"ENDLESS FEASTS - SIXTY YEARS OF WRITING FROM GOURMET" EDITED BY RUTH REICHL

A must read for anyone who loves food! I had so much fun devouring all the vividly written stories.

AREA WOMAN THINKS NOTHING BUT BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF THE CHEF AT THE CRAPPY THAI PAN-ASIAN & SUSHI BAR ALL DAY

BLUE CHILI
251 WEST 51 ST.
NEW YORK NY 10019

I should have known better. Any place that bills itself as “Thai Pan-Asian & Sushi Bar” is simply going through some intense identity crisis, or taking advantage of affirmative action to charge more for its supposedly exotic food.

I have no idea what propelled me to try this place with my gastronomic soul mate/ best friend L this weekend. Perhaps it was the gloomy weather, perhaps it was the ABBA overdose (they play it ALL DAY at my job!), I suggested that we have dinner there. L is my favorite person to eat with in the whole entire world. We share the same exact view on food (the two big Qs: quality + quantity), and almost always have a smashingly bedazzled fabulous girly time together, devouring and gossiping. But this time, we both got the horrible blue chill from the Blue Chili.

The place was decorated in a futuristic all-white design with half a dozen good-looking tender-aged Asian waiters/waitresses in black uniforms, resembling the set of a Hong Kong romantic comedy flick. Half way into reading the menu, L’s face turned horribly green.

“Are you okay?” She stared back at me with equally concerned face.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing. What’s up with the blue face?”

As if on cue, we looked up at the ceiling and realized that the recess light was rotating rainbow spectrum colors every five minutes. I was relieved that none of us were mysteriously sick but utterly annoyed by the nausea-evoking effect. Everything on the menu read pricey and a bit on the pretentious side. L was not super hungry and fancied the lobster salad. “I want to know how big is the salad.” The sleek waiter answered the question with a simulated smile and mimed his hands into a 9 inch plate. “Big.”

“Is it enough for an entry?” L wanted to be absolutely sure. See, I told you we were soul mates. “Yes, enough.” He glanced at my voluptuous friend up and down and proclaimed confidently, “For you.” With that confirmed, we decided quickly.

PEKING DUCK ROLL (roasted duck, cucumber, scallion and mandarin pancake)
SPICY LOBSTER SALAD (fried lobster, mixed seasonal fruit, baby green salad and chili cream dressing)
DUCK TAMARIND SAUCE (boneless half duck served on grilled eggplant topped with tamarind sauce)
TIKI
WATER

L’s “Tiki” turned out to be a pleasantly fruity raspberry puree cocktail. However her Peking duck roll was less desirable. It tasted stale and totally not worth $8. No offense, BUT THE DINGY LITTLE SNACK SHACK BY MY MOM’S APARTMENT MAKES BETTER DUCK ROLLS THAN THIS PLACE! We had more fun poking at the garlic chive bud, which was meant to be a decoration on the plate than eating the roll.

My “Duck Tamarind Sauce” came in a gianormous shallow bowl. I love huge plates. And this is the kind I fantasized about using if I were to cook an entire piglet. Two pieces of duck breasts and one duck leg looked promisingly enticing in the glistening brown sauce. I took an eager bite. Hum. The tamarind sauce had just the right balance of sweet, sour and savory. Another bite. Ooh, ah. The duck was tough and greasily fatty. You see, this is when someone (I’m not a scientist, but I think in this case, it would be...THE CHEF!) had to make a decision on things. As we say in Chinese, “it’s shady to put your left foot on one boat and the right foot on another.” CHOOSE! Either make the duck melt-in-your mouth medium rare OR corruptly falling-of-the bone decadent. Leaving your patron in the sphere of limbo by cooking the meat into a leathery bloody mess is NEVER a good idea! I moved the duck aside and found something crispy on the bottom of the plate. Apparently the “grilled eggplant” described in the dish meant fried dough similar to the free crispy noodles they give out at Chinese restaurants as appetizers. WHAT THE HELL?! L sampled the dish and simply announced, “Hum.”

Both of our jaws dropped onto the floor when L’s lobster salad arrived. The neo orange cubes of lobster nestled uncomfortably in a square whiskey glass, crowded with a fake banana leaf, and once again, garlic chive bud as decorations. WHERE THE *&^% IS THE SALAD?! The slick waiter pointed to the two pieces of mal-nutritional endive leafs, while bringing on a pile of pyramid shaped rice in a small dipping sauce for me.

“Spei-cia lice.” He did two perfect flicks of the eyebrow.

I wondered if he faked the accent to legitimize the authenticity of the special rice. L tasted her lobster salad and wiped her mouth politely. I sampled it and thought about my favorite episode of “Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmare”. In one segment, Ramsey stuffed a forkful of food into his mouth and promptly spit it out. He then folded it into his napkin and handed it to the horrified cute blonde waitress with a tempted pat on the bum. “Sweet heart, fetch me the chef and, throw this garbage into the plant for me, will ya?”

I had zero desire of touching any part of that robotic waiter’s bony ass, but I did fantasized about the other part. IT WAS BOILED LOBSTER CHUNKS IN MAYONAISE AND HOT SAUCE! L desperately chewed on the endive leaf for her daily vegetable intakes. “What made him think that this is big enough for an entry?” We caught sight of the next table of three hollow-eyed flamingo looking bitches sipping their Avian and realized why. He was probably used to pathetic girls who don’t eat! I offered the three colored rice (white, yellow, with specs of black) to L and took a forkful myself. Quite tasty! We gobbled down the rest of the two bites in despair.

Maybe the desserts were good, I held on to that last glimpse of light. We decided to share one just in case.

TASTING CRÈME BRULEE
DECAF COFFEE FOR TWO

While waiting for the dessert, L went to the ladies room. The waiter ran over here to refold her napkin as soon as she left the table. This act of bull shit only enraged me more. DUDE! THIS AIN’T NO DAVID BLAINE SHOW! FOCUS ON THE FOOD! WE CAN FOLD OUR OWN FRIGGIN’ NAKINS!!

L returned to the table looking somewhat refreshed. Our order of decaf coffee came in short see-through glasses with handles. The color of the coffee was even lighter than amber. We looked at each other’s green faces and promptly busted into laughter even before the waiter left. I knew it was bad behavior but, COME ON! How can you mix hot water with regular coffee and call it decaf?! The ridiculous drink tasted like lukewarm dirt water. “AND IT CAME IN A SEE-THROUGH GLASS WITH HANDLE!” L was having a very hard time letting go of the trauma.

The three mini crème brulees arrived in a long triangular white plate dusted with powdered sugar and one blueberry, one black berry, and half of a strawberry. It had more of the appearance of a science project than a dessert. I cracked the surface of the green tea flavored one, while L tackled on the coffee one. Alright. We both moved on to the vanilla. Capable. Overall, all three had the corrected tang to them. (Green tea tasted like green tea, vanilla tasted like vanilla, etc.) But that was about it, clinical, impersonal. No cuddling afterwards nor kisses the next morning. Just a cold, unaffectionate, lousy fuck.

We felt the place feeling lonely, used, and cheated out of the experience.

PUT THE BOWL DOWN, CHOW YUN FAT...PLEASE!

Has anyone seen Chow Yun Fat lately?

For those of you who are not familiar with Chow Yun Fat, he is considered by most to be one of the greatest action stars to explode out of the Hong Kong film industry. In the 90's, Yun Fat and his partner, director John Woo, created such classics as A Better Tomorrow, The Killer, and Hard Boiled. The impact of these movies gave then a first class ticket to the West where they got lost in the Hollywood hustle and haven't collaborated since.

A month ago, while reading the Chinese newspaper (The World Journal), I came across the picture of Chow Yun Fat and showed it to my hubby. The well-fed, plump, Mr. Chow sported a basketball cap and grinned happily at the paparazzi in the photo. J was horrified.

“Is this …?” He scrambled to put on his black plastic rimmed glasses which made him look like a black Clark Kent.

“This can’t be the Chow Yun Fat! This dude is FAAAT!”

He took out a magnifying glass and studied the photo again like a cautious detective. The article described Chow Yun Fat’s current project “Curse of the Golden Flower” with director Zhang Yimou and his future plan in John Woo’s much anticipated war epic “Battle of the Red Cliff”. When J heard about the news of the two of his heroes from the East teaming up again after so many years, he was as thrilled as a child waiting to open his gift on Christmas morning. But seeing this photo shattered his world.

“Isn’t it time for Chow Yun Fat to have just one bowl of noodle soup instead of two?” He sounded desperate. "You're an action hero...Lose some weight!"

“It says here that Zhang Yimou had made extra efforts to pamper his star stubbed cast by hiring five chefs for this film’s craft service. One of the chefs even specializes in the Northern Chinese cuisines (think of more flour based delicacies: buns, noodles, and less of rice and soup) to suit Mr. Zhang’s taste. Considering most of Asian film sets provide only generic lunch boxes (sans chairs) to the actors, this film sure is blowing a lot of money on food,” I read to J.

“However, during lunch break of the first day of shooting, Chow Yun Fat was spotted by the paparazzi dining at a famed Beijing restaurant nearby with his manager. The two ordered seven dishes and Mr. Chow consumed them heartily. When Chow Yun Fat discovered the paparazzi, he waved to them warmly, while his manager hurried Yun Fat on to avoid more pictures of him eating being taken.” I finished the article and glanced up at J. His face looked ghostly.

“This could be the last time Yun Fat and Woo collaborate!” He muttered anxiously, somewhat in shock.

“Doesn’t Chow Yun Fat want his last hero image on screen to be great?!” J examined the photo again and sunk down to sigh loudly.

“PUT THE BOWL DOWN, YUN FAT!” J cried with such vigor and despair that even I was startled. I rubbed his head and poured him a glass of orange soda to calm him down. “Honey, high blood pressure.” He gulped the drink with an empty stare. “Why can’t people just be cool…” He mumbled indiscreetly.

I looked at the picture again. HUM, I WONDER WHAT THEY ORDERED?

THE CHEAPEST PLACE TO IMPRESS AND BRING YOUR FOREIGN MISTRESSES

CORNER BISTRO
441 W4TH STREET
NEW YORK NY 10014

I had to find out what’s all these hoopla about. “Supposedly”, this place's hamburgers are rated number one in NYC by numerous food authorities.

WATCH OUT, CORNER BISTRO! THE LITTLE ANGRY GOURMET GAL IS AT IT AGAIN!

Me and J arrived at this little sports bar around 9pm on a Monday night. The line to get in stretched all the way out to the pavement. We waited for half an hour to be seated while the two very unattractive married American businessmen in front of us displayed their sloppy groping skills to their foreign mistresses in full view. GROSS! I tried to diverse my attention to the cook in the little cubbyhole (well, it’s the kitchen actually) flipping twelve chubby burgers on the grill. The two giant plasma TVs on the wall played sports news while 80's pop music loudly blasted. I scanned the room, it was packed with Manhattan frat boys and tourists who looked perpetually like they just won the lottery.

The burger better be worth it!

After settling down at the tiny table in the back, we looked up at the brick wall and studied the menu. Very simple and straight forward: burgers, fries, grilled cheese sandwiches, chili, and a whole separate board of for beers. Me and J agreed on the followings:

BISTRO BURGER
CHEESE BURGER
FRIES
GRILLED CHEESE SANDWICH (only because I read somewhere that it’s good)
COKE
DIET COKE

The Latin waiter took our order and left with a sarcastic smirk on his face. Ha! I knew the look! That “I’m totally judging you because you don’t drink” look! J reminded me again about my conspiracy paranoia as I was about to stick my index finger up. Fine, if the burgers were not up to its hype, I’m just going to slap the shit out of that loud drunk girl next table.

The bistro burger came with lettuce, tomato, onion, and a thick strip of bacon. Yum! I picked up the bacon and the alarm went off!

WHY IS THE BACON COLD?!

I removed the bacon while J was busy pouring the entire bottle of ketchup onto his cheese burger. Tentatively, I took a bite. Oh! Another bite. Hey! My eyes relaxed and my jaw expanded. Very nice. The burger was juicy and flavorful. I was also pleasantly surprised that they put the ring of onion beneath the patty. Somehow it provided the support for the hefty beef and sent off a sweet after taste. Not bad. Not bad at all. I took another bite while J eyed the ketchup bottle lounging seductively next to him.

Americans!

The fries were the thin kind. I kind of wished they were a bit hotter and crisper, but it didn’t bother me that much. Half way into my burger, I decided that it was time for me to try the grilled cheese sandwich. I munched on it, and all my blissful serenity went flying out of the window.

THIS IS A JOKE! IT HAS TO BE A JOKE!

The grilled cheese sandwich tasted like, a single-armed blind child from China had made it. Call me mean, but anyone with their head attached to their neck can put two slices of American cheese and bread together and heat it up in the microwave. I took another bite and promptly spit it out. This thing cost $4 dollars that I'll never see again. Horror emerged from J’s eyes, (his inner thoughts: OH NO! NOW I HAVE TO HEAR ABOUT THIS ALL NIGHT!) I was enraged.

GRILLED CHEESE SANDWICH MY ASS!

Ever heard of “Croque Monsieur”? Those decadently sinful French grilled cheese sandwiches that make you want to make out with your annoying boss? This country totally needs to loosen up, seek more pleasures in life, and learn to be more like these European bastards.

As we step out of the place, the two very unattractive, married, now dead drunk American business men were still outside pinching their mistresses' butts. But somehow it didn’t bother me as much. The burgers were indeed very good, and I would totally recommend it to anyone. Just don’t get the grilled cheese sandwich.

Oh, yeah, J liked it, too.

YAO MING SHUNS SHARK FIN SOUP

Has anyone read that the baseball player Yao Ming announced that he’s sworn off shark fin soup and Disney decided to give up its plan on serving shark fin soup at its Hong Kong theme park?

Unbelievable.

WHAT HAS THIS WORLD COME TO NOW, I ASK THE GOD OF COOKERY ONCE AGAIN?!

Well, actually, contrary to public opinions, I AM AGAINST SHARK FIN SOUP (AS WELL AS WEARING FUR FOR THAT MATTER). I had it once in Taiwan (the soup, not the fur) when we went to a fancy wedding banquet. It tasted fishy, gooey and I didn’t like it. So there you go.

GOOD FOR YOU YAO!

IF ONE MORE PERSON ASKS ME ABOUT MY DUMPLING RECIPE, I’M GOING TO …

I’m going to …, I’m going to call my mom and stalk her for the recipe.

Here it goes. With love to our friends B&M from the West coast!

NAPA CABBAGE PORK DUMPLINGS (A.K.A. JIAOZI)

Ingredients:

For the dough:

8 cups all purpose flour
2 1/2 cups ice cold water

For the fillings:

2 pound ground pork
2 TB soy sauce
2 teaspoon salt
2 TB Chinese cooking wine
2 teaspoon ground fresh ginger
1/2 teaspoon white pepper
3 TB sesame oil
1 TB vegetable oil

1 small head of shredded Napa cabbage
1 teaspoon salt

For the dipping sauce:

Pick and mix the following depending on your preference -

Soy sauce, Chinese rice vinegar, minced garlic, sesame oil, hot sauce, even pinch of sugar if you‘re sweet.

Preparation:

Slowly stir cold water into the flour in three stages. Mix well with chopsticks. Make sure you get all the flour sticking on the sides of the bowl.

Then, in my mom’s exact words: “Applying the same strength you relied on as a baby sucking on your mother’s nipples”, use your hand to sperate and knead the dough into two smooth balls. You know it’s done when your mom squeals for pain, no, I mean when there’s no more dough left sticking on neither your hands, nor the bowl. Native Beijinese call this “three shining”. Bowl shines, hand shines, and of course, the dough shines.

Cover a damp cheesecloth over the doughs for 30 minutes (in two speperate bowls). This is called “waking up the dough”. It will make the wrappers chewy with energy later.

In the mean time, scatter 1 teaspoon salt over the shredded Napa cabbage and leave it alone. (Suggested activities during this time: reading my blog or just slap your pet for no particular reason). Come back in 5 minutes to squeeze out and discard the accumulated juice from the cabbage. Mix in the ground pork and seasonings. Stir well.

When the dough is “awake”, (don’t be startled if it utters the sound, “Zao!” It simply means “Good Morning” in Mandarin) place it onto a floured surface. Press the dough ball down and roll it forward with the heel of your palm three times. Turn the dough 90 degrees and repeat the same motion. When the dough has the touch of a baby’s smooth skin, then it’s done.

Press your thumb into the middle of the dough ball until it forms into a doughnut form. Squeeze it bit by bit with both palms to stretch the dough into a 1 inch diametered long suaage shape. Divide it into two long logs. Cut sections every 3" to 4”. Scatter 1/2 teaspoon all purpose flour over these babes and roll them gently to prevent them from sticking.

Use a small wooden rolling pin (I like the size of 3” diameter) to roll each dough ball into a round wrapper (about 3" diameter). Gently nudge the dough forward with your left hand while moving the pin back and forth with the right hand. It’s preferred that the center is slightly thicker than the edges.

HEY! WHAT’S THAT IN YOUR HAND?! A CHINESE TAKE-OUT MENU? PUT IT DOWN, WE’RE ALMOST THERE!

Place about 1 TB of filling into the center of the wrapper. Wet the edges with water. Close the center lightly. Using the thumb and index finger to fold the far end of the dumpling. Then making a pleat with the opening gap. Do the same on the other side. They should be able to sit up like well-fed plump babies. If all these sound too Chinese to u, then for God’s sake, just fold it into a half moon and be done with this.

To Cook:

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the dumplings in (be careful not to overcrowd them) and stir gently so they don‘t stick together. Bring the water to boil, add ½ cup of cold water, cover and turn the heat down to medium flame. Repeat again. When the dumplings come to a boil for a third time, they are done. Drain and remove.

To Eat:

Place the chop sticks between your index and middle fingers while anchoring with your thumb. Pick up one dumpling, open your mouth -

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT, YOU GET THE POINT.

And some say it’s easier to make a film than dumplings ...

WILL YOU MARRY ME, BOON CHU THAI PLACE?

BOON CHU THAI PLACE
83-18 Broadway
Elmhurst, NY 11373

Yes, that’s right. If you read my last posting, then you’ll know that I need one spouse for purposes which are none of your business, and the other one for healing my wounded bitchy perky ass. And don’t you judge me now. Sometimes, there’s only one place on earth you would rather be, and it sure ain‘t Kansas for a little gong-banging yellow girl from Taiwan like me.

WILL YOU MARRY ME, BOON CHU TAHI PLACE TWICE?

The night we got there, the place was packed with all sorts of young ABAs (American Born Asians, a.k.a. All kinds of chinks). They chatted heartily and struggled to order the dishes on the menu with heavy ’R’s pronunciations. I giggled at their efforts then realized that I didn’t know how to speak Thai either. Oh, well. At least I didn‘t make an ass out of myself.

J was patient, as usual. “Order whatever would get you out of that cranky mood.” I looked up at the chalk board for today’s special. Soft Shell Crab and something rather fishy in Thai. Uh, oh. It’s always that dish they wouldn’t translate into English that’s the best. My eyes lit up and nipples hardened.

The vaguely Jackie Chan look-alike owner greeted us like old friends. I inquired the mysterious dish on the board. He frowned, wrinkled his nose, and finally smiled then shook his head. “It’s Thai cat fish. We buy whole, take only the meat, throw the bones, then chop them.” He gestured the word “chopping” with a martial artist‘s finesse. “We mix the meat flat and fry them so they puff up.” His whole body nearly leapt up and his eyes beamed a la Gordon Ramsey after the much anticipated action “puff up”. Now here was the interesting part, he looked at me and instantly all the previous fervor was wiped off of his face. He said firmly, “You won’t like it.”

HA! VERY VERY INTERESTING!! WHY WOULD HE SAY THAT?

He proceeded by waving his head and shaking his head “no” several times to make sure I got it.
“ Too much work.” I sensed skepticism. I smelled desperation. I wanted to order it just because. J looked sincerely sorry for this poor man at the mercy of his lovely, beautiful wife. I gave the owner one long glance.

THEN WHY DID YA PUT IT ON THE SPECILAL BOARD THEN, HOMIE?!

Alright, it was close to 10 pm and I decided to cut him a break. I ordered simple.

SOFT SEHLL CRAB IN CHILI SAUCE
PAD KAPROW (SAUTEED GROUND CHICKEN WITH BASIL & CHILI)
PAD THAI (SAUTEED RICE NOODLES WITH SHRIMP, BEAN SPROUTS, EGGS, SCALLION AND GROUNDED PEANUT)
THAI ICE TEA
COKE

The intense aroma of basil and chili from Pad Kaprow permeated the little joint before it even arrived on our table. J let out the breath of relief at the sight of this plate of seaming ground chicken over rice. He nodded and took a huge forkful. “Hey, this is like Thai sloppy Joe’s. I can eat this.”

I was anxious to have the soft shell crab, thus only nibbled gingerly on the reliably tasty Pad Thai. After what seemed like an eternity, my two plump babies sailed out of the kitchen on a giant plastic plate doused in glistening soy chili sauce. Suddenly all the ABAs and FOBs (yes, they came in late) stopped talking at the sight of the dish. The atmosphere was tense with hushed owes.

NA NANA NA NA
NANA NANA NANA
I GOT THE PRIZE DISH AND YOU DON’T!

I was so excited that J had to stop me from mooning the other guests by pointing to the dish. Oh yeah, that’s right. Let’s taste it. I dove into the seemingly crispy soft shell crab. They were indeed buxom and juicy, except the breading outside seemed a tad too heavy. I like my soft shell crab light, crispy, and melting in your mouth. But it don’t matter, I’ll still marry you, Boon Chu Thai Place. The chili sauce was packed with “Die Hard” actions. (the first “Die Hard“, that is) Totally awesome. They successfully shut me up for ten minutes. When I finally woke up from heaven (like the scene in “The God of Cookery” when the lady tasted the best char-shiu pork rice and fantasized about rolling ecstatically in the giant bowl of char-shiu rice), there was only one crab left on the plate. I looked up and remembered that I came with J.

“Do you want some?” I offered half-heartedly. J shook his head and backed his torso slightly. “No thanks. They look like the creatures from The Starship Troopers.”

Sigh.

The price to pay for marrying a filmmaker.

After happily leaving the place, my vision came back and color emerged on my cheeks. Strolling serenely home beside J, I felt blissfully content having rendez-voused my two true loves, my hubby & my favorite restaurant. I gave J a plump kiss on the lips and he eyed me amorously.
Ha! Maybe there’s still chance to persuade him to withdraw me from the anger management classes he enrolled me in.

THE GIANT VOID INSIDE ME

“Why are you taking it so personally!” J softened his voice and rubbed my head after reading my last couple of postings. “You make it sound like all the bad restaurants are a conspiracy against you!” he shrugged with the ease of summer breeze.

I eyed my hubby suspiciously. COULD HE BE IN ON IT, TOO?

Judging by the postings, I imagine some of you have already called me aloft and stand-off-ish, but guess what? I consider it progressive activism.

MY 4 RULES:

I CARE ABOUT WHAT I EAT!
I DON’T LIKE MY PALATE TO BE FOOLISHLY TOYED WITH!
JUST DELIVER WHAT YOU PROMISED!
OTHERWISE IT IS PERSONAL!

DAMN IT!!

After yet another disappointing experience last week at “Bread & Olive” (24 West 45th Street New York NY 10036) - the best Chicken Shawarma in town, stated in New York Magazine. I was ready to shut down my blog and chew barks for the rest of my life. For me, the sandwich was just …, ur, clean. Nothing extraordinary. It didn’t even taste as middle eastern (think of intense charring, exotic flavor, throaty cry and passionate drumming) as it promised. I understand it was in midtown Manhattan, but come on!

THERE IS ONLY ONE PLACE THAT COULD LIGHT MY FIRE AND SET MY HEART SOARING AGAIN …

HAS THIS EVER HAPPENED TO YOU?

This morning, I woke up with an overwhelming urge for crispy smelly tofu with Chinese garlic chives.

Has this ever happened to you?

YOU DON’T KNOW TERROR!

SAPPORO
152 WEST 49TH STREET
NEW YORK NY 10019

I dread Sundays.

For those of us who work on Broadway, every Saturday (double shows) feels like a Sunday and every Sunday (double shows again, lucky us!) feels like the eighth day of the week. Our vision starts to get hazy and footsteps seem to drag. It’s like being trapped at the limbo which always feels closer to hell than heaven.

All I could think about last Sunday was a giant bowl of piping hot savory noodle soup. It was the only thing that could prevent me from harming someone.

It didn’t feel like I was asking too much until during the rare split seconds of consciousness, I realized that I was in Midtown Manhattan. WHERE THE *&^% AM I GOING TO FIND A DECENT BOWL OF NOODLE SOUP, I ASK THE GOD OF COOKERY?!

For my one hour dinner break, the only two choices I had in the neighborhood were “Teriyaki Boy” and “Sapporo”. Last time I had Teriyaki Boy, it took me an ENTIRE WEEK to recover my palate. I vowed to never have plastic food again. So I picked “Sapporo”.

It was a bad idea.

The small place seemed to be run entirely by Asian exchange students under the age of 18. I settled down at the counter and saw the Latin cook behind it trying to kill a fly with the spatula GREAT. Welcome to the suicide club. The exchange student, I mean, my waiter played with his PSP loudly beside me. I closed my eyes, and pointed at one number on the menu at random.

SAPPORO SPECIAL RAMEN

It indeed arrived in a gianormous bowl. Four slices of roasted pork lay next to a sad bundle of assorted vegetables (spinach, bean sprouts, and corn), and on top of a body of malnutritional ramen. All ingredients were drowned in a pool of dirty yellow lukewarm broth with skeptical ground meat floating on top.

Should I call 911?

Desperation is a very poqwerful thing and the devil must have taken over. I bit into it without hesitation.

Everything tasted exactly how it looked. Salty, greasy, and tasteless. I felt homesick. I thought about the readily available, assorted delicious noodle soups I had back in Taiwan. I wanted my mom. In an attempt to fill up the void, I ate faster. I managed to chow down half of the bowl. It was absolutely horrible.

After paying $8.15 (yes, AMERICAN DOLLARS!) for the piece of shit I just had. I felt cheated and hurt.

DOES ANYONE REMEMBER THE MOVIE “TAMPOO” ANYMORE? HAD PEOPLE STOPPED CARING ABOUT WHAT THEY ATE?

Then I looked up and saw the giant Cup Noodle sign glinting in the middle of Times Square and realized where I was, once again.

"THE RICE SPROUT SONG" BY EILEEN CHANG

Hunger, I mean real hunger, is one of the most tragic things could ever happen to human kind.

It is really not my place to critique nor comment on the great works of my favorite Chinese writer, Eileen Chang.

Because she was simply, too brilliant.

Just re-read her novel “The Rice Sprout Song” last night. I was moved to tears, again. She had such sharp ways of penetrating the souls of her characters as well as remarking the absurdity of China‘s land reform movement in the 50s. The fear (and reality) of hunger was so vividly descried in this novel. I feel like telling every food lover about this book. You simply can not proclaim yourself to be a “gourmet” without witnessing the experiences of hunger.

It is like the yin and the yang. Sometimes you have to tip to the other side in order to fully understand this side.

Empathy is a very powerful thing.

THE BEST CHEESE CAKE ON EARTH! NOT AGAIN!

NY NY CHEESECAKE
The Best Cheesecake on earth!
405 8th Ave
New York NY 10001

OH, COME ON! NOT “THE BEST OF … ON EARTH” AGAIN!

Is there a shortage of vocabularies?! Or are all the stores nowadays into whacking their ding-dongs off in front of the customers?! Shamelessly claiming your own product is “the best of its kind on earth” is simply masturbation to me. Like my mother used to say, private matters should be kept in, well, PRIVATE! This “The Best …” act is really starting to get on my nerves.

So I marched into the store and purchased two of their signature baby cakes.

WHAT?!
I JUST HAD TO TASTE IT!

PLAIN CHEESE BABY CAKE
PINEAPPLE CHEESE BABY CAKE

The cakes came in little see-through plastic containers sealed with stickers with pictures of cute naked babies laying on top. It made me feel like suddenly transforming into a platform-shoes sporting, wide-eyed Japanese school girl covering her mouth partially to giggle and exclaim with her Hello-Kitty cell phone in hand,

“Kawaii!”

But since I’m not Japanese, I went for the Confucian way. I ripped the seal open in one force and promptly dug my fork in.

The plain cheese cake was disappointingly tough. Too dense and salty (odd, ain’t it?). Not even a smidge close to the delectable Junior’s cheesecake. The pineapple cheesecake proved the same result. The small morsels of fake pineapples (you know, the ones from the can) on top served only a faint taste of the fruit. Remember how a real, ripe, juicy, fragrant pineapple should be? IT MAKES THE JACK RABBIT JUMP UP AND SMACK THE BEAR! I was hoping the pineapple flavor would be infused INSIDE the cheesecake. But I guessed it was too much to ask.

I can’t help but starting to daydream about the fluffily delicious passionfruit cheese cake I had back in Taiwan. Every Asian desert I’ve ever had just tasted so much lighter and, righter. (Yes, there is right and wrong for this matter). Hearing this, my hubby promptly rolled his huge puppy eyes and choked on his grape soda.

“ Are you kidding me?!”, he was sincerely waiting for an answer.
“Red bean ice cream? Taro cake?”.

Wowwwww! Things are getting REAL personal now …