We manage to get a room at Weta Hotel (looks nice on the outside, but the carpeted hallways are a little...mildewy, and the bathroom a little...dank), then head out immediately in search of a seafood place we read about in LP.
We've left the guidebook in the room, though, and despite a bit of trekking (and back-trekking), passing the same outdoor Muslim Bible Study twice (I know it's called the Koran), an outdoor restaurant proprietress beckoning us to stop by her place (in retrospect, that probably would have been interesting), and an incident with a giant roach (mostly my leaping into the air in a spasmodic attempt to flee), we can't find it.
Instead, we land on a brightly lit hole in the wall serving mie kocok. 
I know mie is noodles (similar to the Mandarin Chinese word, actually), but I funno what kocok is. Maybe means "better than most other food in Indonesia." That's likely it. (Best guess is really "chicken.")
It's an adorable place. Rickety tables, plastic stools, a dude boiling the noodles in a little metal strainer. Eric and I both have a serving and a half, doing the touristy thing and pointing to a photograph on the laminated menu. The folks there look pleased that we are into the food. I imagine there's not a lot of tourist foot-traffic here. I order yet another soda gembira...
and Eric goes wild with cendol, a rather miserable cocktail of green noodley things, some kind of syrup, and I think, coconut milk.
I am all about weird drinks--see "bubble tea"--it's a part of my motherfuckin' DNA. But this is like eating the shit of a diarrheal Easter bunny: green, chunky, and too sweet.
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