-intuitive pairing launches this torpedo into uncharted and fascinating waters.

Mac and Cheese Panini is precisely what one's mother would advise against: decadent cheese sauce that literally sighs with gratitude as it encompasses each curly cavatappi, vividly scarlet tomato slices and yet more bacon, all cloaked with a mantle of molted sharp cheddar. This opulent concoction shames many versions of mac and cheese and isn't lost within the crunchy confines of bread.

Pure Kitchen's dessert cooler would see any doomsday survivalist through the most dreadful of Malthusian societal breakdowns. Chocolate layer cake is rather dry but rescued by generous chocolate frosting. A swirled and flaky pastry creation (that has no official name) is chock-full of peanut butter and raisins. This sublime collaboration of smooth and flake is nicely washed down with a frothy cappuccino.

One needn't reinvent the wheel to make a good sandwich - or most other dishes, for that matter - but striking a balance between the austere and the obscure presents a challenge to even the most experienced of restauranteurs. Bravo, Pure Kitchen. We're talking 'about this generation.