I ate a noble gas. . . and it was awesome! (Restaurant: Element)

E and I were stood up two Sundays ago. All dolled up and ready to celebrate our anniversary of having become friends (yes, we are that weird and use any excuse to celebrate), we walked up the front steps of Element only to find an empty dinning room locked behind heavy doors. We were bummed, really bummed. I had talked about Element so much, it was as if I had pumped up a huge balloon that was then pricked by a pin. So we cried our eyes out and went home to eat lean cuisine in front of the telly... no, we didn't quite do that. But that's another story altogether. What we did feel was tremendous disappointment. We probably would never have gone back, if chef Blais wasn't so persistent...

The chef came back into our hearts in a big way. As soon as he found out about our missed date, he just about knocked over my inbox to try to set up a re-date. When Richard Blais says "please give us an opportunity to cook for you"! I was not stupid enough to turn him down. I mean, I've done a lot of not so smart things in my life, but turning down what is potentially one of the best meals in town never was, is, or will be one of those things. So we dolled up again (we like to play dress up... inappropriately for Element, but more on that later) and went for date number two.

Boy, were we glad we did. We were BLOWN AWAY! From the first chips and salsa (above) that knocked the initial snickers out of E when they melt in her mouth to taste just like chip and salsa, Chef Blais led us on an adventure that never failed to surprise.


These "popcorn" came in a cute little tangine-like dish. When the lid came off, the kernels gave off cold smoke . . . apparently having taken a bath in liquid nitrogen. A little crunchy from the quick freeze, the corn had a great caramel flavor. Very very addictive. (Note to self: get a doggie bag next time to smuggle into the movie)

This is one of my favorites for the night. When mixed together, every bite was akin to top grade spicy tuna studded with little surprises - the surprises being bursts of balsamic jelly and crunchy pear bits.

Besides being the prettiest thing to come out of the kitchen (I mean seriously, oyster and "pearls"! Can anyone really get much more clever than that?), the citrusy dipping dots left a pleasant tingle in the back of the throat that lingered for quite some time. I need to go back just to shoot these all night!

I get the concept, it's a deconstructed ravioli with zucchini for wrappers. While I liked the flavor of every individual component, I missed the satisfying chew of a real ravioli. Sometimes our past experiences set up expectations that bias our taste buds...

"You must eat these quickly," our lovely server instructed. While I scrambled to take a quick picture, I vaguely remember hearing her say something about chocolate and anchovies... Then both E and I picked one up and engulfed it quickly with our mouths. "Emm..." was the sound that came from my side of the table, while E was seen mouthing a soundless "yuck." Apparently we both forgot that she absolutely despises anchovies (the sorry Greek that she is). For me, the combination of salty chorizo, pungent anchovies, and slightly bittersweet chocolate brought back pleasant memories of Asian fish jerky I loved to gnaw on as a kid. Unless you've also gnawed on some fish jerky and have enjoyed it, it's hard for me to articulate why this combination is appealing. Let's just say that it brought back good memories of field trips and careless days. Not the same for E... she gulped her whole glass of water...

We heard "powdered argon" in the description of the dish. Before I could still my vocal cord, I heard my inner nerd utter "you mean we are going to eat a noble gas"? E shook her head (even though she was doubtlessly thinking the same thing, being the super chemistry geek she once was), and said "you are such a dork"! Right... I guess it's easy for a girl to dress herself out of geekiness, but it take a lot more, more than I've got, to take the girl out of true geekdom... I failed to appear cool, yet again!!! And I don't even really know chemistry... now that's sad.

Conjure in your mind all that is good and noble about SPAM from the taste perspective of a six year old. If you can get that taste profile in your mind, then you've got the perfect reflection of the meat part of this dish. If you can't remember what that taste like, either you are too food-snobbish or you haven't truly tasted SPAM. It is really not a bad taste. It is good. There is a whole state out there (Hawaii) that is crazy about the stuff. As for the pickled ramp, it tasted like a good pickled ramp should, mildly onioney, mildly pickley, lots refreshing. It's the perfect counterpoint to all that meatiness. On a side note, I sense that ramp may be labeled uncool soon since it has apparently become the food fad of the season. This is totally unfair to the poor ramp! The coolness of a vegetable should never be judged based on the fickle adoration of foodies...

I hope chef Blais wasn't getting tired of our bottomless stomachs at this point. We loved our mussels with fingerling potatoes even if it wasn't "different" like the rest of the food. It was mighty yummy and well executed.

The cuteness factor was big here. Peach nigiri with goat cheese and beet caviar. It all worked together very well, in a very non-sushi sort of way. Then again, I am biased because I love beets. Someone should love the lowly beets. They are good stuff.

Yup, we were totally overdressed for the place. We didn't really care. We do it more for each other (in a non-lesbian way) than for the establishment. But if you care to blend in, wear something more casual. This is over the top food in a casual setting.

Mmm... rib with mango sauce. It's mighty tasty with good fatty juices (do you see it glistening?). Even though the plate was quite sparse, the richness of the single rib took over the palate and did not leave me (after how many courses?) wanting more. I was very very satisfied.
But not satisfied enough to turn down dessert! What you see here is the best of my childhood snacking memories distilled into a single bowl. Cool and milky panna cotta went down like the best almond jelly my mom never made. Liquid nitrogen frozen coke fizzled in my mouth like pop rock. Crunchy cracker jack, what can I say about cracker jack, except that it is simply the most additively popable snack I adored. How did Blais know that this is the perfect ending to a most wonderful culinary journey? I guess that's why he is the chef and I am merely the eater.

Chitlin bowels? Surely you jest... (Restaurant: El Rey De Taco)

Translation, let alone correct translation, is probably an afterthought on this part of the Buford highway. Anyone that is actually out here SEEKING out food, as opposed to being desperate or merely lost, should either know what she is getting or at least be brave enough to eat whatever she is served. I am generally confident to do the former and definitely comfortable with the later. This is especially true when I am restless for something different. And this past week, I was very restless.

Maybe it was the heat or maybe it was the work. Whatever it was, it drove J and I out of the city and onto Buford highway. We passed the Vietnamese pho joints we sometimes visit, we ignored the Malaysian restaurant that at times draw us in with its spicy Laksa, we wanted something else. Something we haven't had in any good form in a while. We wanted some tacos.

El Rey de Taco is housed in a very passable and awkwardly peachy building next to some equally nondescript Korean restaurants. We decided to stop here, not because I had a great nose for good Latin grubs(although that would be nice), but because the blissful glutton had mentioned it as a good stopping point and we were, at that moment, ready to make a stop. The decor inside was very nonmemorable. If it was, maybe I would now be able to tell you what it looked like. I do, however, remember the smell of the place - it smelled of fried seafood. A quick survey confirmed that fried seafood was indeed being consumed in the form of a whole fried fish at a table near the door. The fish looked good, but we weren't persuaded to eat it. We were there for tacos and tacos we were going to have.

On the menu were tacos in both regular and mini sizes. You should know by now which one I opted for. The list of taco insides included the usual suspects as well as some interesting stuff that got my heart going just a bit faster. Tongue, yum, beef check, oooh, gelatinous goodness, chitlin bowels??? Huh? That one didn't quite register... I read it again and looked at J, puzzled. "It's tripe, silly, it says tripa. You love tripe!" Oh yes, yes I do. Isn't tripe a few organs up? I am not very good with anatomy in general, but I do sort of have an idea of where the tastier innards are located. But correct labeling is trivial at this point, because I am getting it, whatever it is!

For $3.5 I got three little mini bundles of tongue, tripe, and beef cheek. I went for the tongue first. Not at all chewy, all the little microscopic pockets were filled with tasty juices it was stewed in. Yum to the nth degree. Next up was the tripe. Again soft and kind of velvety. There is a reason why this is one of my very favorite innards of all time. I've saved the beef cheek for last since I knew it would be the richest of the bunch and it certainly lived up to that. The fried cheek bits were a little crispy at the ends and perfectly sticky and gelatinous at the fatty parts. "If I wasn't incapable of taking bigger bites, I think this beef cheek thingy might squirt fatty juices at you..." "Hmmh..." J mumbled back, obviously too engrossed in his own regular-sized pocket of carne asada to care what I hypothetically could have shot in his direction. He was fortunately not too engrossed to forget to clink my negro modelo as we both take a satisfied sip... or gulp in his case.

Life is good again.

zeppole like air puffs (Restaurant: Shaun's)

Before Shaun's version, I've only had zeppole at Italian street fairs and homey pizza joints. They were never very bad. Deep-fried dough balls have a tendency to please when they are hot from the cauldron. At the same time, I've never had incredible zeppole. The kind that would wake me in the middle of the night with a deep craving. That is, until Shaun Doty put his brown paper bagful of treasures in front of me.

The look of Shaun's zeppole is not much different from the street version. But as soon as I picked one up, I could feel the difference. The little dough ball was much lighter in weight than its size would suggest. The golden shell gave a bit in the way that a french macaron does when it encounters a less than delicate hand. One pop in the mouth, my eyes went wide. These are not any zeppole I've ever had, the little air puffs dissolved on my tongue leaving behind no trace of grease. There was hardly any chewing involved. The air puffs simply disintegrated like little sighs, releasing the most pleasant fried flavor. They made me sorry that the little brown paper bag was not a little bigger.

You got that from the food court? (Super H mart)

For many of us, food court was where we hang out in those restless summer days when we were too old to go to camp and not old enough to get a car. We would wonder aimlessly from the Panda Express in one corner of the food court to the Orange Julius in the other, wasting away an endless afternoon with nothing to do.

It has been a very very long time since I've visited a mall. As much as I long for afternoons with nothing to do, I don't miss mall food at all. Now when I have a leisurely Sunday afternoon to spend as I please, I often choose to visit a certain SUPER market and get a snack from its food court. Rest assured that this is not your neighborhood Publix food counter. This, is Super H mart, where some of the tastiest Asian snacks are served up along side aisles after aisles of fresh veggies.

For eight dollars, you can get the Sam Gye Tang - a whole cornish hen stuffed with sticky rice, chestnuts, and Chinese dates, all stewed together in a ginseng soup inside a personal clay pot. If only I had this kind of food to turn to in the food court of my teenage years, maybe I would have enjoyed those afternoons more.

Strawberry fields forever

I found these little guys peaking out shyly from my farm share bag yesterday. Slightly fuzzy like baby peaches, their tender flesh glowed flame red under the bright sun. Ahh . . . summer. This is the stuff of dreams.

These guys were so ripe, they needed no adornment. But I was in the mood for something particularly sinful and indulgent. So a few drops of a dark and sticky balsamic and a spoonful of tupelo honey found their way into my bowl. Along with a glass of crisp un-oaked chardonnay, I could almost see the endless strawberry fields from my balcony.

"Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see. It's getting hard to be someone but it all works out, it doesn't matter much to me. Let me take you down, 'cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields. Nothing is real and nothing to get hungabout. Strawberry Fields forever."

Soho meets Maui on Long Island (Restaurant: Blue Honu)

Before my trip this past week, the name Long Island brought to mind images of the barefoot contessa's fabulous house in the Hampton. Courtsey of the food network, I had virtually attended many a summer parties in her expansive garden with her well-to-do friends. Driving towards our destination of Melville, the roadside scenery looked decidedly different from the images in my mind. There were no well-manicured lawns surrounding enormous mansions or miles of yachts docked next to sandy beaches. What we saw in abundance were White Castles and Dunkin Doghnuts, the unmistakable markings of northeastern suburbia.

Don't get me wrong. I've got nothing against White Castle, Dunkin Doughnuts, or suburbia. Back in those glorious days when I was blessed with a high metabolism, my stomach provided shelter to a respectable number of burgers and munchkins. Unfortunately, those days are long gone. I can no longer eat indiscriminately without consequences. I had to stop and think about fitting into those little dresses I adore almost as much as good food. I've evolved into a selective nibbler of the truly seasonal and delicious. And institutionalized fast food had fallen outside of my paradigm.

This is not to say that I wasn't ready to embrace suburban dinning. Contrary to popular belief, I do not subscribe to the notion that only fancy restaurant food qualifies as good food. Anyone who has seen me happily slurping noodles street side in small town China would never question my fondness for all good eats lovingly prepared. I was excited to explore the food scene in Melville. If that meant diners and delis, I am prepared to licked my greasy spoon.

As fate would have it, I was not destined to eat simple food in Melville. Instead, our work party marched on to the nearby Huntington in search of something grander. And grander food was what we found at Blue Honu, an elaborately decorated Hawaiian fusion spot on the main street. The decor screamed soho chic with its loft-like red brick walls and larger-than-life red lanterns. Some what out of place, live palm trees and billowy white curtains were placed amidst the modern furniture to achieve a beach side effect. While I found this combination a bit odd, I was nonetheless impressed with the grandeur of it all.

Often a restaurant as obviously concerned with decor as the Blue Honu, worries more about the scene than the food. Purely judging from the half empty dinning room, we could have easily assumed this to be true here. Luckily we also had as reference plates on the tables near the window. The food looked, at the very least, fresh. So we sat and were rewarded for our well-made decision.

Fresh was the overriding theme at the Blue Honu. The way-too-big seafood platter that we ignorantly ordered in pair overflowed with plump oysters and translucent lobsters. The oysters were so pregnant with brininess, it felt as if I was tasting the sea. If I had to find a fault with the appetizer spread, I blame our server for bringing the dizzying parade of plates with no regard for how they may spoil our appetite for anything beyond. Perhaps my appetite was spoiled, because my main course of halibut was rather lackluster. Slightly under seasoned, the delicate flesh of this fish was a bit overcooked. But no one paid much attention to my fish, not even me, for the true star of the evening was the 42 oz bone-in ribeye special my neighbor ordered. It's hard to imagine what a 42 ozer looks like without having seen it. The picture does no justice to the heftiness of it. All I can say is that any family, from my meat-rationed childhood in China, would have been overjoyed to receive that chunk for the week. Aside from whether it's insane to offer such a special for one person, I must commend the Blue Honu for expertly cooking the steak to precise medium rare perfection. The generous piece shared with me by my neighbor tasted exactly like any hearty American steak should.

The most tender tentacles (Restaurant: Kyma)

Right at the beginning of our friendship, E and I discovered a shared fondness for tentacles creatures. Over the years, we've ordered up plates of calamari and baby octopus all over town and on multiple continents. The only time our interests diverged was over a plate of pickled jelly fish in Hong Kong. For the first time, my undiscriminating Chinese palate stretched beyond the threshold of her Greek sensibilities. My point is E knows her tentacles and isn't afraid to tell you what's best.

Again going back to the beginning of our friendship, E had definitely declared the fried calamari at Kyma to be the best in Atlanta. As much as we eat out, for some odd reason, we never made it there for dinner. This week, E took the last law school exam of her life and was in desperate need of a good feeding. Without hesitation, I suggested Kyma.

She watched me closely as I chewed my first cluster of tentacles. I chewed for a long time. After all, my mind had quite a small mountain of taste histories to flip through to come up with a fair evaluation. Maybe it would have been more exciting if I disagreed with her, but my final verdict confirmed E's claim. Kyma's little bundles were the most tender fried tentacles in Atlanta! They yield so easily to the teeth, I had to try very hard not to swallow too fast. And judging from the pleased expressions on many of the well-aged and preserved faces around me, I suspect they may even be gummed successfully. :P

A weekend of "mosts" in Vegas

The most gorgeous courtyard beckoned us to relax with a mimosa. Who knew such an oasis existed but twenty minutes away from the surreal life on the Vegas stripe.

The most number of transportation devices boarded within 5 hours.

The most spectacularly varied terrains beheld in a single day.

Last but not least, the most enormous and translucent (translation: fatty) piece of pork shoulder ever encountered in a French bistro. Despite the string of service hiccups, Keller's Bouchon is still at the top of its game in flavor.

Did you really eat that?

Yup. And it really wasn't bad. Roasted African silk worm makes good nibbler snack.

A sexy bald man came to visit

J and I are blessed to have awesome friends trickling into our home a good part of the year. It's still a mystery how we are able to lure these busy people away from the big apple and sunny frisco to trek far south, many for the first time, to our adopted town of Atlanta. But whatever made them come, we are very grateful, especially when they bring along the sexiest bald man we've ever met.

Max Brenner, the ultimate bald man, came into our lives with the lovely couple G and S. Max gave life to the most insane morsels that summon, at once, the nostalgic warmth akin to that invoked by a piece of creamy caramel and the euphoria only an adult palate could experience from an intense square of dark chocolate. It took but one bite for me to declare that the bald man is here to stay in this house for a very very long time.

A FAB monsieur

I had a miday rendez-vous with a FAB monsieur, a croque monsieur from the newly opened French American Bistro that is. While not the best lunch date I've ever had, I am delighted to know that he is nearby when I need him.

Chubbier than his Parisian cousin, the FAB monsieur was a little on the dry side. Perhaps sat at the bar for a tad too long, the FAB monsieur suffered from minor sweating on his cheesy top. But despite his imperfections, the FAB monsieur remained unmistakably French in both composure and taste. Perched against the glammed-up bistro bar and accompanied by a thoughtful wine list, the FAB monsieur stood head and shoulders above the bland downtown herd.

Bigger than her head!

Look at that! Is there any question why E is one of my favorite eating buddies of all time? Nicole Richies of the world, take notes, even skinny blonds can eat with gusto!

He is perfect because he is mine

I never fully understood the depth of feeling embodied in that phrase until I stood back this morning to admire one adorable little baby - my very first at the ripe old age of 27. Chest swollen with love, I wanted to scream to the world "I've made a little baby macaron"!


He is perfect because he is mine! He doesn't have the most intense chocolate color, but I know he is chocolaty through and through. He has a few hairline cracks here and there, but I know he is beautifully chewy at heart. He has a less than plump filling, but I know the kaya buttercream surprises with an exotic pandan kick. Most of all, he is perfect because he is created by me, who has neither the artistry of Pierre Hermé nor the experience of Ladurée, but dares to try because I love macarons.

Don't you wish you are the lucky one getting this goodie bag filled with love? :)

The nibbler was defeated by a frito pie

Is frito pie a southern thing? I couldn't tell you, but I've never heard of it until coming to Atlanta. Here it has quite the following among the men at my office, and judging by the line at Gibney's lunch counter, quite a fan base among the male downtown office workers. So for those of you who don't know, a large scoop of chili over a bag of fritos makes good man eats.

There is no pretension on the Gibney's menu. The featured choices are chili dog, chili burger, chili over franks, frito pie, and chili smothered dog. After much pondering and one failed order, we finally figured out that the difference between chili over a frank and chili smothered dog lies in the bun. Chili over frank is simply that, chili over a frank, but smothering apparently cannot happen unless the frank is inside a bun. Duh!

I ordered my first frito pie and found out that frito pie is not good eats for a nibbler. You see the chili was quite watery and began to turn the fritos into a mushy mess as soon as it was ladled on. I now see how this bowl separates a man from a nibbler. You either possess the ability to wolf down all the chili and fritos in record speed or deal with a bowlful of very soggy and shapeless frito remains. The nibbler had none of the skills and was proven utterly unmanly. Can't say I am entirely unhappy about the defeat. :)

Easter bunny vs. Serta sheep

Easter is arguably the first food driven holiday of the year. In celebration, I staged a grand fight between the Easter bunny and the serta sheep. And. . . drum roll please. . . the Easter bunny won! Both were, however, severely injured during the fight and then devoured by yours truly.

The Easter bunny hailed from Henri's bakery located next to the Trader Joe's in Sandy Spring. A minimalist interior at this bright and sunny bakery allowed the goodies in the cases to speak for themselves and the Easter bunny practically jumped out at me. The serta sheep had a much different upbringing. It enjoyed a short life amongst a vast number of sophisticate pastries in The Little European bakery tucked into a small shopping center across the street from Henri's bakery. Considering their very different backgrounds, the two looked surprising alike in built and complexion.

The taste was what separated the two. The Easter bunny had a very soft and yielding incing layer that complemented a surprisingly moist crumb. The serta sheep's icing cracked a bit upon meeting the teeth and the cake center felt a bit dry on the tongue. What the cake did have was a great eggy flavor that shone through the sweetness of the icing.

Determining the winner wasn't the easiest decision as both were. . . eh . . . gone too fast for a second opinion. In retrospect, the decision was made purely based on the fact that Easter bunny's lightness would lead to larger quantity consumption of its kind.

I am falling for Tradie Joe's

It's true that I absolutely adore the dark chocolate covered ginger. I am also not ashamed to admit that I licked the bowl after the last spoonful of creamy tomato and roasted peeper soup was gone. But these were merely manifestations of lust, not love. Love only began to blossomed when the cashier at the Sandy Springs Trader Joe's surprised me with this beautiful bouquet at check out because, just because that I made the 20 minute drive to pay a little visit and say that I appreciated them being there. So call me naive, but I may be falling for Trader Joe's for life.

Seven hours in Paris

I am convinced that layover is this cruel game that the airlines play with us. Like lab rats, we are temporarily released from the confine of one freezing and cramped cabin and encouraged to frantically dart about in the maze that is a typical airport, in search of another equally cold and cramped confinement, usually located at the very opposite corner of that maze. The only difference between the rats and us is that there is a nice nibble of cheese waiting for the rats at the other end, while we get fed airline food that looks like the bottom bits left out too long on the buffet table.

On my recent trip to South Africa with a layover in Paris, I declared my unwillingness to participate in the game. I was determined that if I must layover, I shall do it my way and love it. I shall not curse the French inefficiency, but give myself time, plenty of time, to enjoy what the French actually do well. I shall have a fantastic and leisurely lunch with interesting friends.

To be continued.

Lavender in my mimosa and pickled egg in my salad

That about sums up my brunch at Shaun's.

Was it good? Well, it's really not bad. So what's the problem? Hmm, maybe I just don't like too many surprises on a lazy Sunday morning. Maybe I just want to sip a tall glass of vigorous bubbles and taste a fresh jolt of OJ without also getting a whiff of a country club powder room. Maybe I just want a fresh plate of greens with a zesty springy dressing without also being reminded of those scary jars of pickled eggs lining the counter of some forgotten truck stop. Then again, maybe it's just me.

Both the lavender mimosa and the pickled egg, when evaluated individually, were much unlike their comparisons mentioned above. The lavender was light, with no hint of talcum. The pickled egg tasted of complex balsamic, with no hit of pig's knuckles (is that what's often in those same truck stop jars?) So, if you are out looking for something different for your brunch and look at some pulled-together people, Shaun's may just be the place for you. For me, the whole lot took me too far from that ideal brunch eaten swaddled in my J's big big robe and bathed in the warm spring sun on the daybed in my imaginary sun room. Until I have that, I guess I'd still be out looking for the next closest thing.

Amore! Amore!

Heart racing, I could barely contain my excitement driving to the airport to pick up J, who has been away in Vegas for the week. Cute right? After ten years of knowing this man, I still get all flustered to see him. Well, I hope that's what he was thinking. Although I have a strong suspicion that he knew I was rushing to the airport to get my little hands on that adorable box peeking out of his carry on.

After the welcome back kiss, a bit of chitchat in the car, J finally couldn't take my not so subtle glances at his bag anymore and said "oh, go ahead, open it!" Music to my ears!

Inside the elegant Bouchon box, nested among white tissue papers were these colorful beauties in my favorite flavors of chocolate, raspberry, and lemon. Careful not to crash the delicate morsels, I picked up a raspberry one and took a bite. Slightly flaky on the outside and pleasantly toothsome at the center with a jolt of fresh raspberry flavor. Pure amore.

Through dreamy eyes I saw J smiling mischievously behind the steering wheel. I know he is in love too, in love with open spaces around us and the feeling of that slight pull when his favorite car grips a curve in the road. It's amazing how different things make each of us feel loved and positively giddy. Because of that difference, it's even more precious when one goes out of his way in a busy day (and endure lining up for half an hour behind 10 loud women who couldn't decide on what flavor macarons to get) to bring that giddiness out in you.

"Monkey, you did good," I said.
"So the little one likes," he smiles.
"Yes, she likes."

Extravagant gluttony

Sometimes a few magical words are all that's needed to capture the soul of an event. The meal that I am about to share with you is simply one of the most extravagant and gluttonous that I have ever taken part. And the most extraordinary part of this incredible meal was the spontaneousness of it.

Exhausted from a three day seminar tour, I said goodbye to my colleagues who will march on to yet another city and found myself with five hours of free time to spend in Shanghai before my plane takes off for Chicago. What to do? I was too tired to shop, but too young to go back to the hotel to nap. While waiting for the taxi to take me away from the seminar site, I pulled out the copy of Savour that I had picked up from the airport to flip. Guess which destination city was featured in Savour? Shanghai, of course! What's more, the magazine dedicated a four page center pull-out to one restaurant in particular, Whampoa Club. This is where it gets really weird, because I had just read about this place days ago in a fellow blogger's post as having the most innovative hairy crab tasting in all of Shanghai (November being the prime hairy crab season). So not wanting to fight destiny, I did the most logical thing, I went to Whampoa Club.

The place is huge, taking up an entire floor of an European style building on the main stretch of the bund. The interior is an interesting mix of upscale night club elements (e.g., low lighting, neon colored fiber glass partitions, etc.) with traditional Chinese architectural elements (e.g., carved redwood trims). A cheongsam-clad hostess led me down what seemed like a mile long grand hall to the main dinning room.

Once seated, I immediately ordered the multi-course hairy crab tasting. Time was of the essense when I have so many courses to chew through and a plane to catch in a few hours.

The chef sent out this little skewered ham roll on top of a sliver of fried tofu as amuse bouche. The presentation didn't wow me and since it had no crab elements, I wasn't too interested and only took a small bite. The flavor was not bad, the cucumber inside the ham roll provided a bit of vinegary crunch in contrast with the pleasant saltiness of the ham.

The actual tasting began with a gorgeous combo course. On the left was a drunken crab prepared in the traditional way of immersing raw crab in a seasoned rice wine concoction. I have never been a fan of the drunken method of "cooking." Somehow the alcohol never quite takes away the rawness, but rather imparts a sometimes unpleasant alcoholic after taste. This drunken crab, however, was more than delicious. The rice wine concoction had a lot more going for it than alcohol. The translucent crab meat picked up the saltiness of soy, the sweetness of sugar, the sourness of rice vinegar, and created the most amazing explosion of flavor in the mouth. Also on the plate was a crab/egg custard presented inside an egg shell. It tasted like a well-made egg drop soup that has been elevated to new heights by the addition of a most generous amount of hairy crab roe. It was heavenly.

Next came crab dumplings two ways. Floating in the clear mild broth were three crab dumplings with very delicate transparent skins. Perched on top a mound of stewed radish was a single fried dumpling. As much as I loved the crispiness of the fried dumpling skin, the delicate boiled dumplings took my breath away. The crab meat filling had a texture comparable to that of a soupy xiao long bao and the intoxicating smell unique to crab roe permeated my entire surrounding as I bit into it.

The next course was one I had been looking forward to this whole trip - whole steamed hairy crab (shown at the top). I was so upset that my waitress began to deconstruct the crab as soon as it arrived at my table before I could even protest. God, what did she think she was doing? Getting the crab open the way I like it counts for fifty percent of my enjoyment. I am sure she was more than startled by my "violent" protests because she never returned. :) After claiming my now opened crab back, I took my time cracking open the claws and picking out all the little morsels from the tiniest crevices. Boy, the hairy crab was small compared to the Maryland blue crab of my youth. But the flavor is definitely comparable and completely unlike that of the much rough meat of the larger crab varieties.

I couldn't remember the name of the course that came next. It had a soupy consistency, but was served on a plate, which made it very difficult to eat without a mopping agent such as steamed bun. The flavor was good and focused on the richness of crab roe. But after so many courses of crab roe, I was getting a bit tired.

The next course was shredded semi-dried tofu stir-fried with, you guessed it, crab roe. I have always loved the texture of this type of tofu and the shredding allowed it to better absorb the sauce. But again, I was beginning to experience taste bud fatigue from crab roe overload.

I was disappointed when I saw this last savory course. More crab roe and more dumpling? What happened to the climatic course? Thankfully, my disappointment was not long-lived. As soon as I bit into the pan-friend bun, my mouth was filled with the most delicious aged rice vinegar. How cool! The chef had worked the vinegar into the soupy filling and then pan-fried/steam the bun to achieve the puffy exterior. Brilliant. It was every bit the climatic course I had been waiting for.

Finally, I've made to the dessert course. To the western taste, Chinese dessert is nothing to get excited about. In the words of my best friend, Chinese desserts are all variations of something "gelatinous." It's true, we Chinese love the chewiness of gelatinous substances. I suppose the chef knew that too because his fusion dessert combined a very westernized creme brulee with candied glutenous rice balls filled with red bean paste. The brulee was pleasant, but I wish it had a more prominent sugar crust. The gelatinous rice balls were way too chewy and the candy stripping outside were hard as rock strains and created the an awkward contrast with the soft filling.

Overall, the crab tasting was more than worth it as a once in a life time experience. But like most things in life, too much of a good thing makes it harder to appreciate its goodness. I will not eat crab roe for quite a while I think.