Eat-N-Write is the Daily’s weekly food review column, written by two college students, Paul Kix and Tim Paluch, on the lookout for affordable meals under $10. Despite what they may write, they are not actual food critics and their culinary expertise is little to none. All restaurants reviewed are local, non-chain establishments.

After a successful first “Eat-N-Write” for Paul, we celebrated. We did what every major food reviewer in the country does – emblazoned our asses with a tattoo bearing the name of the title of our food column. On Tim’s cheeks the word “Eat” was branded. For Paul, owner of a larger posterior, “-N-Write.” The tattoos were more painful than passing a kidney stone in a spine-correcting chair watching the rejects from “Cats” perform “Big Brother 2: The Musical. On Ice.”

But despite the pain there was work to be done. Our motions were limited. We could only walk down the stairs leading out of Lasting Impressions. Luckily Cocost, 114 Welch Ave., is at the bottom of the stairs. Asses aching, stomachs grumbling, walking like we just used all 34 of our “Free prostrate examination” coupons in one long but oddly satisfying afternoon, we walked inside. Well-padded chairs. We needed well-padded chairs.

Restaurant Atmosphere

Paul: The pain of my “-N-Write” was overcome by the smell of Cocost as we entered: A rich, full-textured, beef mixing with chicken mixing with vegetables-cooked-in-a-wok smell that seemed to perpetually sweep itself off the walls of this tiny establishment. Enough to make a grown man froth. Enough to make hunger rise ravenously in a stomach.

Tim: Lunch at Cocost is a busy time of day. Of the 15 tables, nearly all were taken. A rather diverse crop of customers was dining here this afternoon; I heard at least four languages being spoken. And that was without really listening too hard. Iowa State needs a place for a multicultural center? Why not Cocost?

Paul: Some sort of tinsel, vaguely Christmas, stretched around the walls, dividing the white above from the wood paneling below. Lights fluorescent, carpet gray, Cocost isn’t selling itself as an expensive place to eat. And when I got the bill later, it wasn’t. Thumbs up.

Tim: Paul’s right. No need to put on your best clothes for a meal at Cocost. It’s simply-designed without much flair and rather empty walls in the dining area. Other Asian restaurants in Ames give you traditional decor along with the traditional cuisine. Cocost doesn’t bother. They seem to be banking on letting the food speak for itself. Thumbs up for me.

Service

Paul: We shuffle in, stand in line, and give our orders to the guy with the notebook and pen standing behind the glass table the menu is taped on. After finding a place to sit, the food is brought to you, some choices still hissing on the plate, the steam rising and drifting behind the fast-walking (perhaps because the plate is third-degree hot) server. The water – what I got to drink – is free and self-served, right next to our table, and drank from a styrofoam cup.

Tim: The cooks at Cocost get the food out to you with amazing speed. I ordered my food, sat at the table, and quicker than I could say “Paul, don’t eat the styrofoam cup,” my sizzling meal was in front of me.

Paul: And before Tim could say, “Paul, don’t eat my food,” my plate was before me. Cocost is as cleanly as it is quick. Our table was shorn of the crumbs or napkins or plates of previous diners. Thumbs up.

Tim: The service here at Cocost is fine. What isn’t fine is Paul’s use of the word “shorn.” Mr. Kix has just become the first human being ever to use the word in an actual sentence. Thumbs up to Paul for that. And thumbs up to Cocost for their service.

Food Quality

Paul: Went with the Kung Pao Chicken. Came with peanuts, onions and some sort of brown, tangy sauce that didn’t require a splash of the soy sauce sitting on our table. Total bill: $6.34.

Halfway through, I look over at Tim, who’s groaning – like the little girl he is – about “how stuffed I am.”

“Oh, I’m so stuffed,” he repeated for the third time. “Lest my stomach burst from this eclectic mix of aromas and textures, brewed from the culinary of gluttony, it is wise that I stop here before my speech becomes insouciant and whiny and my body refluxed with vile heartburn.” How does your “shorn” look now?

Tim: My bill came to $6.84. Got the black pepper chicken, a side of crab rangoon and a soda.

I will admit I was stuffed. But any civil human would be after watching Paul eat – no, attack, no, mangle – his meal. Let’s just say you lose your appetite rather quickly. It’s like watching a famished hyena at an antelope buffet.

No silverware. He ate the silverware. And no napkins. I’m pretty sure those were eaten as well.

Paul: The food tasted great and some napkins lost in the process of cleaning myself might have too. But it stopped there.

Tim is mistaken. I didn’t eat the silverware. I used chopsticks. Tim was amazed by this. Having spent his days behind a thesaurus, he doesn’t experience other cultures much. “Though I read about them in the `Britannica,'” he says.

Anyway, he spent more time gawking than eating. (Or reviewing the restaurant. Such is the service Mr. Paluch offers his readers.) “Those sticks,” he repeated over and over again, looking at me eat. “That food. Your mouth.” Then he’d shake his head and mumble something about my “perfidy to Western thought.”

Tim: I’ve had black-pepper chicken at different restaurants in the past, and, sorry to say, Cocost’s version was below par. With the meal came only four thin strips of chicken breasts, and they weren’t the best quality. I had to cut the fatty corners off each strip, throwing them in the air to watch Paul do his patented “jump for chicken fat” trick I’ve been teaching him for weeks. He’ll jump for a lot of things – chicken fat, beef fat, deer fat, tube socks. The pepper dominated everything else in the meal, drowning out any taste from the sauce. It was just too much.

I didn’t get through the entire meal, which was very rice-heavy. I noticed Paul had cleaned his plate and was subtly eyeing mine (At this point he hovered above me repeatedly asking “Are you gonna finish that?). I offered him the rest of mine – out of fear that if I did not, I would be his next course – and he gladly, and I repeat gladly, took a bite or two. Or eleven.

Paul: My Kung Pao Chicken wasn’t fatty, nor was there not enough of it. My sauce made the meal: a cross between honey and sweet and sour sauce.

I liked the food. It wasn’t too rice-heavy. And Tim said, if I get real good, he’ll toss a grilled rib -eye in the air and let my teeth catch it. An all-around thumbs up.

Tim: The entrees here are filling, and for $3.99 they’ll fill you up. Unless of course you’re the kind of guy (ahem, Paul) who gets thrown out of all-you-can-eat buffets.

There is no meal for $3.99 that can tame such a beast. Price-wise, Cocost can’t be beat. But my meal was beatable. A thumbs down for me.