Better late than never (snacks from Singapore)

I've seriously neglected this blog since my trip to Singapore/Vietnam. I could use work as excuse, but it wouldn't be the truth. At least not the truth I know in my heart. The fact is that I have fallen into a funk. The kind of funk that momentarily allows food to fall from the very top of my priority list. This is not to say that I haven't been eating. I have, probably more so than usual. What went missing was the excitement, the twinkle that a beautifully moist cupcake used to put in my eyes. How could I have let this happen? I don't know, but I am slowly trying to get my sanity back... Consider this post my first step in rehabilitation.

There aren't too many things in life quite as exciting as walking into an expansive hawker center for the first time. Whether in the smoldering heat off a busy street or behind monotonous shops in an urban mall, the sight of rows and rows of stalls frying, stewing, steaming, and boiling imaginable and unimaginable, recognizable and unidentifiable food items of every sort sets my pulse racing. No longer a novice, I can now attempt to discern what I truly desire among the stalls without suffering too much sensory overload. But unless I am careful to avoid passing the mee rebus stall upon first survey of the premise, my resolve to move on tend to dissolve quickly before the steaming bowl of spicy noodley goodness.

Ladled on a foundation of chewy yellow egg noodles, the spicy curry-like gravy composed of potatoes, curry power, salted soy beans, dried shrimps, and peanuts bursts with layers of flavor. The garnish of hard boiled egg, calamansi limes, spring onions, Chinese celery, green chillies, fried tofu, fried shallots, and been sprouts add crunchy as well as other textual interest. From the first bite, this dish keeps my taste buds dancing until my stomach begs for mercy.

Teow Chew dumpling must be one of the most perfect breakfast foods ever created. The outer layer is beautifully transparent and perfectly toothsome. I want to say that it contains rice flour and/or tapioca flour, but can't be sure. The innards consist of a stir-fried vegetable medley that is so well-seasoned, it's hard to argue a place for meat in that mixture.

Some think fries are the perfect hang-over cure. I can only say that it must be because they've never tried a bowl of bak kut Teh - meat bone tea the morning after. At its simplest, the soup showcases a long marriage of meaty pork ribs with a complex broth of star anise, cinnamon, cloves, dang gui, etc. The steamy concoction cleanses and nourishes with its warmth as well as medical properties. If fried carbohydrate must be ingested, the youtiao - fried dough, provided for dipping should do the job nicely.

Two weddings and a full belly (second wedding in Singapore)

The Chinese bash in the evening was decided different from the opulent Indian fair earlier in the day. For starter, people were much much louder. Drinks, not of the mango lassie variety, were free flowing. The non-religious couple had no formal ceremony. They simply started the celebration with an elaborate champagne pour. The groom, ever the jester, specially ordered formally-dressed servers, bearing large trays of expensive appetizers such as abalone and lobster, to march into the ballroom under flashing lights and to disco tunes. All the guests went from looking slightly puzzled to laughing out loud as the servers broke out dance moves in unison with the large platters parked on their shoulders. How could anyone not love a couple with a great sense of humor. They will surely weather life's twists and turns well.

I expected the food to be okay, but not as good as it turned out to be. The couple swapped white gloved service for big sharing platters. We hardly had a miss in eight courses (Chinese lucky number). The braised abalone was tender, not chewy. The pickled jelly fish supplied a great dose of flavor without being laden with MSG. Not being a fan of the dirty bird (chicken), I almost didn't try the Chinese fried chicken in a sticky hoisen-based sauce until my neighbor served me a piece, which forced me to eat it out of proper Chinese etiquette. It was awesome. The crispy skin perfectly set off the tenderness of the au point meat underneath. I almost went for another piece, almost. That's saying a lot.

I also wasn't attracted to the homely looking scallops. But a surprising wonderful bite absent mindedly ingested while watching the hilarious baby picture slide show changed my mind. Maybe laughing enhanced the taste because I was doing a great deal of it. The too cute photos included captions such as "chicks dig it" accompanying photos of the groom wearing the most dorky black-rimmed glasses in primary school. The artfully edited slide show sent the room into fits of laughter.

Many more dishes flowed out of the kitchen as the night progressed. We wrapped Peking duck in fluffy bun pillows and tangled our chopsticks in yards of tender fried Cantonese noodles. My taste buds worked into frenzies while my stomach steadily expanded. Many times through the night, I patted myself on the back for having had the good sense to pick an empire waisted dress that left plenty of room in the middle section for spontaneous growth.

My favorite of the night, "taro mud," rounded out a terrific meal. The purple taro mush coated the mouth in a silky and fragrant layer. The nuggets of ginkgo nuts studded throughout the mush provided pleasant textual contrast. Pools of sweet coconut milk added the quintessential southeast Asian flare and contributed to the sticky mouth feel. I loved this stuff and this intimate wedding.

Two weddings and one full belly

How much wedding food can this girl handle? Apparently A LOT!

The wedding tour began with an elaborate northern Indian celebration at the Ritz. As soon as we stepped into the great hall, energetic costumed bongo dancers greeted us with songs while servers passed around mango lassies and Indian snacks. Our late arrival scored me a prime spot near the elevator bay when the most decked out bride I've ever seen emerged to meet her groom. The bride had so much gold and gem draped all over, around, and behind her, I was surprised that she could move at all. Once I got pass the sparkles, it was obvious that our friend's wife was quite the beauty with or without the blings.
Her grand entrance was followed by a slew of complicated wedding rituals involving both families and a spiritual man under a flower-covered tent in the ballroom. We couldn't understand much of it, but could still gather that some sort of negotiation took place between the families for the hand of the bride. Once a "deal" was struck, yards of threads were tied around the new couple, who were made to circle a fire pit quite a few times. This was no easy task, I assure you. Both the bride and groom were draped in so much fabric and jewelry, one misstep could start a fire in the Ritz ballroom that I am sure cost an arm and a leg to secure.
The most exciting portion of the wedding began soon after more rings were exchanged between the newly wed couple. The couple already had so many on, the poor justice of the peace even got confused as to where the new additions should go and said something to the effect of "please put the ring on the third finger of the left finger"??? No one minded the little mistake though as the couple looked head over heels in love with each other and we could smell the buffet in the adjacent banquet hall.
Wedding food was definitely not bad food at this wedding. The Ritz chefs set out arrangements of enormous buffets on each side of the large banquet room and a long table of desserts at the center. The buffets were divided multi-culturally into Chinese dim sum, Indian curries, and tempura. How cool is it to have a made-on-the-spot tempura station at a wedding buffet - too cool! I passed on all the Chinese offerings, thinking that I'd be getting my share at the other wedding that we were to attend in a few hours, and went straight for the curries. Everything was tasty, especially the spinach and Indian cheese combo. The only disappointment was the nann. This usual favorite of mine was lifeless and rubbery thanks to the long hours spent on the steam table. Desserts were hit or miss, which was fine by me since I got one of everything to try in my usual style. The mango pudding was way too watery while the white chocolate cake failed in the way that most Asian cakes do - it simply lacked the butteriness of. . . well . . . butter. The creme brulee had a very flavorful custard portion with a hint of orange essence, but the sugar crust was pitiful. All in all, the best desserts were the exotic fruits that included J's favorite jackfruit. A little tart, a little sweet, and very crunchy, it provided a very refreshing ending to a spice heavy meal.

We left the wedding party at around 4 pm, enough time to do a bit of quick shopping before having to get ready for the next big bash in the evening.

To be continued.

The best jet lag cure - Mangosteen!

Twenty six hours, three plane rides, and one elbow fight with an annoying neighbor who insisted on sleeping in my lap later, I emerged into the suffocatingly moist Singapore night. Raccoon eyed and smelling like stale airplanes, I was in no condition to partake in the first of the three wedding festivities that had brought me here. Instead, J cranked up the AC and drove me to his home.

I had all but given up on the idea of a midnight snack, my usual ritual in Singapore, when J came out of the kitchen with a plastic bag and a mischievous smile. "It's mangosteen season you know..." Before he could finish the sentence, I had already ripped the bag from his hands.

Adorable little guys they were. Perfectly chubby and round with cute little green caps, these babies were almost too beautiful to eat, almost. A hungry girl can only admire looks for so long, she must first answer to the call of the belly! No peeling or even washing required here. A bit of pressure put to the chubby cheeks was sufficient to force the skin apart to reveal the snowy white flesh within. All that left to do was to slurp/suck out the juicy tenderness with flourish. Mega mega yum!!! The segments burst in my mouth with a gentle coolness followed by an intense sweet/tartness somewhere between a ripe lychee and a white peach. If I didn't know better, I would have swallowed the few seeds in my haste to get to the next one.

Ten minutes and many mangosteens later, I had all but forgotten the horrid trip over and was ready to get some sleep in preparation for a long day of fooding to come.

Authentic "Moo Shu Pork" found in North Carolina!

Contrary to what the food authorities tell us, they DO make "Moo Shu Pork" in China! I discovered this authentic version at a hole in the wall somewhere along the trails of the smoky mountains. There is no question that it is made in China. Trust me, I checked the tag. :)

Way beyond big (Bakery: Pastries A Go Go)

I don't share my lemon bar. . . normally. The sentence would have stopped in front of the dots had I not met "this" lemon bar from Pastries A Go Go in Decatur. The fateful meeting happened after my usual Morningside farmer's market excursion. I had a desire for something sweet to nibble on, but didn't feel like settling for something familiar at Alon's. It was a gorgeous sunny morning, so I decided to take the drive to Decatur.

I still remember passing the cute sliver of a storefront Pastries A Go Go used to have on the main stretch of W. Ponce. Sadly, I never made it in. The bakery's new location across the street seemed a bit less cozy. I did, however, like the inviting and airy outdoor seating area among the plants. I knew PAGG had a big breakfast business. What I didn't realize was that the breakfast service almost completely overshadowed their bakery function. For a place with pastry in its name, the pastry case was surprisingly small with less than a dozen selections. But before I could start to feel disappointed, the lemon bar on the top shelf jumped out at me . . . because it was ginormous!

Almost three quarters the length of a regular dinner fork, the bar made an impressive thud when it hit the bottom of my take away bag. You can still see the dent from the fall at the lower left corner in the photo above. I also got a croissant at a server's suggestion. The croissant was also respectable in size, but when put in the same bag, merely appeared to float on top of the lemon bar.

I drove the both of them home on the seat of my mini like real passengers and dug in at the kitchen bar. The lemon bar had an interestingly chewy crust that I can't quite put my finger on. It was an almost rice cakey texture like mochi skin. The body yielded to the fork easily, but did not part like a custard. The crust, however, required a good bit of poking as it was quite hard and did not crumble as I would have liked. The lemon bar innards tasted creamy and refreshing. Perhaps leaning just a tad too much to the sweet rather than tangy side. The crust, as expected, was pretty hard and a bit dry - quite discardable. Overall, the bar was fine, just not one to induce any late night cravings. The croissant, on the other hand, was one to impress. It had a nicely toasted shell. There was a bit of crunch, but not too much to cause crumb spillage all over my lap. The innards had a balanced ratio of holeyness to dougheyness, so it gave a very nice chew. Best of all, it wasn't so dainty as to leave me wanting after the last buttery bite was gone.

Slow down the clock (Eatery: Cabaggetown Market)

I spent a few nostalgic hours watching "the wonder years" last night. What a great show! Who knew it is still on after all these years. It struck me then that children many generations from now may channel surf one day pass the same syndicated TV show after I am long gone. The thought was strangely comforting on one hand and oddly freaky on the other...

What does this have to do with food... well nothing... but it does sort of echo the feeling that washed over me when I walked into Cabaggetown Market today. No, not the freaky feeling, the nostalgic one. The one that brought my friend J (not the same as boyfriend J), sitting pretty above, to utter "this is like places we have back home"! Back home being Florence, Alabama, a small southern town with a big city name. I instantly thought that I'd like this Florence, Alabama. :)

Lisa, the co-owner of the place, greeted us with a big smile from the kitchen. She, radiant in pink, fit the place as perfectly as the neat things she had stocked the place with. I was drawn to the sandwich board immediately and settled rather quickly on the hot turkey sandwich with melted provolone cheese and a side of fries. For some reason, the hotter the weather got, the more I craved greasier food. J was even faster. Apparently, she always kept an eye out for fried pickles, which were on a part of the menu board I totally didn't see. She ordered those before I could even finish reading the list of sandwiches. She also got a burger, so maybe it's not just me that caught the greasy bug.

While the food was cooking, we browsed the shelves. ohh... butter cookies! Ha, marshmallows! It certainly was an interesting and eclectic mix they had on the shelves. I settled on some seed crackers and sparkling water in an old time glass bottle.

Food took awhile, but not an uncomfortably long while. Time slowed in that place as we leisurely flipped through the old cabaggetown postcards thoughtfully left on the counter.

My sandwich was big. I could only eat half of it. It wasn't the sandwich to end all sandwiches. But it was a competent sammie made more competent by the pile of fresh fries sleeping next to it. I was a happy girl right then and there, sitting in front of a sunny counter with my legs dangling from the stool (sadly, this always happens no matter where I am) and a cheesy sammie in my hands. I am pretty sure J was in agreement with me at that moment. She killed her burger and fried pickles (that were apparently cut the right way) despite knowledge of an impending steak dinner.

I bought a lemon bar for the road, which made my afternoon at around 3 pm, and promised Lisa that I'd be back. I figured that it was safe to make a promise that I'd be sure to keep.

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.