Anyth ing b ut or dinary

Just desserts!

2007-12-31T02:00:00.001-05:00

http://www.nydailynews.com/blogs/sweettalk

Total glee with F and B Gudtfood

2007-11-06T03:33:00.000-05:00

Patrick, Jorge and I stopped by F&B, a semi-trendy, modern German food shop, after I mentioned that I had these incredible beignets early in October and was sad that I had no stomach space to try any of their bratwursts. So we trekked there from 33rd St. and 10th Ave. to 23rd St. and 8th Ave. It was a bit of a walk and I was sort of regretting it because it would take a bit of time to go back and I thought we'd be internally scolded by those who stayed at the office. But guilt aside, I was extremely happy that we did because not only are the beignets addicting and something that must be tried before anybody dies, the spruced- up hot dogs are extremely tasty AND antibiotic-free (according to a sign in the store).

Enter the tiny shop, which people have said used to be home to a Krispy Kreme (bad decision on their part considering there's a gym right next...talk about the wrong location), and you're greeted by a bubbly, bright and cheery ambiance with blue, white, silver decor. There is only counter-seating, but surprisingly, I didn't mind because essentially, it's really food that's much more fun to eat while standing.

The three of us agreed to order our own food and share an order of Swedish Meatballs and one tray of Caramel Beignets. Jorge got the Great Dane dog (at left): Pork, ketchup & mustard dressing, pickled cucumbers & roasted onions. Patrick ordered the Prairie Dog (below at right): Premium beef with fresh tomato salsa, guacamole & cheddar cheese. I didn't try theirs but given how much they enjoyed them, I bet they were delicious. After an agonizing internal debate over what to get, I opted for the Farm Dog because I can't resist anything with sweet corn relish on it and it was basically smoked chicken hot dog & sweet corn relish.

I have to tell you that it was one REALLY good chicken sausage that was well-complemented by the sweet and tart corn relish. I normally don't like chicken sausage, but the meat was so juicy and flavorful that I could have sworn it was pork instead. It was just simple and I just loved how you could taste the meat, which sort of popped when you bit into it, as well as what tasted like naturally sweet, pickled corn...nothing so dramatic that you'd end up tasting just a jumble of indecipherable ingredients.

Then came the beignets...we each had one and this time, when I bit into mine, I was euphoric. It was significantly better than the first time I had them with raspberry sauce. Why? Because these were just fried with just enough oozing caramel sauce lathering the chewy bread. While they may appear to be intensely sweet, they were...let's just say...an ideal donut. I suspect that the bread part itself is not sweetened. I can see it being just as good accompanied by a savory sauce like cheddar cheese or even sweet corn relish. These were really heavenly: absolutely warm, soft and springy in the center with a very substantial chew. These donuts were so good that after we finished our meal, we decided to buy 9 more pieces to share! Yes, NINE. Three come with one order. We ended up with 8 because those were all that was left for the day's batch...in other words, we bought the store out of their beignets that evening. Each tray had its own flavor...chocolate, strawberry and another one of caramel.

Neatly wrapped in a foil to-go bag, the three of us practically bounced out of F&B with joy over our satisfying and cheap meal. I remember the thought of returning to work made me forget about how happy I had been when we were eating. I reached over for one of the beignet bags that Patrick was holding and decided we had to savor the rest of the walk back to work as much as we could with the assistance of those glorious nuggets. But we barely moved because instead of walking and chewing, we stood for quite some time in front of what I think was a convenience store like CVS to split up the pieces and loudly enjoy them, exclaiming "oh my god, these are soooo good. I can't believe it" after practically every bite.

I have to say that my guilt of returning to work late was justified. What if I had lived another day without knowing those beignets could get that much better? Would have been a shame. Well, no regrets here!

Lesson of the day: Some food is sometimes worth being late to work for.

Chocolate Rugelach 2

2007-11-06T00:30:00.001-05:00

Chocolate rugelach from a Brooklyn bakery that Christopher bought for me and Dan (it was soooooo good and way better than the one below!)

Chocolate Rugelach

2007-10-31T03:31:00.000-04:00

Chocolate rugelach from Junior's (taken on lined paper at my office)

Super-soft sponge cake

2007-10-30T15:17:00.000-04:00

I stopped by Chinatown last week and remembered to make a slight left onto Baxter St. in search for the hole-in-the-wall sponge cake shop. Hing Win Coffee Shop (got to double check on the name) the sign probably said in red letters above Chinese characters on a gaudy yellow plastic board.

When I stepped into the shop, it was tiny. There was just one glass display case with a few shelves that could have at one time featured eye-glasses or jade jewelry. Whatever it used to hold or could have held, now it encases Asian and American baked goods wrapped in clear plastic bags. If you were to wander into the store, none of these would really appear to be appetizing. There weren't beautifully decorated layer cakes, loaves of fluffy butter bread or even egg custard tarts when I went in. I think I was disappointed for the first 5 seconds of stepping into the shop. Dare I ask about a possibly non-existent spongecake? YES!

"Hi, do you guys sell spongecake?" I asked the man behind the extremely old-fashioned cash register. In fact, everything in that store looked like it had stayed the way it had been for over 50 years. While it was clearly an Asian bakery, there was no sign of any Asian workers. Was this the right place? I couldn't help asking myself this ever since I came in to survey the offerings.

"Yes, we do. How many?" he replies. "Oh, um 4. Wait, no. Two. Yes, two," I say with my usual indecisiveness when it comes to ordering food. An elderly Asian woman walks in through the entrance and she says "two dozen" to the man and he automatically hands her a white plastic bag full of what looks like the delicious sponge cakes I am about to tell you about.

I bought my two cakes, each only 60 cents, which is a bargain considering these days the major bakeries sell bland-tasting sponge cakes for 85 cents or more. But not only were they a great value, they were probably the best sponge cakes I have had to date. Now, it seems you can practically get them anywhere so how special could these be, but I ripped a piece off the golden, oval cake and immediately fell in love with its ultra-soft texture. It reminded me of a bath loofah, the kind that's gentle on your skin with very few holes. It was literally sponge-y, but equally fluffy (think a wad of cotton candy before it melts into sugary bits on your tongue) and light with a hint of egg-like sweetness. There was no sign of any oily residue, something I often find at chain bakeries or markets where the plastic bags themselves are smeared with grease from whatever they used to bake the cakes with.

Lately I've been trying to figure out why strawberry shortcakes are usually a disappointment, even at high-end restaurants and it dawned on me that it may be the lack of a euphoric cake base. But this was it! I could already see macerated strawberries sitting atop the ever-so-elegant, oval sponge cake topped with some lightly-sweetened, fresh whipped cream. The next time I go back to this shop, I'm going to do as that woman did and ask for two dozen.

Lesson of that day: When in doubt, just ask!

Fleur de Sel

2007-10-29T00:49:00.001-04:00

A chocolate cake with cherries, blackberries and crushed pistachios. It was accompanied by...
...cherry sorbet that sat atop chocolate cookie crumbs, vanilla sauce and white pepper gelee from the French restaurant Fleur de Sel.

Birthday beauty

2007-10-28T00:35:00.000-04:00

A gorgeous Almond Apricot Cake that Hy bought me from Black Hound New York for my birthday last year. It was one lovely sweet surprise.

Province

2007-10-27T15:08:00.000-04:00

It's still a battle trying to get through the streets of Chinatown, even on a gloomy, wet day. But I finally fought my way down to Province Chinese Canteen at Church and Walker St. the other day. How I did so this week I'm still confused about because it has felt like a long one with things scheduled almost back-to-back. I really wanted to check the place out because they specialize in "mantou" sandwiches...the steamed white bun bread normally served with Peking Duck, hoisin sauce and scallions. I think the most well-known one to New Yorkers is the Berkshire Pork Buns at Momofuku Noodle Bar (at right), which I might add are amazing and a happy meal in of itself. It will have to be another day when I gush about how delicious the sauce and fat combine with the juicy pork.

At Province, they make a variety of versions with a larger bun studded with toasted sesame seeds. These almost look like hamburger buns, but are pure white and more the size of an English muffin with extra puff. Listed under "sandwiches," the meat options are Grilled chicken, Braised pork shoulder, Spicy pork, or Short Rib & kimchi (at left). I was surprised by how fast I was able to place my order for the Braised pork and Short rib & kimchi sandwich. It wasn't my usual 10 minutes of indecisiveness though I was tempted to order them all to try.

I took a seat in the rather empty place. And when they say "canteen," they surely mean it...it's a no-frills place with wooden benches and wooden dividers with holes scattered in the boards. It isn't an ugly joint but slightly bare and cold. The only warmth that can be found is probably from the white xmas lights dangling from the ceiling or being able to look out into the street and people-watch through the huge glass windows.

Anyhow, my sandwiches came on a blue food tray with a wax-paper bag of what seemed like freshly made shrimp chips-the kind you sometimes can see crowning a plate of Peking Duck and mantou. I tried the Short rib & kimchi one first and had to think for a while whether or not I liked it. It was not that it was bad, but I think that sort of slightly fatty and sinewy meat is too difficult to eat as a sandwich. It felt like I needed a toothpick after each bite or I had to bite down hard and yank the sandwich away from my mouth so as not to pull out the entire sandwich filling. I'd individually everything was tasty. I like the meat because it was well...your basic marinated Korean short ribs and the kimchi wasn't too sour or funky. For some reason, I couldn't really taste much of the mantou...it was just sort of a tasteless bread, but the toasted sesame seeds gave the whole sandwich a nice touch texture-wise. Next, I tried the Braised Pork version and it was better because most of the pork was tender and slightly fatty. The flavor somewhat reminded me of the addicting pig trotters my mom makes: the fatty meat slow-cooked in a slightly sweet soy sauce with chunks of soft, Chinese white turnip. But it wasn't addicting here. There didn't seem to be much personality in the taste...not even the comfort I usually feel when I have my mom's dish. I guess in general there's nothing to be ecstatic over, but I'd say that it's a decent place to hit up if you're in the mood for the mantou sandwiches.

Overall? I probably won't trek all the way down to Church St. again for the sandwiches. The shrimp chips were fun but I'm not a fan of them in general. I may go down for their cold noodle salad though.

Lesson of the day: There's always time for food.

Province Chinese Canteen
305 Church Street (at Walker St.)

Boston binge eating

2007-10-24T15:53:00.000-04:00

A posting I had been waiting to put up until after I had gotten a good photo of Cocoa Pudding Ice Cream With Ginger Snaps. However, up it goes today!

Written 10/4/07:
I was in Boston for a couple days and it's like a nice, mini vacation. Far enough from NYC, but close enough where going home doesn't mean having to go to a horrible airport and wait 4 plus hours for who knows what.

I got off work on Sunday morning around 2 a.m. Went home to shower and pack a bit...slept a good 45 minutes and decided to just head down to the Lucky Star bus stop in Chinatown around 5:30 a.m. to catch the 7 a.m. ride to Boston. It was weird being out in my neighborhood while there was almost light coming out. Eery is the best word to describe it. Some bakeries and coffee shops are already bustling with workers but at some streets the absolute silence was deafening. I made it the stop 30 minutes ahead of departure. A real rarity for me as I have ALWAYS made a mad dash to the stop 2 minutes before departure time or 2 minutes after the scheduled time. I slept the entire bus ride through rather uncomfortably with my neck strained on both sides. Ugh. However, to my surprise, one jolt on the bus made me wake suddenly and pull out my earphones to find that we had arrived...20 minutes early. Nice! I'm no newbie to Boston as I've visited on countless occasions so I took the T to Central to meet Dan for lunch. Wow, it was early enough to get lunch. We went to Daedalus in Harvard Square and it was so-so. Nice ambiance but to my great sadness, his poached eggs in the Eggs Benedict were mostly cooked through...really the utmost worst you could do to Eggs Benedict. I got the crab sandwich which was ok, seeing as it was fried so you could barely taste much of anything. Blahblahblah. Don't want to waste space rambling even more...

We ended up at Toscanini's, the famous ice cream place in Boston, where it took us both a long while to decide what to get. The board had like 15-20 flavors that had the classics and the creative. So we asked the woman behind the counter, who ended up giving us a sample of like 6 flavors she liked most. We tried the Mint Chip, which we both muttered "toothpaste" under our breaths. Had the "hazelnut" but it just taste like sweet cream colored brown. BlahBlahBlah...other flavors. And then we hit upon Cocoa Pudding with Ginger Snap Cookies. Let me tell you it was like winning Bingo! It was fabulous! Tons of cocoa flavor as if you were running your tongue over the smooth, silkiness of real, rich chocolate pudding. The Ginger Snaps were such a pleasant surprise. Large chunks of what tasted like gingerbread soaked in a bit of chocolate paired so well with the cocoa ice cream. The next time I go I will do as I always do: order the same flavor that I know I will like. Why try the other 15 when you know which one you really like already? Many would disagree with me but sorry, this is non-negotiable. In fact, I could just inhale that flavor! Anyhow, sadly no picture as I did not have my camera with me. Perhaps my next visit I'll make another post on the ice cream with photo included. We also opted for a Cappuccino and a Vanilla Hot Chocolate. I'd say the drinks were tasty, but don't go to Toscanini's without the intent of ordering ice cream even if you think it's much too cold out...their ice cream really hits the spot when you find your true flavor. Yes, it's almost like finding the love of your life.

I can't possibly write EVERYTHING I ate in Boston. This one entry would be even more tiresome to read. However, after Toscanini's, I met Jan at her lab at the Charles MGH stop. My favorite ride is from I believe Kendall to Charles MGH where you can see the water and sailboats. We walked to North End for Mike's Pastry, a place really well-known for their cannolis. They are quite delicious as I had them I believe earlier this year, but the crowds at this place are a little intimidating. Instead of stopping here again, we went into an adorable cafe called Vittoria Cafe for coffee gelato and a sfogliatele, an Italian pastry that translates to "many leaves/layers" because well, it's made of many flaky layers that enrobed a cake-like center. The "cake" center was almost like a the soft part of a crumpet that taste like it was flavored with almond paste and hints of orange. Eh, sorry no photo but it did almost fly off the plate because of my extremely unskilled eating techniques. Gelato: Kind of tasted like brown-colored sweet cream like the hazelnut ice cream at Toscanini's. But it kind of grew on us so we continued to eat it. The sfogliatelle...it was nice. Authentic to me probably because I'd never had one in or from Italy.

Ok, blahblahblah...had dinner. Make it quick! Make it quick, you say? Ok...

For my last meal before heading back to NYC, Dan took me to a place called Miracle of Science. Ah, what a totally appropriate restaurant name for the area! The geekyness of it makes me smile! Anyhow, it wasn't that the food was amazing, but rather how simple the menu was AND it was written like a periodic table. I ordered the Cs...for Chicken Sandwich and Dan got the Ms (I think) for the Mesclun Salad (but added chicken to it as you can see above). The food was straightforward. You got what you ordered. The chicken in my sandwich was juicy, thin and tasty (at left) and it came with a spicy mango chipotle sauce that gave it a nice extra kick. The homefries were addicting and I'd go back just for those as they were perfectly cooked chunky, red-skin potatoes with just the right amount of seasoning. I'd say the word "minimalist" best describes the place. But that in no way means the decor was ugly. Everything was unpretentious...something quite lovely when many places these days go all out to impress diners with crazy things like life-size plants, giant Buddhas or indoor waterfalls.

Lesson of the day: Boston is definitely a place to be!

Hungry for home-style

2007-10-23T13:39:00.000-04:00

This is a very long-overdue entry that I've been meaning to post and decided today was the day to do it without anymore excuses.

So Eric and I went to Pistahan back in September, a place you probably would just walk right by without a glance because it looks almost like a fast food/take-out joint. With bright-orange painted walls and a glass window fridge that allows you to pick desserts to-go (and some random perishable items), the place was dimly lit and rather empty.

But I had read about this place in New York magazine and was curious to know what they called a culinary hodgepodge of Asian cuisines was like. I ordered the Chicken Adobo while Eric asked the waiter whether he should get the "Grilled Pork Belly with vinegar and soy sauce" or the "Deep-fried Pork Belly with special liver sauce." She stood there rather indecisive herself. "Um, they are kind of the same," she says. Now Eric was set on getting something deep-fried that night because well chances are that usually translates to: "You're gonna LOOOOOVE it no matter how bad the meat really tastes," even though he told me after dinner that he was hoping to be "less squishy again." Yeah, fat chance if you're dining with me. And guess what, he got the deep-fried pork belly. He was also smart to get us a plate the garlic rice.

The chicken adobo arrived at the table first. While not a dish to marvel at over the presentation, we both thought the adobo sauce was really fabulous. It wasn't inundated with vinegar; in fact it was almost sweet and broth-like, soaking in the natural flavors of chicken. While the meat didn't slip off the bone as I have had at other places, it was still a hearty dish with a simple, home-style character to it. But there were two things we had wished for for this dish: 1) The chicken could have been marinated in the sauce much longer. The meat closer to the bone had very little flavor, while the exterior was enveloped very well with the adobo sauce (While it is normally made with garlic, vinegar, soy sauce, chilies, tomatoes and onions, this one was simply vinegar, soy sauce and onions). 2) There was more bone than meat to be had. Lots of time was spent getting the meat off that for the most part I was worried I'd be flinging the rest of my food at Eric. While I wouldn't have minded that the food hit him, it would have a been a great loss to not have eaten the flying pieces. However, only one chunk managed to fly off the plate and unfortunately it was in my lap. Thankfully the chicken wasn't too oily. I think my clothes will not suffer greatly. But the flavors were nonetheless delicious, simple with nothing so heavy to throw your digestive system in a funk.

The garlic rice was a bit of a revelation because it was fragrant, bold and even had pieces of grilled garlic in it, yet was safe enough to eat without having to worry about breathing garlic on everybody for the rest of the night. Ew. But the rice was cooked perfectly, each grain glistening with some sort of oil to keep the rice moist and appetizing. It was such a complement to our two dishes that I'm guessing any entree in the house could use the rice as a side (except for the desserts).

The Deep-fried Pork Belly came at last and you could tell immediately it was going to rock. How? Because the rind looked crispy, there was a thin layer of fat between the fried skin and the very tender, juicy pork. The rind was a bit difficult to chew as it was semi-thick and hard, but combined with the fat and the meat, the trio is a must for a fried-food lover because you get the crunch but you also get forward-flavor pork and smoothness from the fat...ending your bite with plenty of textures and pure pork bliss. The special liver sauce reminded me of the sweet-sour sauce normally served with Peking Duck, which I never use anyways. I wasn't a fan of it though I wouldn't say it was bad. Eric and I naturally dunked our pork in the left-over adobo sauce instead. Yum.

We finished everything except the extra bowl of white rice we had ordered. Probably because we devoured the dishes so there was none left to accompany the lonesome rice. In fact, if my memory serves me well, I think Eric almost licked clean the bowl with the adobo sauce in it. That good you say? Yeah, it was but don't expect a mind-blowing experience. Sometimes simple is just plain satisfying and I'd say the adobo sauce is tasty enough to convert almost any dish into comfort food.

We considered dessert, but decided against it and instead went to Something Sweet, a place that has the best Truffle Buttons (almond macaroons with chocolate ganache and dipped in Belgium chocolate) I've had so far. That entry will be for another day. Today its Pistahan...and I pat myself on the back for finally getting this account up on here. Oh and the photos are courtesy of Eric's phone camera...quite clear, eh? Please take special care in noticing how well-fried/crisp the pork is, how shiny the rice granules are and how succulent the chicken chunks look.

Lesson of the day: I take it out of a line from this above entry..."Sometimes simple is just plain satisfying."

Pistahan
229 First Ave. (between 13th and 14th Sts.)
212-228-9000

Time for TKettle and tapioca

2007-10-22T21:36:00.000-04:00

I was going to meet Beth at Mariebelle for hot chocolate tonight but it was a bit hot and humid so we decided to do it next week instead in hopes that some of the heat will pass. I gave myself the excuse to head down to the East Village to relieve the urge I've been having the past few days to try a new milk tea place that Rebecca mentioned that her friends said was better than Saint's Alp and other teahouses in Chinatown. "Better, huh?" I remember saying and thinking to myself that I could not wait to try it because I am a huge milk tea fanatic. Authentically-brewed teas excite me too but I haven't had my tapioca tea fix for like a week now. I always seem to end up at Teariffic on Mott St. and while I can never manage to not order my usual Almond Milk Tea (usually cold with pearls) I was starting to get a tad tired of the place. I've burned through so many frequent-buyer cards that I think they at least owe me 10 more free drinks (I bet many regulars think this too) for going in almost every week.

I found TKettle on St. Marks Place-you can't really miss it with their bright lights bouncing off their orange and white interior. It looks like any other milk tea shop: the fat straws neatly held in containers, drink displays on the counter and a menu offering everything from flavored teas and slushies to Asian snacks like toast and a variety of "dan ta" (egg tarts...one in Portuguese-style too)!

It looks to be a shop owned and run by a husband and wife. But I could be wrong. The reason I say this is because I walked in and an Asian woman behind the counter smiled at me sweetly and asked me what I'd like to have, while an Asian man behind her shook up beverages for other customers. I ordered the Original Milk Tea with Pearls but then asked the woman how the Almond one was because I ALWAYS order that kind. But before she could answer I said: "May I switch it? Oh no, nevermind, I'll stick with the Original. Sorry!" I hate my indecisiveness when at the cash register, but this stems from fear of choosing an item I will regret having. Anyhow, the woman told me they opened just a month ago and perhaps since it's so new, not many people have wandered into this tea store just yet. While my drink was mixed in one of those cocktail shakers, the man told me that there was more seating in the back (there were two tables outside in the front). This place is larger than the eye can see at first glance! I walked straight back and sure enough, there were more seats. And at left was exactly what I saw: a room full of cushy seats for me to choose from! But the ambiance took some time to grow on me because I was trying to decide if I liked how narrow the room was. I took a sip of my drink and was pleasantly surprised that it was well... good. It reminded of tapioca milk tea in California, where these shops are almost as prevalent in Asian communities as Starbuck's are um, on every street corner... all over the world. You could taste the tea for sure, but it was shaken with the right amount of milk so that it wasn't like drinking milk colored brown or drinking watered-down tea with a murky white cast (think mud puddles on a rainy day). It was sweetened of course and something I can definitely see myself getting on a regular basis if it weren't a tad far for me to get to. But I am pleased to say it's $3.96 for a real 16 ounce cup with pearls. Lots of places charge that price for a 12 ounce cup. I can't believe I'm saying that because if you think about it, it's 4 bucks for a cup of tea with tapioca! I have been New Yorkified!

Well, going back to the drink-I liked the pearls a lot because (and this may be different for others if they go there at the wrong time) they were the chewy I prefer: not too stiff like overchewed bubble gum but they also didn't dissolve in goopy bits in my mouth like at some places when the pearls have been left out uneaten and soaking in sugar syrup for too long. Slightly sweet, the tapioca balls were the regular size, not the baby ones that got popular over the years, and there was a generous amount but not so much that you're overwhelmed.

The more I sat there, the more I liked the place because I can see it as a great teahouse to meet a friend for tea and as word continues to get out, it could become a popular late-night hang-out. The orange seats are cushioned with a backing, something really more comfortable than the wooden, Asian-style stools at lots of other places. I can only sit on those for 10 minutes before slumping over and propping my arms on the table. But at TKettle you can sit and chat for a good amount of time because the seats are not only comfy, but the place looks very clean and lively, and there's enjoyable radio music playing through a relatively clear sound system. All it needs are more people to make the place cozier. Some electrical outlets would be nice too for people who want to do a little writing there. Overall, I'm happy to say I will be a returning drinker.

Lesson of the day: There is hope for milk tea in N.Y.C.!

TKettle
26 St. Marks Place (between 2nd and 3rd Ave.)

Gray's Papaya Plan

2007-10-21T21:55:00.000-04:00

Patrick, Jorge and I went in search for dinner while at work last night. I suggested we try a new place since we always order from the same 4 places, so we trekked over to 39th St. and 8th Ave. for a joint called Mandler's Sausage Co. On the way there, we passed by Gray's Papaya and were tempted by the recession special. But we moved on, declaring that if all else fails, Gray's will be our backup plan. And it was a good thing we had a plan B because when we got to Mandler's, the shop was dark, dirty and well...absolutely deserted. There were a few photos of sausages and plate specials posted on the glass windows, but you could tell that the place had been shut down for whatever reasons why some places don't survive in the city. Anyhow, to Gray's we went without too much disappointment. Here we have it, two delicious hot dogs smothered in their onion sauce and topped with sauerkraut. I don't think I can ever get sick of these unless they tell me what they put in the dogs. However, Patrick did find a sign that said "100% beef" and the drink I always opt for is the Pina Colada, which they say is "all-natural." Whether or not these signs tell the truth, sometimes it's just better to not know what's in the food we sometimes love so dearly even if isn't gourmet or the latest trend.

Lesson of the day: Backup plans are the best.

Grom gelato

2007-10-18T14:03:00.001-04:00

I didn't try a new place today because it was gloomy, rainy and I had too much work to do and lots of sleep to catch up on. But on Wednesday I stopped by Grom gelato because I've been asked 4 times in the past month if I had gone yet. I was in a bit of a rush on Wednesday because I had to be somewhere by 4:30 p.m. but I decided to go because I really felt like gelato and I didn't want to be trying it later this week since the forecast predicted rain (my guess was correct because it has been rainy and rather dark). Anyhow, there hardly was a wait when I got to the shop, which was a big surprise since I saw pictures online of massive lines that reminded me of Disneyland rides. What can I say. I'm an impatient person. I can't stand waiting in lines that are so far back that you can't even see your original destination. However, the ridiculous lines may have been because Grom was offering free gelato on the day of its opening to get people hooked on their stuff. Sure, I like free food but I also like using my time wisely. I'd more likely spend a mere 5 bucks to save a 2 hour wait. Come to think of it, I don't ever recall waiting for free food when there are promotional events like free scoop day at Ben & Jerry's.

Anyhow, the place looked like a tiny scoop shop at the front, but if you walk further in, you have about a whopping 15 seats to choose from if you're lucky they aren't all full of kids and their parents (at least on a Wed. afternoon). And if you get a seat, your view is a bunch of industrial machines (probably the gelato-makers) behind a glass window. Yay. I'd say takeout is your best bet so don't count on eating very good gelato on rainy days.

I never know what flavor to get when I'm at a scoop shop so I normally get one of my two favorite flavors: coffee or mint chocolate chip. So I was torn betweening trying something different like stracciatella or a classic like coffee or chocolate. I was tempted to sample all the flavors but decided against it because that's just plain annoying so I tried Tiramisu and Dark Chocolate. I went for the chocolate because while the Tiramisu tasted good with chunks of cookie and lots of interesting textures and colors, it didn't taste quite like the Tiramisu I was looking for. Anyhow, my small cup of Dark Chocolate gelato was $5.14 including tax. Talk about ouch because a small was small, but I guess it's justified since they say they use some of the best and freshest ingredients and good chocolate, like Valrhona, means you're going to have to pay for it. I overheard a woman telling her son "They said they didn't squeeze enough limes today to make that delicious lime sorbet we had last time. Well maybe next time."

The gelato looked really unappetizing because it wasn't cold enough, the goop slid down the sides of the cup making my table a huge mess. In fact, it reminded me of doggy diarrhea (see photo). Does it not? I took a few bites and was actually conflicted. Was it really good? Or was it too intensely chocolate for me to enjoy? Or did I not like it because I was in a bit of a rush and wanted to get it over with? I concluded that it was good because I ordered chocolate gelato and got chocolate gelato. What I realized was that the amount was enough because oftentimes when things are rich and tasty, you don't need a lot to satisfy your palate. And this was rich and tasty.

The Dark Chocolate gelato had bits of dark chocolate evenly scattered about so in every bite you'll have tiny pieces that add a bit of extra texture to the airy gelato, making it that much more elegant. By airy gelato I mean that it almost felt like it was whipped, hence the somewhat gooey look. And speaking of whipped, I was asked at the counter whether I wanted a dollop of whipped cream to accompany my sweet treat. I said no because I didn't want whipped cream anymore after my Strawberry Shortcake Sadness. Going back to the chocolate... I really did like that they weren't the typical huge chunks of chocolate pieces because those always get stuck in the roof of my mouth and are tasteless anyways. I only ate about half the cup when I felt like it was a chocolate overload. I had wished I was there with someone else because then we could have shared two flavors and alternated. I was sad I didn't try a sorbet. But this experience led me to believe that with all their flavors, may it be sorbet or gelato, they will taste true to their flavor profiles. If you get raspberry sorbet, you better like raspberries because that's the flavor it's going to taste exactly like.

Lesson of the day: A little goes a long way.

Grom Gelato
2165 Broadway (between 76th and 77th Sts.)
646-290-7233

Turnip cake cooked

2007-10-17T14:33:00.000-04:00

I just fried the turnip cake and it was pleasantly flavorful. I have no oyster sauce or hot sauce to pair with it, which is sad because it probably would make it ten times better. However, I have 4 more pieces to cook so perhaps I will get some sauce before having them. I used very little olive oil to fry the single rectangular piece but I realize that at restaurants, they must use more oil and fry it for much longer to get the nice, crisp outer layer (a dark golden brown) I normally am accustomed to seeing. I left each side to cook for about 6-7 minutes but I think I was much too impatient to let it sizzle long enough to achieve restaurant-fried results. Anyhow, it had small chunks of white radish here and there and the "cake" itself was a good "mushy"...kind of gelatinous but firm. I can't think of a common food it can be compared with because the texture is really one of a kind...possibly like a polenta cake without any grainy-ness. The two core ingredients are usually rice flour and white radish, but I've had fancier versions made with scallions, mushrooms, dried shrimp, or sausage bits. It's normally eaten during Chinese New Years, yet I always have it at dim sum restaurants all year round. In fact, it's a must-order dish everytime. While I won't gush about the outcome of this luo bo gao "experiment," it's safe to say it wasn't a disaster. It wasn't complex in ingredients or cooking so I think I'd get it again! For that, I am grateful.

Lesson of the day: Simple can be equally as delicious as complex. Sometimes better.

Turnip cake to cook

2007-10-16T15:13:00.001-04:00

I bought "luo bo gao" (turnip cake usually served at dim sum) when I was in Chinatown the night I met Rebecca for the beef noodles. The store itself is quite ugly, more like a storage facility than anything else, but the place serves its purpose for selling cheap, fresh Chinese foods to be taken home to prepare. So I have yet to pan-fry my turnip cake because they are currently white, uncooked blocks with chunks of pre-cooked white turnip. I forget the name of the shop but they also offer taro cakes, sesame seed balls (yay!), dumplings, egg noodles, and other popular items like "zong zi" (the savory sticky rice with meat and mushrooms wrapped in bamboo leaves). The list continues but I can't remember them after surveying the haphazard inventory and everything on the menu was scrawled on a red plastic board in Chinese Characters that looked like they had been written a very long time ago. Be it the passing years from the sweat, grease or water coming from god knows what, it's a sign legible by people who really know how to read Chinese even if a slash is missing. Anyhow...hopefully the "luo bo gao" is really good. Two bad things in one week is unbearable. Three? I'll be in tears.

Lesson of the day: Strawberry Shortcake is currently something nobody really knows how to make well (I am not the only who says this). Don't judge a shop by how it looks ...yet. Some ugly, tacky Chinese restaurants serve the most delicious foods ever. Food so good that bad service can be tolerated.

Pizza without pizazz & knife-shaved noodles

2007-10-16T00:29:00.000-04:00

Went to Luzzo's on First Ave. for pizza last night with Hy. It's a cozy place, a nice ambiance to get together with friends when you just don't have the energy to trek far for the best pizza in New York. I'd say at best it's a great local pizza joint when you're short on time and low on ideas.

A ton of reviews said it was one of the best places to eat pizza in NYC. It was awarded Best of City Search 2007, but I have to disagree. I apologize for saying this but I wonder if they gave this place an award because Grimaldi's, DiFara's, Lombardi's (the most over-rated of the list), John's on Bleecker and other famous NYC pizza places have just been over-reviewed. It wasn't gross, but it just seemed like it was lacking the "oh my goodness, this is soooooo good" feeling I normally get when I have pizza (even some local places are just plain good when the cheese is chewy and the bread is perfectly thin and crusty).

We ordered the 16" "4 Stagioni"...thin-crust pizza with olives, ham, artichokes, buffalo mozzarella, and mushrooms. While the ingredients tasted fresh and the cheese was melted, it was disappointing that the center of the pie had a very mushy crust. In other words, the pizza was uneven...the center was soaking in all the water from either the tomato sauce, cheese oil and toppings. At the same time, it wasn't as if the ingredient combination was out of this world, but perhaps the goopy parts threw me off? So this made me sad because I had been craving pizza for weeks but this didn't do it for me. The only thing I could do was eat from the outer crust inwards so as to avoid the mush as long as possible. Even then, it wasn't pizza I wanted to inhale like I normally do when the pizza is that delicious.

My top pizza places that have not let me down: John's on Bleecker, Grimaldi's in Brooklyn, Patsy's on 3rd Ave. and 99 Cents Fresh Pizza in Midtown East. Why? The crusts are ALWAYS CHEWY, CRUSTY, but SUPER THIN...AND the ingredients (don't know about the 99 Cent place since I only had plain cheese) are fresh, generous and have their own vibrant personalities.

As sad as I was about the crust, I did manage to eat my 4 slices...in fact, we both finished the entire pie. I do believe Hy said: "It's really growing on me." I think after 3 slices, she started to believe it was really good pizza. She isn't wrong. I haven't had all the best pizzas in the world or even in NYC, but I do know what I like and don't like. And now you do too.

SKIP FORWARD TO TONIGHT

I've temporarily put my "anxiety" over Luzzo's pizza crust on hold. Perhaps it was just a one-time incident. Anyhow, tonight I went to Marco Polo Noodle Shop in Chinatown with Rebecca because she said she saw a sign on their awning that said they had "dao xiao mein"..."They do!?!" I remember shrieking. The literal translation is "knife-shaved noodles," which are my favorite and something I haven't had since I've left California. In fact, it has been a mission for me to find the best beef knife-shaved noodle soup in New York. The kind with chunks of tender beef swimming in an aromatic, dark-colored, hearty beef broth accompanied by long, wide, hand-shaved noodles that are perfectly cooked. The last time I've had such a delicious bowl? A&J in Irvine, California...a small shop with very good "jiao yen pai gu" ("salt pepper pork") with "suan tsai" ("sour vegetables") and rice.

The place most likely to rival A&J's beef noodle soup is the $4.50 bowl at Super Taste, a VERY much hole-in-the-wall shop where you can see the chefs yanking on the noodles by hand. You can practically taste the labor-intensive work in those thick, chewy noodles that somehow have the ability to soak in the meat broth and the savory spices. Maybe I should just stop writing now because I really could use a bowl right now. Well, the point of this "short" entry is to mention that we had a different beef noodle soup tonight that was quite delicious. The same kind I dream about from A&J? No, but still a place I'd hit up when in need of a steaming bowl of noodle soup.

"Oh, this wasn't what I was imagining. The broth is so....um, clear," Rebecca said. I laughed because she summed up the very thought I had been thinking when the bowls were set on the table. She ordered the thin noodles, which are also hand-pulled and I asked for the knife-shaved one. The broth was "qing dan"...a phrase I always remembered because I was careful not to order this version which pretty much means "clear broth" or something along the lines of "lighter" or "mild." But we sipped the soup and were pleasantly surprised: Even without the usual dark-brown colored broth, the soup was flavorful, meaty and full-bodied. In fact, it was nice to know that maybe even fewer ingredients were put in but still yielded a soup so tasty.

Rebecca's noodles were al dente...the kind of noodles you want: "que que"..."chewy" and far from mushy but still soft enough without it being dough-y. Mine however were slightly over-cooked. Why I didn't freak out, especially since I did at Luzzo's crust? Because Rebecca had an ideal bowl of noodles so it was safe to say this time, my noodles had been sitting in broth for too long. But I still enjoyed it because the noodles were thin, and well-flavored in the broth it was bathed in. I just thought of them as open wonton skins.

Normally, I hate the beef in the noodle soups because they are tough, having been cooked in the soup for much too long. But the large, fragrant pieces that came with our bowls were super tender, and if there were bones, which there were not, the meat would have gladly slid off. I'd say that if you could think about the ideal way the beef should taste in noodle soups, this really hit the mark. Best part: Nothing was overly salty and we weren't dying to chug a gallon of water after eating. Yay! No MSG detected at the time! It was such a "comfort" meal in the sense that I've always had a soft spot for noodle soup since I used to have it/crave it all the time when I was at home. We chatted for a good 3 hours...well, long enough where all the cooks were having their dinner and we were the only customers. But not once did they try to kick us out. They waited until we finished and asked for the check. How nice! And so unusual for a Chinese restaurant!

As for tomorrow, the much-talked-about Grom gelato or a Strawberry Shortcake from Anneliese. (And maybe another trip back to F&B for beignets or another pumpkin muffin from Le Pain Quotidien. AHHH! So much to eat, so little time and money!)

Lesson of the day: Keep trying new things!

Chikalicious creations

2007-10-15T03:24:00.000-04:00

I decided to make a few posts with less text. What a relief, huh? Anyhow, a few selections from the dessert bar Chikalicious in NYC back in early September.

Green grape petit four with meringue cookie
Spiced cherries with pound cake and cracked pepper gelato
Roasted peach half with vanilla sauce and basil sorbet
Coconut marshmallows... I used to hate marshmallows...
now I don't because of these!

A day of pumpkin and plenty more

2007-10-12T01:48:00.000-04:00

I've had a sugar-filled day today. I haven't had anything salty except pretzels. This can't be good. Why I did this I do not know.

But I started off my morning with Le Pain Quotidien's Limited Edition Pumpkin Muffin. I normally get their Belgium Brownie or Pain Au Chocolat, but today my eyes fell upon something labeled "Pumpkin" and not even reading fully what it was, I ordered it. This muffin, as they call it, really hit the spot because it was dense but perfectly moist, making it much more like a pumpkin pound cake. This is not the airy, fluffy muffins you get at the store or at Dunkin Donuts (though I do like those very much too!) laden with conspicuous remnants of butter/fat/oil/something-bad-for-your-body. In fact, it was almost on the brink of chewy. Toasted pumpkin seeds studded the top, adding a nice roasted flavor to the muffin as well as a light crunchy texture to the softness of the cake. Its got a spot-on pumpkin-ness to it: There's no overly fake tasting pumpkin flavor but it's not so bland as if it were just a plain muffin dyed orange. I will definitely be going back for another one soon! I am officially pumpkin crazy seeing as it is THAT time of the month where pumpkin sprouts up on all the menus.

It didn't take me long to eat it of course and while I cannot remember what I did after I finished the muffin, I do remember that my next pumpkin encounter was the Pumpkin Bisque from Hale & Hearty Soup. It's actually quite good, though I think that if I ever step into the place for soup, I have to get my usual: Chicken & Sweet Corn Bisque. The Pumpkin Bisque was slightly sweet as if there were nutmeg, cardamom or cinnamon flung in but it was followed by a kick of spiciness. In essence, the first taste is sweet pumpkin flavor, but it ends in a semi-fiery savory note. It can be quite addicting, but I think more often than not I like my pumpkin for dessert rather than a meal (though pumpkin ravioli can be greatly appreciated).

Anyhow, done with that. Moving on: I went to 3 Tarts, a Chelsea gift boutique/bakery, today to shoot some photos for an article I'm writing about the place and their pastry chefs. It can be a wonderland in there for people who live for bite-sized desserts and love giving gifts. When the article gets published, I'll be sure to post the link to the article here so there's more info and descriptions of what they have and why it's good. However, I'd like to highlight the Pumpkin Parfait here because it stood out from the wide selection there. For one, it came in a very simple, mini plastic "flute" and two, because ... it was pumpkin. See ugly photo at left. To be as brief as possible, I'd say that the most enjoyable part was the multiplicity of textures. You start off with a firm crunchiness from the pumpkin seed toffee-brittle, going on to the dissolve-in-your-mouth-like-air molasses whipped cream, coming to the soft, chunky pumpkin pieces with bits of dried apricot, followed by the creamy sweet pumpkin pastry cream, then ending with crushed chocolate cookies. Or, if you're lucky, you're able to get all of the wonderful textures in one bite and enjoy the inspiring flavor combinations. I love pumpkin pie, but if given the choice between having a big slice of this layered loveliness, I'd have to say farewell to the classic Thanksgiving dessert. If you can't quite imagine the flavors, here's what it made me feel like I was eating: A pie made of a crust of crumbled chocolate cookies filled with elegant mashed candied yams (not too sweet or consumed by the sugar syrup) topped with generous dollops of maple syrup whipped cream. What a treat I tell you.

Anyhow, got to keep going since there's more.

Yeah, I know lots of food already but I didn't go to Chelsea unprepared. Knowing I rarely ever hit up the neighborhood I had two more places to swing by. I first went to Chelsea Market to get some coffee from Ninth Street Espresso. I've been to the lower east side location, but have never gotten coffee there. The cafe is cozy, inviting and smells of a coffee that non-coffee drinkers would fall in love with. So I was a tad surprised to find that the Ninth Street Espresso at Chelsea Market had no seats. It had a stone counter top where people could stand and chat while drinking from big ceramic mugs.

I was debating whether or not to order decaf or to be strong and go with caffeinated (do I really want to be talking at warp-speed and feeling my heart race as if it was ready to jump out of my body?). "Excuse me, I know this may be a stupid question, or sacrilegious for that matter at such a place for real coffee drinkers, but do you serve decaf?" I ask the barista. "Yes, we do!" he says with a big smile. Whew. Relief. And he didn't even roll his eyes. So I order a decaf cappuccino and stand back to observe the scene. Each cup is made-to-order so it meant that the guy had taken a generous scoop of decaf coffee and was using some sort of gadget to hand-press the coffee into the espresso machine just for my cup of coffee. My favorite part? I'm guessing they do this as the last touch of charm for each cup of joe: The steamed milk was poured into the coffee at an angle to form a beaming heart as you can see at the right. Love it! Originally, I attempted to take a photo of my drink at the counter but much to my dismay, I was much too short to get a proper shot. What did I do? I found a spot near the floor with a concrete lining that was about 5 inches off the ground and shot a few quick photos. And what embarrassing thing did I do next? I went in search for sugar. When I did find the milk and sugar corner (the sugar practically hidden from sight and I guess for good reason), and reached over for a few packets of sugar, I was waiting for people to stop talking in awe of what I was about to do to my coffee. I was practically committing a crime I thought. Well that's too bad. I dumped 3 packets in. I was bold, wasn't I? Thankfully, not a word was uttered. I was home-free with coffee that survived a photo shoot on the ground and it was decaf with sugar too! So how'd it taste? I'm not a real coffee-drinker but if there was one word to describe it, I'd say it was "masculine." It was rich, deep, dark and almost mysterious...on the brink of bitterness but pulls you back to a slight sweetness when you think it's going to turn you away. I'd say there were even hints of a toffee flavor but perhaps it was the sugar doing its magic. In any case, it was one good cup of sweetened cappuccino!

And what better food to accompany my coffee than beignets? I walked to F&B gudtfood, a German street food joint, and bought 3 huge nuggets of fried dough. Dusted with powdered sugar and drizzled with a sticky raspberry sauce (photo below and left), these have got to be my favorite kinds of donuts. It's probably why I LOVE the donuts from Donut Planet because they have a nice chew to them and the glazes are customarily true to their flavor profiles (a raspberry donut tastes like fresh raspberries are studded on the donut) without killing your taste buds with sugar or leaving an oily residue in your mouth.

The breaded part of the beignet from F&B was not sweet. In fact, it probably can be dipped into a cheese sauce for a different kind of snack. Whether or not the lack of oiliness or sugar overload makes these donuts more "healthy" than donuts from Krispy Kreme or Dunkin Donuts, it is a mystery that I'd rather not solve. I am DEFINITELY going back for more of these lovely golden pieces of goodness. They have chocolate or caramel versions as well. Perhaps I'll try them all. Oh and maybe get a bratwurst or two. I hear those are delish.

Ah, another day means...well, 3 or more meals to come.

Lesson of the day: Eat dessert first and last!

More mini than monster

2007-10-06T00:47:00.000-04:00

I have to make a rather quick, "short" entry tonight since I actually have work to do. Today, I had a lovely interview with the pastry chefs and the owner of this charming gift boutique/bakery in Chelsea called 3 Tarts. I'll be throwing together an article on them for Asiance soon and will be posting a write-up here about their adorable desserts. Checking out the place and talking to them was a great start to the day because I left feeling inspired and rather happy. Perhaps it was all the sweetness inside the shop that had a positive effect over me. I truly believe desserts are the way to my heart. I hope the sweets taste as wonderful as they look because everything in the glass fridge looked gorgeous...even the twist on the classics, like yuzu marshmallows, molasses cookies and jeweled hibiscus gelee panna cotta, were edible works of art.

After the meeting, I met Tony for lunch today near Times Square at Monster Sushi. I had been planning on taking photos there because according to reviews, the sushi was supposed to be "gargantuan" in size. However, my camera's battery was dead and I had known this but done nothing about it when I first knew this: I didn't listen to Stu the day of the web department potluck when he said that my battery was low and that I needed to charge it. I was furious for a good 20 minutes after I left the bakery and even considered buying another battery or instant camera. That's why I unfortunately have no photos from 3 Tarts yet either, but I'll be back there next week with my camera's battery fully charged and ready to shoot to my delight. Anyhow, there was no need for the camera at Monster Sushi. It was a disappointment. My first one in several weeks!

We ordered the shrimp Gyoza for an appetizer, which was acceptable since they were fried to a crisp but they were tiny and the shrimp was almost undetected. We might as well just have ordered Crispy Gyoza Shells. The frozen dumplings at the Asian supermarkets are cheaper for like 32 pieces, more filling and much tastier. Oh well. We also shared the Dragon Roll (avocado, eel, red roe) and the New York Roll (salmon, shrimp tempera, crab, avocado), both of which were normal sizes with 6 pieces each. They weren't even pretty since they looked a bit smushed! I guess the best part was the red roe...they were really red.

Another disappointment was that reviews not only boasted that the size of the sushi was enormous, but that the rolls were very fresh. While I didn't have any stomach problems after eating, the ingredients tasted rather plain and lacking in body. Nothing exciting. Sadness. I'd much rather have spent 20 bucks for an amazing meal at Mishima (31st St. and Lexington). They have a Maki Combination made with extremely fresh ingredients, where the fish is velvety, not gummy and the cucumber bits are crispy, not on the brink of chewy-ness. I remember the plate to be only $13 for a reasonable number of sushi pieces. I wish I could have some right NOW. Come to think of it, I am HUNGRY.

Lessons of the day: When there's good, there sure as heck will be bad. And that's ok because when the good comes around, you're going to know why it's GOOD! Charge any of your batteries asap when it's low and when someone even tells you to do so.

Backtracking to blueberries

2007-10-03T18:44:00.000-04:00

My account of Pistahan will have to wait. I wrote a novel on it of course in a Word document and the past week I have had no internet. That means that I cannot post that novel to this site. In any case, I thought I'd make a quick entry about Clinton St. Baking Co. since I took Tim and some of his friends there last week. The location is rather far and not exactly close to the subway from my memory, but this was the only brunch place I could think of when Tim texted me and said he was in NYC and ready to party at 11 a.m.

It's a rather cute place, almost like a diner but much more cozy with a warm glow to the entire restaurant. A glass window stood at the front entrance displaying tiers of scones, muffins and other pastries I'm sure I could not live without if I had the time to taste them. There were 5 of us then. Tim and I split the Wild Maine Blueberry Pancakes with Warm Maple Butter and the Grilled Chicken Sandwich. I only had the pancakes the first time I went to Clinton St., and I am happy to say that our order decision was a success, credit to both of us.

The pancakes came to the table first: four, neatly-stacked fluffy cakes that at first worried me because there were no distinct signs of the blueberries to be seen. But the dangerously indulgent maple sauce sat in a cup on the plate, ready to be lathered over those golden brown flapjacks. I couldn't decide how to split them as we had no extra plate yet. Tim said: "I'll just try a bite first. I'm really not into pancakes. (I think this is what he said)" But whatever he said ended up being interpreted as: "I'm willing to share whatever I got but I won't eat any of yours because I'm not into sweets." My eyes widened (no joke), my mouth fell open and I proceeded to explain to him that sharing the pancakes was non-negotiable and that we could never be friends or talk again if he refused to have his half. I wasn't all mean...I did say that if he hated them, I'd eat the rest and not have to share his sandwich. To my relief, and possibly his, he said he liked the pancakes and was able to eat about 1.5? And here's why I think he liked them and why I finished my 2 pancakes and what he didn't eat: The pancakes weren't dense and too cake-like; they were airy and springy in texture (something all pancakes should be like!). With every bite there was surely a mouthful of blueberries to please the palate. To me, they didn't taste frozen-it was if the chef literally took generous handfuls of blueberries, threw them in the batter and, well, stuck them on a hot griddle. If there wasn't enough blueberries, rest assured, loose, fresh blueberries were sprinkled on the sides of plate. Don't like blueberries? Don't get the pancakes because when they say "Wild Main Blueberry Pancakes," they mean you're going to get your pancakes and blueberries too. Without the warm maple butter, the pancakes were like a porche but without the paint job-something completely necessary to spice things up. You can bet on it that you can taste the butter, but its forefront flavor taste like a rich caramel with a silky, smooth consistency. The maple essence is much lighter and really an after-thought, but really...whether you dunk your pieces in or pour it over the cakes, it is very likely to tranform a non-breakfast person into a breakfast person (I am an example).

Tim's sandwich came and one look at the gorgeous stack could make you drool. It was simple, nothing dramatic, but that's the best part because sometimes the classics beat out those New American or fusion takes on the traditional. The thinly-sliced sourdough rye bread was perfectly toasted with some grilled marks. Two pieces held together tender chicken meat, avocado, romaine lettuce, bacon (yay!), slices of beefsteak tomato and a chipotle mayo that made the sandwich a real star. Everything tasted fresh, and parts that needed to be crisp, like the bacon, lettuce and the tomato (maybe more like firm and robust), could be expected. If you've ever had a Club Sandwich, this was the queen of them all. I think there was Cole Slaw and some chips on the side but I was much too preoccupied eating the pancakes and the sandwich.

Midway into the meal Tim decided to order a root beer float. Why I declined to try some I do not know because I, as I always do, regret that I didn't! Perhaps it was because I was worried I'd drink it all without a second thought, leaving none for him. Especially since I was capabable of doing that when I used to live by an A&W shop and had $1.50 root beer floats with Lisa and dad almost every week.

I was the last to finish because I just could not stop eating as always when things are tasty. No disappointment for my second visit here. I'd definitely recommend it for a brunch place if I ever find myself up in the morning/afternoon with out-of-town visitors.

Lesson of the day: When you're offered to try something someone else has ordered, just try it.

Forgotten but still absolutely fabulous

2007-10-02T20:37:00.001-04:00

Before I fell asleep last night I realized that I hadn't mentioned the Green Tea Macaroon from Cha-An. I could probably write one entry a day for every dessert or dish I love from that teahouse, but I will not to vary the reading a bit. But I can't believe I forgot to describe how something so small can deliver such great happiness. Yeah, yeah, yeah. You think this is a joke because it's just food. But it is not. I normally don't like macaroons because most of the time they are dry or too sweet. And I am also very wary of trying something flavored with "Green Tea" because that normally means it's just the color green with no real green tea essence at all. In other words, they are usually a huge disappointment (e.g. the Green Tea cookies from Kyotofu in Midtown West). I'd say these green tea sweets are about 1.5 inches in diameter. Perhaps one-third inch thick? Two coin-like pieces, both a deep, dark Matcha green, sandwich a dense red bean paste. Sugar is not the forefront of flavor for this button; there's no sweetness that makes your teeth ache. The best part of all is that the green tea flavor is prominent even if you take a tiny bite. The exterior shell is thin, almost like it's candy-coated (think M&Ms but much more elegant), but then you reach a soft, lava-cake-like texture (like those flourless chocolate cakes but without the gooey lava) that...tastes like...SURPRISE...green tea! This made me estatic. As if the green tea macaroon wasn't enough to fill me with joy, the red bean paste added just the right touch of sweetness with the addition of a smooth paste-like consistency (from the grounded red beans). The time before this, I had a Green Tea Macaroon with Red Bean Butter. A bite-sized dessert worth getting more than one of. The Red Bean is whipped so the macaroon filling is airy, smooth and melts in your mouth.

Something similar to this bite of heaven? The Truffle Button from Something Sweet (11th St. and First Ave.), which I will write about AFTER my dinner at Pistahan.

Lesson of the day: Eat every macaroon you comeby because it can be REALLY good. Not all things labeled "Green Tea" are disappointing.

Another lovely time at Cha-An

2007-10-01T21:15:00.000-04:00

I went down to meet Tiff and Eric (who wishes he could marry Superman) for tea at my favorite "restaurant" in NYC...Cha-an Japanese Teahouse. We managed to sit in the warm, cozy little teahouse for three and a half hours telling really ridiculous stories, talking about quarter-life crises and analyzing how much it sucks to be a lawyer making enough to supplement an apartment with a monthly rent of $3,200. Without a doubt, I come to this place at least once a month. This was the second time since last week I took Dan for the elaborate tea set. For only $19, you get a chef-chosen appetizer (usually scallops or shrimp), a soy milk mushroom quiche, tea-smoked salmon, multi-grain rice, a vegetable of the day, a bowl of soup, a hot or cold fresh-brewed tea, and one of their fabulous desserts.

Before Tiff arrived, Eric had ordered Matcha (green tea powder carefully whisked with hot water until frothy peaks form) with sweets, while I had the Jasmine Pearls green tea. I wish I could have taken a photo of the "sweets," which came as two Milk Dud-sized pieces of mochi. And Eric put it perfectly: "Eat it! It's the best mochi I've ever had." After much hesitation on my part since there were only two small pieces and insistence on his part, I accepted and thankfully I did! I hate to say he was right but it was really the most superior mochi I've had to this date! It was tender, chewy, almost satin-y and if mochi could melt in the mouth, this one would be close to doing so. Each piece was generously coated in finely ground peanut powder, which added a nutty, slightly sweet flavor to the bite-sized snacks. Sitting like two peas in a pod, they were served in a leaf with the ends sealed together at the top with a short, thin bamboo pick. This was a prime example of where quality trumped quantity. So it goes without having to say much that his Matcha was equally as impressive with an intense earthy profile and hints of grassy sweetness. And all the while of enjoying these amazing delicacies, we were discussing how we could be "barfing buddies" with the lack of tolerance for alcohol that God has bestowed on both of us.

And then Tiff graced us with her presence. Now, I'm normally someone who finds reasons to laugh about things and am easily amused, but tonight I have to say that my jaws hurt from laughing with and AT these two fun freaks (I say this with affection). About what I cannot write about or better yet I cannot remember all that clearly. So I'll continue to say that I do recall that Eric made another fabulous order by getting the Azuki Toast, which I am TOTALLY going to go back for either this week or the next. Toast you say? How good can it be? Let me tell you it was the most heavenly piece of toast that I've ever ever had. If there's a heaven, it would be on some menu there. So just imagine a generous-sized, fluffy, 2-inch thick slab of Taiwanese butter bread that's lightly toasted. The next layer boasted an addicting azuki bean paste mixture with some whole beans still intact; then a dollop of FRESH, made-at-the-teahouse whipped cream crowned the top. This was no Reddi-Whip or Cool Whip crap...these were lightly beaten peaks of thick, white cream. And Eric, as generous as the size of the piece of toast, cut it up to share. At first bite, the toast offered a nice, crusty consistency but was immediately met with a soft, springy center. The bread's slightly savory butter flavor matched so well with the sweetness of the red bean paste. As if it couldn't get any better, the addicting sweet-savory combination was taken to a new level as the whipped white peaks added a refreshing, creamy character to the whole dessert. I have to say that having come to Cha-An almost 10 times, I have never been disappointed with a dessert here.

The water for my teapot was refilled repeatedly, maybe about 6-7 times and the waitresses never ever made us feel rushed, uncomfortable or in need of us to scoot out of there. They smiled and happily refilled waters, took away used dishes and re-took our orders. While I'm sure it's obvious how much I love the food at Cha-An, the service here is top-notch and a big reason the whole dining experience is so pleasant. It's probably why it's so easy to spend an entire afternoon or evening there enjoying the food, the quaint ambiance and good company if you're lucky to have some. Eric tipped very well; in fact, he treated us to this very fine evening at Cha-An. I only wish we had taken photos of the food here.

Lessons of the day: Eat at Cha-An whenever you can. Good company is a third of an awesome food experience. Dessert can be eaten first (next entry will be the dinner following Cha-An at Pistahan).

Trying to look fear in the face...Part 2

2007-09-30T14:35:00.000-04:00

As if two months of stressing about a possible mouse invasion wasn't enough and then having my cabinets shoved out of their slots and the under-the-sink walls patched up, two afternoons ago I was sitting in my room reading when I heard what sounded like teeth pecking at a ceramic plate. A feeling of dread washed over me...the same kind from a couple months ago.

My "circus" of pots and pans had been removed ever since the holes were said to have been closed up with aluminum sheets. But I knew a mouse was scurrying across the kitchen counter top...I could hear the pitter-patter and you could say I was thoroughly disgusted. What did I do? I was ready to just leave my apartment. Take my reading outside. Instead, I called my dad . Yes. I called my dad to tell him how freaked out I was. There wasn't much he could do, seeing as he was in California overseeing a construction job, but he actually listened to me be sad and gave me advice. "I'm sorry there really isn't anything I can physically do to help. But why don't you pull up some images on the internet of mice and just look at them? Just face your fear of them. They are 10,000 times more scared of you than you are of them. Plus, they aren't snakes so they can't hurt you unless you try to catch them with your bare hands," he said. I don't recall really saying much because I just sat in my room just feeling sad, on the brink of madness of having to deal with mice again. "Don't sit in the corner of your room cowering, ok?" he said at last. "Oh and make a lot of noise because that'll scare them away. Start screaming or something. Sorry again that I don't have any better ideas. But really, look at what you fear and you'll be surprised that when you face it, you'll overcome it." Half of me must have blanked out because I cannot for the life of me remember any words that uttered. Possibly because I didn't say anything as I sat frozen in anxiety. We hung up and after a few minutes of rational thought, I peeked out of my "room" to investigate the scene of the scurrying. Nothing. Ok, I took one big breath and then another. I stepped out.

I walked up to the sink. No mouse. I re-washed all the dishes in the drying rack and proceeded to re-build the pot "circus" above the stove. I bleached the counter top and tied up the garbage to throw away in the basement. The phone rings. "Are you ok now?" asks my dad on the other end. "Yes, thanks. I just re-washed the dishes. No mouse yet," I reply.

Now, I bet you're expecting a surprising ending, a giant mouse of some sort appearing at the stove eating an ice cream cone or something. But no, no mouse appeared. I haven't heard one in the past few days. But per my dad's suggestion, I took it to heart to look fear in the face. Because I did choose to leave my corner and confront the more-than-uncomfortable possibility of actually seeing a mouse running loose in my apartment. To my luck, I didn't but hey, don't I get points for putting myself "out there" for the worst scenario?

Looking back at the phone conversation with my dad makes me laugh. It wasn't about being scared of losing my job, dealing with a problem as severe as a disease or even being evicted or being a failure at something. It was actually about silly mice! However, I'd say the strategy is applicable to various areas in life. Maybe I should start applying it in every part of mine.

Lesson of the day: Preparing for battle, even if the enemy is only a tiny, gray, furry animal, is halfway to victory.

Trying to look fear in the face...Part 1

2007-09-22T17:35:00.000-04:00

A couple months ago I had a mouse meltdown. I had nightmares thinking they were crawling over my bedsheets, ripping open bags of food in my kitchen and basically taking over my apartment. I sometimes slept with my iPod playing through the night so that my heart wouldn't wildly speed up at the sound of any slight noise (be it the rustle of leaves outside the window or the wooden floors creaking). When day broke, I usually ran out the door, finding things to do as long as I could avoid being at home for fear of hearing anything at all (much less see a rodent dart here and there). Any type of sound could set off an anxiety attack, sending waves of nausea from head to toe.

Dan has seen one mouse and caught two mice in my apartment. The first time he saw one was when I was in the bathroom. He heard munching and decided to inspect the noise only to find that a tiny creature had gnawed through the layers of Saran wrap covering honey cereal bars I had made and left out on the kitchen counter. The second time, I was in the bathroom again. I came out and Dan said: "Ok, now don't freak out. It's going to be ok. " "What happened? Oh no! Tell me now!" I remember saying, feeling alarmed though his facial expression was completely calm. I don't recall his reply, but I do remember that he hugged me as I panicked and was thanking god that afternoon that he was there. A mouse had stepped into a glue trap on the counter and was going nuts trying to break loose with no success (you can bet it was screaming to set itself free). He took the trap, peered inside and said: "Aw, he's kind of cute! It's a baby one." So we trekked over to Central Park with the mouse-still stuck to the trap-in a plastic bag. As Dan held the bag with the squeaking mouse, I held a bottle of extra virgin olive oil. It was quite a debacle once we reached a grassy area at the park because releasing the mouse was not like scraping scrambled eggs from a frying pan on to a plate. Dan hunched over some grass and with a tiny branch, tried to gently nudge the mouse off the sticky contraption without killing it. I managed to dump fancy olive oil over the poor thing in an attempt to loosen the glue without squealing myself. After some time and lots of patience and determination on Dan's part, the ever-so-oily mouse scampered away into the bushes. Victory!

But it was only a week later when a second mouse was caught in a trap that replaced the one that imprisoned the "Central Park" mouse. This one was not so lucky as it was the morning Dan and I had to leave for our Bermuda cruise. There was no time to walk to the park, much less oil it and pry the critter off the trap . Setting our consciences aside and using logical reasoning (e.g. the cruise will leave without us, we'll miss the train to Jersey, packing won't be complete), this mouse was escorted to the garbage can in the basement. Eeks.

I was terrified of going home after our trip because Dan would be gone for a couple months in Asia. Who was going to come save me when something popped up in my apartment uninvited? For days, I left the "circus" of pots and pans that Dan constructed on top of the stove because before he left, he had a hunch the squeakers were finding their way into my apartment through the stove or under the sink. The "circus" was a rather complex tower of pots and pans held down with weights like a tea kettle filled full with water and layer upon layer of heavy kitchenware. To this day, I have a less-intense variation of it.

There was one night, I laid in bed drenched in sweat, drifting in and out of sleep. Something inside me cracked. Rationality, logic, composure...they all left me. I was all by my lonesome thinking that I smelled something dead and rotting in my apartment. Was it my imagination? A mouse body gone rancid under the bed? Possibly so. But I was too afraid to check and by no means had the guts to inspect the darkness beneath. At this time, I had left on the intro song to the movie '8 Below' on my laptop just so there'd be some sort of music to mask any other sounds. It ran for 9 hours straight. As I laid in bed sweating, unmoving and getting sick of the intro music, I couldn't think of a person I could call to put out the fire from my psychosis. Dan? DAMN...he's not even in the country. Hy? Chris? No way. It was 4 a.m. in N.Y. Dad? Lisa? Way too late in California and what could they do? What could I do? Be stuck in bed like dead-weight that's what.

It finally hit 7 a.m., so I text messaged Hy something along the lines of 'I needed help.' And some time around 8 a.m., she, my savior, arrived at the apartment to witness the me who I can only guess appeared to have not gotten a wink of sleep for years. All I remember was her telling me to take a nap and knowing that she was there seemed to have erased the worry that if I closed my eyes, a mouse would run all over my bedspread. What did she do while I slept? She actually scrubbed down my kitchen counter, including the dish-drying rack and the rice cooker, and inspected every mouse trap to make sure there was no mouse and nothing dead. It was the best 20 minutes of sleep I had gotten since I discovered mice were invading my space.

After being convinced that I should not have to live in constant agony over whether there were furry guests invading my tiny tiny tiny (for those who have seen it or slept in it know that this is an understatement) apartment, I sent a letter to the owner of the apartment complex telling him of my mouse troubles. Not only did he have "his men" come at 8 a.m. the next business day, but he had them remove my kitchen counters completely. What did they find? The dumbass who last did the plumbing had left HUGE gapping holes under the sink and behind the stove. It took over 4 hours to close those massive gaps. Two hours of thunder-lightning sounds as they cut up sheets of heavy aluminum, 1 hour of thick nails being driven into the aluminum against old old wood, and 1 hour of trying to slam my drawers back into place in line with the counter-tops. Fun fun morning but well worth it because it was a step towards doing something about my mice problem instead of cowering in utter fear and helplessness. It was trying to dispel the source of my anxiety...hence, looking fear I suppose indirectly in the face. Bonus: I was so psyched about getting those holes patched that I even asked for a new paint job in the bathroom, which was completed the same week!

Lesson of the month: When you need help, just ask for it.

How to kill an appetite

2007-09-19T14:01:00.000-04:00

I went down to Chinatown this morning to get a much-needed haircut. To my dismay, my favorite hair-cutter has up and left. This means I will most likely never ever get my hair permed again because he was the only one this past year who I willingly allowed to get close to my hair with a pair of scissors. Ok, maybe not never ever, but it sure won't be soon. The only explanation I got from the owner was that he decided to "change professions." Oh dear. Good for him, sad for me. Anyhow, I took a tiny risk today and let another guy "xiuli" (fix) my hair a bit to get the dry ends cut off so I'd look less shaggy. He did a decent job as my hair was evenly cut on both sides and he didn't chop off 4 inches like most Chinese female hair-cutters usually do. And for 12 bucks including tip, it's always a bargain to make a trip there.

After my hair cut, I stopped by Yeah Shanghai Dumpling House to grab a quick lunch because Eric says that their soup dumplings are "quite good." I ordered one basket of eight to-go and was told that it would take a few minutes to steam so I should have a seat. There were no diners at the restaurant and this was sort of strange as it was around 12:30p.m. I had forgotten to bring my book or any materials to busy myself with so I just looked around the restaurant. This was when I noticed a waitress pacing throughout the restaurant with nothing to do. With no customers to attend to or tables to set up, she chose the next best task - fly swatting.

From the back of the cashier's counter, she removed a white, plastic, long-handled fly-swatter and began to stalk the flies that came buzzing in through the front door. She slammed one, no two, on the mirror-wall. Some got stuck to the mirror and she had to scrape them off. She smashed another two on the glass dining table. Every once in a while she'd take the flattened bugs, now stuck on the swatter, to a back room to throw them in what I can only guess is the trashcan. But the flies came in one after another even after all her brutal executions. She shouted in Cantonese and while I did not understand her, I knew she said something along the lines of: "Damn it, there are so many flies today!"

This apparently was her breaking point. I think she thought she was being too nice because she abandoned the white, plastic swatter and instead picked up a restaurant menu. Dark green with gold lettering on the outside, it had LOTS more surface space and was easier to control with the grip of two hands. I swear she went on a fly killing spree. Her mind was set on exterminating every one last bug as long as she had no diners to serve because when the man at the front desk called to her to "jia yi ge tang, jia liang ge fan," (add one more soup, add two more rices) in Mandarin she replied: "Eh, xian zai bu yao gen wo jiang hua!" (Eh, don't talk to me right now!) She probably killed about 5 flies with that menu. At this point I could no longer count the numbers dead. She scraped guts off tables and the mirror-wall just as she had done with the first fly-swatter.

In come a party of 5 Caucasians, who look to be taking a lunch break from work. The waitress lowers the menu she has in her hand and replaces it at the very top of the stack of menus. She smiles widely at the newcomers. I should have looked to see but I have no clue as to whether she had selected 5 menus from the top and distributed them to the diners, meaning someone received the fly-guts one (possibly with wings attached). One thing is for sure, someone today or tonight will be getting that menu she used to flatten and discard those flies. And I don't think she wiped off that menu because she hadn't bothered to wipe the mirrors or the tables she had attacked those bugs on.

Anyhow, my soup dumplings were finally packed up. I paid for them and left with a chuckle because the man had given me a "look" that seemed to say: Yeah, I know. She's insane. Sorry. It may have been the fly swatting show that turned off my appetite, but I wasn't impressed with the dumplings. The skins were too thick, there was hardy any soup in them as the liquid seemed to have congealed and there was too much vinegar in them. They tasted sour. However, they were rather easy to eat because I managed to bite and chew while navigating the crowded streets of Chinatown. And not even once did my foot get rammed over with a granny cart, walking cane or stroller. I still have 3 out of 8 dumplings left and I don't know what to do with them. I'm glad I tried them because I'll never go back to that restaurant again for more than one reason.

Lesson of the day: Touch a menu at a Yeah Shanghai restaurant, and you better wash your hands just in case. In fact, maybe it's better to wipe not only your cups and chopsticks, but your tabletop too. It's ok to take small risks. Not all soup dumplings are created equal. Joe's Shanghai in NY and Din Tai Fung in L.A. are still top on my list.

A morning to mull over

2007-09-18T00:40:00.000-04:00

I wasn't prepared for days when there is no specific story to tell. But I suppose there's always something happening if I step out my apartment door. There was no freaky teacher at yoga, but one thing I did today that was very unlike me was I went to yoga in my pajamas. I had woken up freezing and when I looked out my window, it looked gloomy as if stepping outside was going to make my face stiffen immediately from the cold. The thought made me ready to jump back into bed where the covers were still warm. How I resisted the urge I do not know.

But no, I didn't walk straight outside in my plaid pink and green pj pants and pink, ribbed tank-top. I actually slipped my yoga pants over my pj pants, put on a long-sleeve shirt and a sweater over my tank...and finished off the whole ensemble with a jacket. Lastly, I "bandaged" my neck with a green/brown, skinny scarf. I was ready to brace the cold; and whether I looked ridiculous...I didn't check or care to know. Why I put on so much clothing in the middle of September? I tell you that it felt cold and looked cold too. But after I stepped out my front door, the sun was shining (like a big joke on me), and while it wasn't blistering hot, the layering was a little insane. Did I go back inside to strip down? No. I actually walked the 13 blocks to the yoga school dressed as described above. After only 3 blocks, I was talking to myself (in my head) that I would never do this again. But at least if I get sick I can't blame it on not wearing enough clothing or not keeping warm because I was warm...that's for sure.

But I wasn't the only person in New York City who put on a little too much clothing today. As I was passing 69th St. on 3rd Ave. I saw a mother dragging what appeared to be her son across the crosswalk. She seemed to have a tight grip on her son's right arm because as he tried to sink down to the blacktop, ready to roll and kick, each time he tried, he bounced back up like a bed spring...half-dangling in the air and then dropping back to the ground only to bounce back up from the strength of his mom's short, determined, upward yanks. "I don't want to go! I don't! I don't, I don't! No! Nooooo!" he kept screaming, tears gushing down his face. His eyes and cheeks were red, puffy and I guess you can say he was in a state of hysteria. It looked as if he'd been having a tantrum for a while now. It was these 3 quick seconds of crossing paths with them on the street that I did not have the chance to think about how quickly I was warming up. Instead I started to imagine what I'd do if my child had done the same thing. Yelling and crying at the top of his lungs in the middle of the street, making me handle him like a wild frog on a tether in public. I mean it was such a spectacle that cab drivers even popped their heads out the windows to see what the commotion was.

But I didn't have enough time to think about what I'd do because after I stepped on to the sidewalk, a woman on neon-green roller blades and a long brown fur coat was racing towards me, trying to catch up to the rest of the blinking walk signal. She was no doubt Asian. And had wildly-permed, frizzy, short, black hair and appeared to be in her 60's. Wrinkled, white skin that I was almost sure was covered in make-up because it was a ghostly white. Her lips were painted a very bright red and her eyebrows were drawn a little haphazardly in a dark brown. She had black eyeliner as thick as an inch and a half (imagine Christina Aguilera). I don't know if this description is precise because I didn't want to openly gawk at her for the remaining moments she was visible to me in the front. But even a few subtle glances imprinted her image in my mind so clearly.

Wait, was I crazy and imagining things? Was the heat from all my clothing changing my vision? No. Because she was there when I had turned around to double-check that she was, in fact, real and not a figment of my imagination. She had zoomed through that crosswalk, barely making it in time to the other side before cars started honking like a bad orchestra. She MUST have been much warmer than I was. I was merely walking. I had no fur on either.

I'm slightly comforted to know that while I may be crazy sometimes, there are always people crazier than I.

Lessons of the day: Sometimes you should just go back inside and change your clothes. Parents put up with a lot from their kids throughout their lives; cut parents some slack some times. You know you were that kid once. Don't roller blade in the city with a fur coat on. Don't draw your own eyebrows.

A ramen rave (with some rants)

2007-09-16T23:45:00.000-04:00

There was a rather long line out the door at Ramen Setagaya. The whole front entrance is made of thick glass and diners can sit at the counter that looks out to the street...and at the line (and people in line could stare at you as you slurped your noodle soup). But it was a bit chilly out and I had traveled all the way down at an impulse to this tiny noodle joint to satisfy my need for warm soup noodles and bbq pork.

I checked my watch: 6:18pm and then stood in line as I didn't have anything until 9pm. I took out the rather random book I've started reading-'The Brotherhood of the Holy Shroud'-since it has taken me 8 months to read the first 6 chapters of 'The Zahir' and that is now on hiatus. I had just finished reading this line: 'At last, a truly gruesome finding: Their tongues had been surgically cut out. But why? And who shot them?' when I realized there was a girl gabbing away loudly to her boyfriend in Mandarin that she wished the line would hurry up and that the eaters are taking way too long. That the food better be good and it should be because of the line. She more or less was jumping up and down and smashing herself against the glass. For a split second, I couldn't help but think: Man, someone should surgically remove her tongue right now. Maybe it's because it was cold out and I was slightly hungry after having had a morning of anxiety from the thought I might be getting sick (and not eating my normal three meals before this time). I erased the thought and held my tongue.

The wait wasn't long at all and when I was directed to my stool, I sat where the people in line could stare at your bowl with clarity and even inspect the diners. I guess I could have stared back at them but I wasn't here for the people, I was here for the noodles.

I ordered the Chay-su-men: BBQ pork noodle soup. Then the girl who had been yapping away at the boyfriend who could care less of what she had to say, headed to sit to the right of me. Just my luck. And then she crashed into my back with her purse. How? I don't know. Must have been all the jumping outside at the window that made her crazy.

My food took some time to arrive, but I have to say it was worth this special trip to get ramen because the broth had an amazingly bold personality with essences of bbq pork flavor. The noodles were thin and though I normally like the thick, hand-pulled kind, these were intensely chewy-almost like spaghetti but more pliant- and soaked up the flavors of the meaty soup very well. While this was no fancy Momofuku Noodle Bar bowl with Berkshire pork, the bbq pork medallions that sat atop the steaming bowl of hot noodles and broth were impressive. Each piece was surrounded by a thin layer of utterly delicious fat and the meat itself was tender, juicy, and fragrant. It was an incredible combination and for good reason...its simplicity brought out the natural favor profiles of each of the ingredients: noodles, soup, scallions, pork, and a half a semi-cooked egg (the yolk was slightly gooey and cradled some of the broth). I'd go back just for the meat and a bowl of rice.

When I stopped thinking about the food, I could hear the girl talking really loudly again. "Wah, this is all the menu has to offer? So small! Really, this better be good because we had to wait. I've been to other noodle places before. Blahblahblahblah" And after their food arrived she continued, "Way too salty. Such little portions!..." The couple finished before me and on their way out the girl drops her bag and crashes into me AGAIN (I'M REALLY NOT SOMEONE WHO TAKES UP A LOT OF SPACE, I want to yell). The glass of water in my hand spills and it dumps into the wooden tray that holds the...knapkins. You can only imagine what they looked like now after the crash...sopping wet and really quite sad. I'm thinking about having a fit though I know perfectly well that I'm not capable of throwing one in public. "Sorry," she says. This is the one word I hear her say quietly the whole time I've been at the restaurant. The guy grabs the bag and they both walk out to my relief.

I finish my food without any interruptions, except for when I "feel" people ogling at my noodles. It is very good and I'm already thinking of the list of people I have to take there on a day when ramen is very much needed.

Lessons of the day: Ramen can be a remedy to a sick day. Stay away from yappy girls (or guys). Sometimes it's better to know only one language.

A medicine not for me

2007-09-13T23:23:00.000-04:00

It was a guest instructor today at yoga. A tall skinny, Asian guy dressed in a jet-black martial artist’s uniform and black, diesel-looking shoes. His hair was spiky with lots of gel, no—just too much gel—I could smell his gel with each one of his abrupt movements. There really was just too much, I think a book could have sat over his hair and not mushed its shape. The class started with the usual Dahn yoga stretching to open up the body meridians with some soothing music…the usual stuff. But then the lights were turned off and so was the soft music. “Ok, now we’re going to release our stress and remove stagnant energy built up in our bodies.” The skinny Asian guy fusses with the stereo for a bit and suddenly wall-pounding techno blasts through the speakers. The beast was unleashed. By this I mean our instructor-turned-clubber had totally let loose. It looked like he was break dancing at the front of the yoga classroom. All I could picture was how wild he’d be if he had been set free in a real club with strobe lights. But this current “club” was where all the girls were dressed in yoga clothing and some even in white yoga uniforms. But he was surely enjoying himself as I bit down hard on my lip to keep from laughing myself out the door and home. I know I shouldn’t have been laughing or amusing myself by watching this spectacle because all the others seemed to be enjoying themselves, even the grandmas and men. They were dancing, more than just swaying to the music, shifting from side to side as if it was completely normal to be rockin’ out as “internal medicine” to bad electronic music. For a split second, it made me wonder, maybe we all just need to free ourselves physically to let loose mentally? Not care about what others think or see? Yeah scratch that…I don’t want to look like him, even when in the safety of solitude. Anyhow, this techno-rave dancing lasted a good 15-20 minutes. I couldn’t help but ask myself if it was one big joke. Some camera must be taping us look like fools, trying to dance away our ache and pains. Was it necessary to have much booming music, pumping the walls? As the pounding music slowed to a stop, he turned on “rain” music with a background of thunder. It seems that after club dancing we transferred ourselves high in the mountains to soak in the rain and thunder. How utterly ridiculous.

But here’s the "best" part: at the end he kept saying that there wasn’t enough to explain DahnMuDo (internal martial arts) in full so he was going to perform for us. This time I cracked a laugh. I hope noone noticed. All the students lined the walls to give him some much-needed space. He asked: “you guys like swords?” Some people nodded. I could only stifle another laugh at this silly guy. He stood at the front of the room with his sword on the floor and slowly the theme song of “Titanic” begins. This is where I had to bite down on my lip much harder than before to keep from laughing hysterically. I tasted blood. I felt my chest shudder as I fought rolls of laughter. Was he really going to perform martial arts movements to “My Heart Will Go On?” Talk about lack of choreography and taste. I’m sure the ancestors who created the martial arts style rolled in their graves knowing that an art passed down for centuries was being shown with the accompaniment of what brings to mind images of Leonardo DiCaprio, Kate Winslet and an enormous ship about to be sucked down to the bottom of the ocean. He proceeded to sway his arms and move his body, occasionally adding some kicks and what resembled martial arts fighting but really was nothing if you’ve seen real martial artists who fight with grace but can be equally deadly. His “dance” reminded me of some damsel in distress trying to fly to the moon with silks in hand. And most awkwardly, he took the sword and started swiping away here and there (he told us later the act represented cutting off bad emotions…ha!). It was the damsel in revenge now. Is that mean to say? Yes. Because maybe DahnMuDo is really a healing medicine and with some practice I could be converted to a devout practitioner. Even so, this time I wasn’t convinced. In fact, I was turned away and thoroughly embarrassed—and not for myself for once. And finally…it ended.

Now, I normally do my 30 push-ups after class, but this time I bolted out the door and for good reason. I didn’t want anyone to ask me what I thought of the class because my mouth was over-flowing with nothing but “un-nice” words. Thank goodness for self-control sometimes…I’m telling you I sure used some of it today.

Lesson of the day: Cults aren’t for everyone, especially DahnMuDo. For a good time and a place to let go, find a club with good music and bring some friends along instead.

Money doesn't grow on mailboxes

2007-09-13T23:14:00.000-04:00

I was walking home from the awful yoga class around 1pm, up Second Ave. between 72^nd and 73^rd Streets. It was still a sunny day, slightly breezy and it seemed that all the babies and toddlers were out with their nannies or mothers. As I was thinking how much strollers annoyed me because of how much space they took up (the double ones are the worst), and how I shouldn’t be feeling this way because my sister is a soon-to-be mother of two, an elderly, African-American man—white hair, rectangular glasses and in work clothing—approaches me.

“Miss, can you help me? I found a bag of money on a mailbox over there [points over to the blue mailbox sitting at the corner of 73^rd and 2^ND Ave.], do you happen to know anything about this?” he asks. He takes out a blue, vynl zip envelope and in it is what appears to be thick wads of $100 bills neatly tied up in rubberbands. The front of the envelope has a label covered with a protective plastic: “Tokyo Courier Service” is written in blue ball-point pen. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry,” I say. As I try to move on, he says: “Well, thanks for your help. I am going to take this to the bank to get it counted and see if anyone is going to claim it. Will you come with me to help? If noone claims the money I think there may be a reward and if so, I’d really like to share it with you.”

Now, like any person who encounters a man who simply tells you that he wants to share his monetary rewards with you after meeting you for a total of 3 minutes, red flags pop up in my head about every 3 seconds and sirens are wailing in my head. There has go to be a candid camera somewhere, right? Or am I a victim of one of those stories I always read while at work that someone got swindled (or worse, murdered) when caught up in some overseas money scam? Just walk away, I think. Just move on and leave this man to claim his “reward” without you. But a part of me was curious and I’ve always know that out of ordinary experiences are always interesting to stories tell. And I was looking for a new one to tell. It was not about getting the money one bit. I had decided that I was going to play along and no matter the temptation (I will no longer have to worry about my student loans, I can buy gifts for people all the time, and have 4 desserts a day, etc.), there was no way I was going to consider money at all in this situation.

I’m no actor, but acting like some dumb, gullible girl was much easier than I thought. Some would say I was stupid with going along with it in the first place but really, what’s wrong with a little fun as long as I wasn’t putting myself in complete danger?

“The bank is really close by at 72^nd St. and 3^rd Ave. Let me call my boss, he’s at the Citibank because we work for several clients at different locations. He says he’s going to call around to see if there is anyone claiming the money after he counts the amount with a Citibank machine. Will you come with me?” the guy says. I hesitate but walk him to the bank. He tells me to wait at the corner outside Citibank (I wish I had insisted I go in with him to see what he would have done) and he tells me that if I want, I can wait at Dallas BBQ (across from the bank) and he could buy me a cup of coffee or tea. I tell me I can just wait at the curb. He goes in and I think of bolting. I stay—I’m still interested in finding out more about this ridiculous encounter.

The man walks back out after 3 minutes and this time he is no longer carrying the bag. He tells me his boss is now counting the money and making some phone calls to local precincts. We walk towards Dallas BBQ and have a seat on a wooden bench in front of the restaurant’s entrance. People are all around us chatting with one another or on the phone. The man is still on the phone with his “boss”…someone he refers to as Weinstein. He gets off the phone and turns to me to explain that the money has been counted and the total is $100,000 (maybe a little more but I can’t remember the exact amount). “Noone has claimed any money in the last 30 days,” he continues. I chuckle a little. “Wow, nothing in the last 30 days? That’s incredible!” I reply almost sarcastically (I don’t think he picks it up though). “Mr. Weinstein says that there will be a reward because noone has placed a claim, but he’s going to have to create a source that will allow us to receive the money legitimately.” This time I laugh in my head because 1. a reward is only given if money has been turned in for like a few months …there’s never an immediate reward. 2. creating a source means the money will be illegally changed, hence not really a legitimate reward. Anyhow, he continues on and I’m half listening and then a phone call comes and it’s the “boss.” After some chatter he hands the phone to me and makes me talk to Weinstein, who blahblahblahs about the same stuff the guy has told me and then says: “I’m creating a source for Robert here and he says he wants to share the reward with you, but I just want to make sure that you guys are on the same page with things. If I create an account for him it’ll take some time but if I’m to create one for you then I’d rather do it at the same time.” At this point I ask “on the same page? Page for what?” and hand the phone back to the man. I fully turn to face the man, look him straight in the eye and ask “Mr., you’ve supposedly found over $100K in cash, why ever do you want to share the reward with me, someone you have only met for no more than 5 minutes?” “Well, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have taken the money to the bank (ok, big nono here since he should have taken it to the police not the damn bank!). I didn’t know what to do with it so I was going to drop it in the mailbox (who in their right mind would do something so stupid when they are dealing with so much cash?) until I saw you walking and since you’re an Asian woman and I apologize I’m not very good at telling different Asian races apart, I thought you may possibly be coming back for it. Now, if you hadn’t come along, I may not have had the chance to see if there is a reward and if there is, I’d like to share it with you because you helped me,” he replies. “So let’s say I’m interested in taking a part of this reward. What would it require of me?” I ask. “Just your name so that Weinstein can create an account that you can take from. I don’t want to loose my job so I want him to create a legitimate source. So Miss, would like to share the reward?” I smile the fakest smile I can muster and say: “No, but thanks for considering sharing your reward.” “Ok then,” he says and nods his head. He shakes my hand and we walk off in opposite directions.

Second lesson of the day: Money really doesn’t grow on trees or inside/outside mailboxes. There is no temptation unless you create it. People can be damn sketchy.