Fuckin' Gluttony, NY

Ate myself into a stupor Monday night, such that I woke up at 5:30 in the a.m., whimpering and listening to my friend hacking her lungs out upstairs. And it wasn't even the shits or the vomits, it was just this terrible sense that I'd gone too far and that maybe my stomach would never be the same.

I rubbed my belly clock-wise like my yogis have taught me. (Sort of like they taught me how to be moderate and mindful in all things. Such as eating.) It made me feel a little better.

Spent Tuesday out and about and was only able to eat a fraction of what I can typically put down because 1) my stomach wanted to vomit itself out of my body and crawl away (as stomachs are wont), shaking a fist and cursing me and 2) my kidneys were melting.

It's Wednesday afternoon, and I'm still feelin' skeeved about food, so I'll leave you with Monday's Exhibit B:


Bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit, at Ray's, 3rd and St. Mark's.

Why did I eat this?

Because I'm a fucking asshole. A Jesus killer. A motherfucker. A son of a donkey-raping dog.

It was the single biggest mistake of my life.

I'll never forgive myself. Never.

Zenkichi, Williamsburg, Brooklyn, NY = Waste of Stomach Space

This is one of those times where you don't (or do) listen to the Yelp. Basically, 4 stars from the great, unwashed hoi polloi or a few lone Cassandras speaking truth to power: "Zenkichi is border line garbage food served in baby bowls."

I know. Them's some mixed metaphors and etc.

Laura made 'vations for Saturday, despite my reservations, because she had a $50 gift certificate to the place (expiration: 12/24).

So it is, and so it shall be, world without end: money over bitches.

The place feels appropriately Japanese-y--or what someone who has never been to Japan (comme moi) thinks of as Japanese-y. Some sticks of bamboo in the entrance way (welcome to the Orient! We are Siamese, if you please!), dark wood and mirrors, and the whole trope of the place: little booths individually curtained off with bamboo shades.

Basically, it looked like this:



Anyhoo, the decision was made to order two omakeses and some a la carte dishes. And, it was terrible (the food, not the decision). But one of those terribles that slowly encroaches upon your consciousness, as you withhold your judgment from course to course, thinking, "that wasn't that bad--surely it'll get better," but then it doesn't.


Miso soup, cabbage, daikon. Whatevs.


Maguro Carpaccio (tuna sashimi)--green yuzu pepper sauce. Thanks for the micro-chives. Makes a girl go from ashy to classy.


Simmered duck, soft egg, baby greens, sweet duck dressing. This one was a'ight. Mostly spinach greens, au jus (had to ax my friend--"What's that word that sounds like 'jew' or 'jiu' for sauce?"), and a soft egg on the side to be stirred and mixed in.


Cold tofu, bonito flakes, green onions, ginger (I fink?), and some kind of dashi.


Chilled plate: scallops and daikon in sesame sake-malt sauce (foreground); hamachi sashimi; mess o' shrooms (top left); squid (top right).

The scallop, dear reader, it tasted...fishy. A thing that was in a shell that was in a plastic bin that bumped around city streets and began to marinate in that quiet desperation of city life, and hate itself.

I had been waiting for a flavor to come kick me in the teeth or make fireworks in my mouf or wrap me in a bear-skin rug.

And it's after the bite of scallop that I realized the true destiny of our dinner, and I wanted to be all Edith Piaf-y and singing in a smokey room in my attenuated voice that everyone would find so charming, except my song would be "Oui, Je Regrette Tout."

Next!


Mess o' skrimps and edamame and tomato (top right).


"Meaty oysters grilled on the shell with red-miso sauce. Salty & sweet." Yes, salty and sweet completely obfuscating the taste of the oyster.


"Oyster, uni sea urchin, shrimp, Japanese mushrooms:
 oven-grilled in béchamel sauce." I think there was uni in here in the sense that they probably said, "haha, there is no uni in here" as they were plating the dish. This also was a'ight--mostly in the sense that it reveled in its mediocrity and was just like, seafood + butter = yum. I'd eat this shit again. If it were free.


"Zenkichi Salad
: homemade tofu, baby greens, sesame dressing." [stone cold stare] Zenkichi Salad, I'm mad-doggin' you.


Shirako & Shungiku Tempura: 
creamy cod milt & green chrysanthemum leaves (Kakiage-style, which just means chopped up and fried like fritters--yeah, Professor Google). I dunno where the milt is. But I went to the bathroom and got lost coming back, so maybe my dining companions et it all. The fuckers. (Edit: axed the bitches about the cod milt and they said they did not notice any creamy, white shit. Lies, all lies.)


Saikyo Miso Cod: 
grilled black cod in Kyoto miso marinade. I don't know why that piece closer to the camera is spinning like that. It makes me dizzy. Stop looking at it, edb. We dug into it before I had a chance to iPhotograph it (we're buzzed and we just want to eat something delicious and we were hoping this would be it)--iPhresh-ish and essentially iPhlavorless.


Salmon simmered in a clear broth with some kind of peppercorn (?) and 4 slices of snow peas. At this point, we are just shrugging at each other defeatedly. I'm looking at Laura and experiencing a case of I Tol' You Sos--hearkening back to her exact words: "4 stars out of 355 reviews! how is that not good?"

[Laura, I am retroactively mad-doggin' you.]


"Berkshire Pork Belly Donburi: pork belly sauteed with ginger soy sauce, served over rice." Joey and I ate most of this, because 1) he's a dude and 2) I have a hard time leaving food on the table, even if if it I'm full and even if it's just a'ight.

And the two orders of dessert:


Frozen Black Sesame Mousse--basically, black sesame ice cream. What did Mammy say? You ain't nothin' but a mule tricked out in a horse harness? I see you, "mousse."


Mineoka Tofu: milk tofu made with heavy cream and kudzu starch, strawberries, and some triflin' azuki red beans. A not very good blancmange. Here, I quit while I was ahead (behind?), because I didn't want to ingest any more not-very-delicious-calories.

You know, I can do simple. I don't need everything to be fried or drowning in butter. But if it's simple, if we're going for ascetic, which I think they are--sometimes--I want the ingredients to speak for themselves, to be so fresh they make you wanna slap somebody, to come together in clear, ringing tones. And they didn't. Two words:

Hot. Mess.

All hope abandon ye who enter here. Zenkichi, you have brought shame on omakase.

Zenkichi,

Motherfuckin' Peking (really Cantonese, I think) Duck Bao

Y'all, there's this place in Flushing, somewhere on Main Street, a little open window with a woman standing in a 3x3 foot space, and you can watch her as she (very fucking slowly 'cause she don't give a fuck) assembles delicious bits of roast duck skin and that dark, gamey meat and slivers of green onion and cucumber and Hoisin sauce on a glorious white cushion of a steamed bao.

And you can eats it for one dolla only.



That somewhere is here.

Except, it's not a sandwich, Yelp assholes. Fucking hak gwai, gwai lo, gai-jin, haole, bule, a-tok-a FUCKS.

I heart whitey.

That shit is delicious.

You know how some people have that sexy chocolate fantasy--I'm whatevs 'bout the chocolate. Holla at me when you gots a bottle of Hoisin.

White Melon? How about a punch in the crotch?

After dinner yesterday, Levitt and I (at Laura's suggestion) moseyed on over to the "New World Mall" on Flushing's 40th Road and Main Street, site of the defunct Caldor's.

It is very neon on the outside. And totally awesome on the inside. At the basement level is a food court of earthly delights, a pleasure-dome of Asian pabulum running the gamut: Thai food, Hong Kong style dessert, Taiwanese street food, hot pot, Japanese takoyaki, and whole, live lobster with your choice of sauce, rice, and a veg for $12.99.

The place is a Christmas miracle, and I text Laura, "This is the coolest place ever."

To which she responds, "You're so white." What the feezy, neezy?

Levitt wanted the bubble tea, so we end up queuing at Kung Fu Tea, where one of the offerings is "White Melon Tea." I forget to ax the cashier girl what it is before I place my order (passion fruit green tea), but then do so when she's handing us our drinks.



"What's white melon?" I ask, politely.

She sneers back at me, "You don't know what white melon is?"

Um, no, because then I wouldn't have to ask you? Do you know what a punch in the crotch is? Or should I drag you over the counter by your ears?

Then she says it in Chinese, "dong1 gua1."

Oh, you mean, winter fucking melon, you fucking cunt.

I want that. Damn this passion fruit.

I'll be back.

Down the Rabbit-Hole, Nan Xiang (Flushing)

I went to Nan Xiang today with Levitt because 1) I love me some scallion pancakes with beef and xiao3long2bao1, and 2) cuz the dude who runs Baohaus ranked it among his fave food places (#4) and he is a) highlarious (except when he's pissed, at which point he is more righteous) and b) runs Baohaus, which is the best idea in the world.

What a letdown. When we got there I realized I'd been there before, but I just didn't put two and two together due to the fact that I'm a poor excuse for an Asian and therefore, 1) am bad at math and 2) can't remember Chinese names.

I mean, it was a'iiight. Serviceable. Even good in the context of living in California which, despite all the Chinese, has, IMO, shit Chinese food.

I ordered the warm soy milk (sweet), the cruller, the scallion pancake with beef, and the crab and pork xiaolongbao. Oh, yeah, and the cold cucumbers because Levitt is (was) on a fruit and vegetable cleanse. (Sorry, dude.)

The cucumbers were pretty got-damn good--sesame oil and salt and garlic and cilantro. But you know, they're a vegetable (fruit??), so how good can they be? Don't get me wrong, I love me some vegetables, and I just googled Intermezzo again yesterday because I need to know if I can get a Giant Fucking Salad again, but veg just doesn't give me the same mouth-fireworks that a good protein or carb or protein-carb combination can.



Anyway, this here protein-carb combination (scallion pancake, braised beef) was just not the business. Not enough tendon/gristle tenderness, and on the pancake, no glistening spots of oil, no balance of burnt brown spots and less-cooked, slightly translucent areas, and NOT ENOUGH Q (Chinese for al dente)--no pull, no resistance to the teeth.

It was bullshit.

I mean, I'd eat that shit again, but it was bullshit nevertheless.

And don't even get me started on the cruller.



Well, actually, let me get started on this thing: what the fuck, y'all? Did you bake the goddamn thing? Are we at Weight Watchers? Where is the deep-fried goodness? Where have all the cowboys gone?

And the crab and pork xiaolongbao. No pic. I think maybe they were not as good because I tried to be all fancy. Prolly shoulda gotten the pork ones. I dunno.

It's Britney, bitch!

This is what I packed for India. Includes rash guard, reef shoes, board shorts, surf wax, head lamp, and three forms of Pepto (chewables, pills, and the ever-reliable syrup).

What does light packing say about me?

Moral superiority, of course.

At the Dubai airport: MAC and Kiehl's and Creme de la Mer and black burqa'd women and prayer rooms and counters dripping with gold.

I think I can finally stop pretending to be excited about this trip and get to it. First world problems, I know. Like the disgusting bourgeois beast that I am, I actually had to talk about my lack of excitement/dread about this India trip with my therapist.

Yes, I am an asshole.

In other news, all drinks except Champagne are free when flying Emirates, even for the lowly cattle compartment. Oh, that I could avail myself to such wonders, but alas, alcohol is not my forte.

Next stop: New Delhi.

Scandalous: The Humane Society of the United States, Gaithersburg, Maryland #californiafoiegras

And here I was, excited as a pimp at a hoedown, thinkin' that someone had actually stumbled on my poor lil site, even if only to disagree.

Alas, The Humane Society of the United States, HQ-ed in Gaithersburg, Maryland has someone trawling the internet, looking for mentions of "california foie gras" so they can leave a self-promoting, GAVAGE IS EVIL, SCARY FORCE-FEEDING comment.

So let's close this post with a lovely photo, courtesy of (stolen from) the Kung Food Panda's blog:



Gettin' wet just lookin' at that thang.

My mouth. With saliva, y'all. You nasty.

The Remains of the Day (12/20/10, El Fin)

5 pm. That therrrs my first cousin once removed, Jing4Xing4, sitting at the glass covered coffee table writing her Chinese homework, the "be, pe, me, fe" of the pinyin system to eventually teach her the full-on, logo-graphic character.

(I've been watching lots of Justified lately--a show centered around Raylan Givens, a hot-tempered, lankily sexy Federal Marshal with preternatural gun-slingin' skills and an ability to stay calm in precarious situations, played by Timothy Olyphant, who previously played Seth Bullock, a hot-tempered, lankily sexy Marshal turned Sheriff with preternatural gun-slingin' skills and an ability to stay calm in precarious situations...hence the "therrrs".)

Anyhoo, your PSA of the day:

The pinyin system, aka the New Phonetic System, can be written romanized or with another set of "characters," like so:



I guess you can loosely describe pinyin as the Chinese "alphabet," but it's an alphabet that...doesn't combine to make up the actual characters--it's just there to sorta standardize the sounds.

Yeah, I don't really get it either.

Anyway, here's the little one fuxin' with an abacus, of all things. I didn't actually think folks still used 'em, let alone were still being taught it in schools...what is she, a first grader?

Holy shit! Magic sauce! Mythical martial art-ing, abacus-using, good-at-math, Asian creature!


I cannot even begin to understand the workings of an abacus, let alone explain it--so, here, check the wiki.

Or not.

Ladies and gentleman, what we've all been waiting for:


Clock-wise from noon: 1) some kinda seaweed, 2) some kinda soup, 3) sweet p'taters, 4) peeled chestnuts, 5) salt-fried belt fish, aka the largehead hairtail, which can grow up to 2 meters, 6) pickled radish, 7) picked...mustard greens? 8) stir-fried...vegetable matter, 9) lo ba bung, a toe-curlingly delicious braised ground pork with soy sauce, shallots, garlic, rice wine, etc., 10) and traditional (?) boiled corn.

I'm shittin' you--I don't know nothin' 'bout boiled corn.

My lil cuz, top left-hand corner, is eating a super organic egg--the egg yolk a bright marigold. More on that laaaatteerrr.

No More Foie in Cali?

Came across this article in the NYTimes yesterday eve': In California, Going All Out to Bid Adieu to Foie Gras

Eight years ago, the Governator signed SB 1520, a statute prohibiting the sale and production of foie gras--and it's set to go into effect this coming July.

This is absurd. Perhaps my opinion is morally relativistic--shark-fin soup and "the collapse of an ecosystem" = bad--I'm sure those you're-either-a-vegan-or-a-perpetrator-of-genocide folks over at PETA would argue that it is.

But for me, the line is clear: annihilation of an entire class of animals (I think that's the correct taxonomic category) versus an infinitely replicable resource.

And then we come to the question of inhumane treatment of animals, to which Marion Nestle, an NYU professor of Nutrition, Food Studies, and Public Health (and Sociology), responds, "I’ve seen the videos, and everyone says the same thing: they all seem to run up to be fed" (NYTimes). And if that's really the issue, why not simply regulate the industry, rather than banning the product outright?

The kicker is the following comment by John L. Burton, the mostly politically reasonable dude who introduced the bill, expounding on the sold-out, eight-course foie fest held at L.A.'S Animal restaurant: "This is like what they did before Prohibition: Everyone was giving away the booze. Whatever makes them happy."

Really, current Chairman of the California Democratic Party? You probably don't want to use Prohibition in your analogy--since it was a mistake and was eventually fuckin' repealed. And while I don't imagine the statute will lead to widespread, black market, criminal activity and folks blinded from eating bootleg foie, raised in a bathtub--maybe we should look to the more recent past: Chicago, anyone?

(A friend who cooked at Spring during the Chicago ban tells me that they kept using foie gras in the dishes--as a sauce, not in its original state--and just didn't list it as an ingredient.)

In other news: Obama's crackdown on medical marijuana. Cali's just gettin' fucked six ways to Sunday, y'all.

You Want to Die, Bitch?

"Study abroad in a nutshell"



See also: Stuff White People Like #19 Traveling

Fuckin' hilarious

Y'can't beat anthropomorphized kitty cats. Ya just can't.

Mo' Money, Mo' Pro'lems (12/20/10, Later That Day)

The complex is fecund with food plants: papaya tree, star fruit tree, coffee shrubs...

And then this one bush with tiny, cream-colored flowers that smell like gardenias on the verge of rotting, like pua keni keni, like some too sweet, provocative, dying thing:





My paternal grandparents were farmers, growing mostly everything, vegetables and such, the whole hog (literally) for their own sustenance, but then table grapes to sell fo' cash money. So, after the touching moments inside the house (not really, more intuited than expressed), we go out to look at the grapevines. It's well past harvest now, so everything's dessicated, old, and gnarly (like my heart! or vagina!):





And then to the temple (Daoist??) that stands on land my grandfather donated; his name and the name of an uncle is listed on this benefactor's plaque--not that I could pick 'em out if ya held a gun to my head, and in fact, it could say "Always plug your butthole with nonporous items" for all I know...):





Do not enter through large middle door--it is reserved for the gods, VIP-only entrance, you better be orderin' bottle service and double mags of Moet, son:





One enters through either of the side doors, per my uncle:





Beware the...lions. (Apparently, these lions have powerful mythic protective elements. Aaarrrr~!)





Ghost money to be burned and, it goes without saying, converted into currency for use in the after life. I'm dead, but I'm ballin':





The dude in the middle, I fink he's important:





The back sides of the doors are kinda dope:





Dude's like, "two fangers, motherfucker!"





And now for the good part, and goddamn me for wearing jeans: the obligatory treating to a massive meal. To what? To show one's love? To welcome long-absent relatives? To show you're a baller, shot caller? (There's gotta be a beettteerr way, better way...yeah!)


Yes, when it comes to fine dining, I always look for the pillars of "Speciaity," "Exact," and "Care".



I don't know when this started happening or if I just never noticed, but the first course is a massive boat of sushi:





I take a piece of cooked squid, not because I want it, but because I don't want to look greedy, because I'm trying to not be greedy, which is like telling the sun not to shine.


Boring, blech; do not want.



And then I immediately wonder where they're judging me for being the dumbass that picks the goddamn cooked squid, like "who is this barbarian American? Why don't you just eat the tablecloth, fuckface?"

This comes out next, and it is fuckin' exciting: shrimp cooked at the table in a wok filled with sea salt. The anticipation builds:





Pescado. Pan-fried and smothered in green onion and ginger, basically what cilantro is to the Mexican and Thai, green onion and ginger is to the Chinese.





Soup's on: some kind of pumpkin-ish (kabocha, maybe?) thing, fake crab, shrimp, and pencil eraser-sized scallops. De-lish.





Pork course: crispy skin flaking away from the tender flesh; sour, pickled mustard root. Jesus...Christ on a cracker:





Sorry, y'all. I dunno what the fuck this is.





The shrimp's done at last--all flare and not that much flavor:





Slices of Chinese sausages with varying fat content on a bed of sticky (greasy, delicious) rice:





I don't know where we got this idea--the double-baked potato skin with a mayo-cheese (among other things) mixture. I'm guessing it's some corruption of the American dish, part of the whole hybridized steakhouse experience (more on this later).





Sauteed pea shoots, shiitake mushrooms...





Random...Cantonese...siumai...in regular...and...green?





And because the Chinese are renowned pastry chefs, the piece de resistance:



Et voila! A fruit plate!