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.