The building itself totally looks like a place that would deliver on promises of seafood contamination. It’s in the middle of a largely abandoned, ghostly strip mall parking lot. A sad, dingy yellow elephant lay partially deflated, face smashed onto pavement, looking as though he’d gone on a frightful bender. Inside, there is the fish tank requisite at all Chinese establishments, but the water was inauspiciously murky. There were plenty of crystal chandeliers, though.

There were the usual troughs of typical Chinese buffet food: colorless vegetables swimming in grease and gravy, fried mystery meats, jellos and ice creams. There were also the usual crowd that eats at a Chinese buffet – families with a minimum of ten small children each, dudes wearing stained wifebeaters and ladies with heavy eye baggage. (I know it’s not the fanciest place, but is it too much to ask to not intentionally set out to physically repulse other people that happen to be dining in the same space as you? Try to put on a shirt that’s not 90% pit stains, for god’s sake).

We walked past all of that and went straight to a corner that advertised: “HOT VIETNAMESE SOUP.” Pho, naturally*. My dad and I both waited patiently for our bowls of beef pho, in line behind a kid who was probably on his third or fourth bowl. Hmm. Next to the pho station, a woman fried pancakes for another traditional Vietnamese dish, banh xeo. A man ladled hot simmering broth into little bowls over noodles and tender, barely cooked slices of beef; unceremoniously he dunked fragrant sawtoothed basil and crunchy bean sprouts into the broth. We grabbed our bowls, squirted sriracha (cock sauce!) and hoisin on a side plate, and sat down to eat.

Surprisingly, the pho was actually quite good. Not the best pho I’ve had by any stretch of the imagination, but certainly lots better than pho I’ve had at the various places my dad and stepmom have taken me to eat (I’m looking at you, Saigon restaurant!). The broth, in my opinion the most important element of the soup, was clear and light, and didn’t taste greasy – which is one issue I have with many pho restaurants. The little bowl was actually a perfect portion size, as usually I can’t even get through what is considered a “small” portion at most Viet restaurants in Wichita.

The pho was so good, in fact, that I was tempted to get another bowl – and on the way, I even hazarded a sample of the sushi cart near the pho station, which I had earlier given a skeptical glance. The sushi actually did look and taste pretty fresh, and certainly wasn’t any worse than grocery store sushi. We finished our meals with a big plate of messy, delicious crab legs. Otherwise, we (wisely) eschewed the rest of the standard buffet fixings.

Thankfully and somewhat surprisingly, no gastrointestinal distress followed this meal! My fortune cookie foretold plenty of advice coming my way, which my father happily supplied.

AsiaTown Buffet
6160 E Central
Wichita, KS 67208
(316) 684-5173

* pronunciation tip of the day: “Pho” (which when written properly has some accent thingies clinging to the o) is not pronounced like the word “foe” or “faux” – but more like an exaggerated, questioning “fuh?”

The menu is rather small at Pot Pie. I tend to take this as a good sign, in contrast with places that feature tome-length menus of mediocre offerings. But, for a restaurant themed and named after pot pies, there are only two variants of the dish on offer: classic chicken & vegetables, and beef & mushroom. No vegetarian options, which ordinarily wouldn’t bug me that much except that this strikes me as rather simple to do. A pot pie is essentially “stew covered with pie crust”; just have maybe three or four varieties of stew bubbling on the stove beforehand, and roll out the pie dough / crust whenever people order. There are a few other dishes on the menu, your basic (for fancypants restaurants, at least) plates of seared scallops, steak, etc etc – but we came for the Pot Pie and that’s what we ordered.

Sad to say, the titular* pies were a disappointment. Service was a tad slow considering the place was hardly packed, but we didn’t mind because we had several hours to kill before the show. When the pies eventually came out, they were piping hot on top – the phyllo dough crust was burnt in several places, actually – but the stew beneath was lukewarm and severely underseasoned. The beef wasn’t particularly tender; the chicken was all right but then again, it’s just chicken. Both pies were pretty sizeable, and I struggled to finish mine even though I was ravenously hungry beforehand. My bf liked his well enough; he’ll essentially like anything wrapped in some sort of bread (as long as the contents meet his cryptic dietary restrictions, of course), but given the few other generic-sounding offerings on the menu, nothing about this place would lure either of us to return.

My suggestion: unless burnt and bland happens to hit the spot for you, keep right on walking to Bluestem next door. It’s a bit pricier but there are happy hour specials, some of which I would have tried had the pot pie not been taking up valuable real estate in my belly**.

Pot Pie
904 Westport Road
Kansas City, MO 64111-3147
(816) 561-2702

* haw haw “tit.” Yes, I am twelve.
** rows of condos for sale up in here, yo.

As evinced by its name, Westside Local places heavy emphasis on local, organic ingredients*; beer pairings are listed on the menu beneath each main course. The food is slightly pricey but not nearly as insufferable as it could be, considering its local/organic designation; small plates range from $6 – 10, and big plates from $13-$26. There’s an odd little item in the small plates listing called “soupish” which we asked our waiter about (“is this for when you want soup but not really?”), which turned out to be a tasting of the soup of the day.

Anyway, on to the food we actually ordered. Photos below were taken after we had already commenced attacking our dinners, whoopsies!

Not pictured, because we forgot: a plate of deviled eggs, which (I think) is D’s favorite offering at WL. The eggs are a little more vinegary than usual, which makes them a little more interesting than ordinary deviled eggs. They’re served with a spicy mustard and some greens, which also give them a nice little kick.

D just ordered a beet salad for dinner. With a heaping helping of oxygen on the side!

Quinoa risotto with vegan cream and various roasted veggies.

To me this dish almost seemed a bit of a throwaway, “we have to make something vegan…quick, what do vegans like?” I’m not stuck up about experimenting with classic dishes, but stuff cooked in stock does not a risotto make…it just makes it “quinoa simmered in stock instead of water.” It’s not a particularly absorbent grain, or maybe it is if cooked longer. It was certainly light and tasty, but not particularly compelling or anything.

Chicken and waffles! A grand dish for dead Elvis or a pregnant lady.

To the opposite extreme was this chicken and waffles dish, served with homemade butter, sriracha (or as we like to call it, “cock sauce”), and syrup. The combination sounds a bit strange, but I thought it worked, as it is scientific fact that cock sauce goes with everything. The batter on the chicken was noisily crunchy, and the syrup-sriracha concoction tempered the severe fattiness of the rest of the dish. If we weren’t pregnant before eating this, we sure looked it afterwards.

Because I am a glutton, I ordered this massive carbofart of a dinner. It did actually look kinda purdy before I slashed the yolk with my fork and went to Chowtown.

I was torn between ordering the carbonara (which is one of my favorite dishes to cook, so this was definitely breaking my tendency to order things that I don’t know how to make) or the mussels in chorizo and tomato broth, but then I vaguely remembered being slightly disappointed in the mussels the last time I came to WL, and also I had Anthony Bourdain’s infamous “no seafood on Sundays” advice in my brain, so I went with this.** The carbonara featured crispy chunks of pancetta, which were fantastic – almost like crispy Chinese pork belly, with an intensely crunchy and salty exterior. Minor quibbles: instead of parmesan, there was a big dollop of mozzarella, which kind of melted into this gooey sticky puddle at the bottom of the plate and didn’t incorporate very well with the rest of the dish. In place of peas, for some reason, there were fava beans – which I thought was a little odd and incongruous. The pasta was nicely done, however, and I am generally a big fan of having a little egg yolk sitting there, awaiting brutal stabbing with a fork and bleeding out all over the rest of a dish.

All in all, Westside Local is a cute, hip little joint in the cutest, hippest little neighborhood in the KCMO area. Stop by, grab a beer and get some deviled eggs!

The Westside Local
1663 Summit Street
Kansas City, MO 64108
(816) 997-9089

* – though there are a few exceptions to the local ingredients rule, such as the mussels. I think – hopefully these haven’t been dredged from the Kaw!
** – Note for future reference: carbonara + beer is NOT in fact a genius combination when one plans to go to a concert immediately afterwards. Shoulda gone with beet salad + air.