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Posts from the ‘Asia’ Category

Yang’s Fry Dumpling

Ok, I’d better start practicing the difficult (for me) art of succinct-ness or else I’ll still be rambling on and on about Chinese food eaten in October 2007 well into 2008. Don’t hate me but I never ate xiao long bao in Shanghai. I know, I know, but there was just so much else to sample. However, I did try shengjian mantou, which in many ways I found preferable. It’s all a matter of delicate vs. rustic. I was going to say refined but that’s not accurate because the broth inside these steamed and fried pork dumplings was really stellar. I rarely notice things like the quality of stock but when it’s outstanding and bursting with what I can only imagine is that elusive umami, I get it.

There are two Yang’s stands just a few storefronts apart on Wujiang Lu. It’s chaotic at lunchtime and might be at all times. Because I leave nothing to chance, I read up ahead of time and learned that you order from the woman at a stand on the right, she gives you a ticket and then you stand in the long line on the left and pick up your dumplings. And ordering in fours is the standard. We got eight.

Yangs_fry_dumpling_window

As you can see in the picture, the vessel doing the frying is a huge round affair. It looks like there’d be an endless supply, but the dumplings get burned through in no time. It’s very New York in a way, even though I couldn’t understand what anyone was saying. Customers were making the girl turn over dumplings to get more color on the sides, pointing out ones that looked better, like our equivalent of “gimme that one, no that one” or “cook it good.” I’m still flabbergasted at how much New Yorkers boss around the counter/cart guys and I’ve lived here nearly a decade.

Yangs_fry_dumpling_2

Our line wasn’t that long and we had to wait for maybe three replacement batches, mostly due to the greedy gus three ahead of us who’d brought a soup pot with a glass lid from home (the server is holding it in the top photo) and had that filled, then he pulled out plastic containers from a bag and got those topped off, too. We were like save some for us, mister, and the people in line behind us began grumbling too. Thinking in multiples of four, he had to have ordered at least 32. The pan was decimated. But they’re speedy and a fresh replacement was there in minutes.

Yangs_fry_dumplings_to_go

We didn’t dare try to snag an inside table (I have horrible fears of ordering food to stay only to end up seat-less) so we tracked down a rare outdoor seat on a low concrete wall and dug into our steaming messy snack. We got stared at by nearly every single passerby. I don’t know if it was because no one eats outside (there were a few others on benches nearby), we weren’t Asian, we were mangling our food or committing some unspoken faux pas, they were curious about what we were eating, or what. This is a modern city with decent amount of expats so it was kind of baffling and nothing like the time James accidentally got a skewer of chicken hearts in Thailand and wound up with unwanted attention from amused locals. Maybe these fried dumplings are good enough to elicit stares. I would certainly swap them for my usual granola bar breakfast.

Yang’s Fry Dumpling * 54 Wujiang Lu, Shanghai, China

Din Tai Fung

1/2  This was our first restaurant meal in Beijing, and I realize it’s mixed up to be eating soup dumplings in a city not known for them, especially when a Shanghai visit is only a few days off. And it’s even more mixed up to eat a Shanghai specialty at a Taiwanese chain that’s branched all the way to L.A. But Din Tai Fung is highly regarded and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

Plus, we were foreigners so we could do whatever we wanted. Well, at least that’s what one of James’s Chinese coworkers told him when he asked about etiquette and making restaurant reservations in particular. I love dubious information from Chinese living in America. This same coworker was also horrified at my hotel choice in Shanghai, Old House Inn, which she originally thought was James’s idea because no female would pick  a place like that (I choose all the hotels and restaurants when we travel—I guess that makes me the decider? And while I’m all for splurging on meals, I’m stingy with lodging. I don’t need luxury, coddling or spa treatments, but I hate ugly and generic too. It’s not always easy finding something boutiquey under $120 night, my rough limit for hotels in Asia). “Five star all the way” was how she described her mode of travel. “Five star all the way” and “we’re foreigners, we can do whatever we want” became the catch phrases of China vacation 2007.

Not knowing Beijing for shit, we had a heck of a time finding this place even armed with a map. We tried the subway, which isn’t so bad despite what guidebooks tell you. Not to be all proud and mighty, but if you ride the subway in NYC every day you’re fairly desensitized to supposedly off-putting things like crowds, buying tickets from machines and transferring lines.

Though, I will say that a full train by NYC standards is not so in Beijing. We crammed in one that by my reckoning was at capacity, packed enough that here a rider would just wait for the next one. But in China that does not prevent people from pushing your back with much more force than one would expect from such small frames and squeezing in another five humans. With bikes that fit through impossibly precarious spaces on the road and taxis maneuvering through traffic, missing pedestrians’ legs by inches, I couldn’t help but think of Chinese as mice burrowing everywhere unscathed. I’m hyper aware of personal space so it was mystifying.

Dintaifungbeijing

We trudged on a busy road for a while, then meandered through some back streets, not hutongs per se, and took a shortcut through a housing project, which ended at a fenced-off canal. I could see what I thought must be Din Tai Fung (there wasn’t any signage, at least not in English) across the water and parallel street. It was much fancier than I’d anticipated; this was no hole in the wall dumpling joint. People on bikes were walking their vehicles through a little open section in the metal fence (once again squeezing through smallness—they could’ve just opened the gate, it looked like) so we popped through, too.

Din_tai_fung_hairy_crab_soup_dumpli

I’ll freely admit that I’m not a xiaolongbao connoisseur at all. I’ve never been to Joe’s Shanghai, in fact I’ve only eaten them in New York maybe twice. I still think it would be safe to say that Din Tai Fung’s version is exemplary, if only because of the insane thinness of the dumpling skins.

Din_tai_fung_pork_dumpling
pork soup dumpling

And just like unnecessary subway warnings for tourists, I don’t get all the caveats that go along with eating soup dumplings. You bite a little hole, suck out the broth and eat the thing. It’s not really that messy or complicated. Oh, and you dip the delicate package in black vinegar laced with julienned ginger first. You kind of have to eat them fast, we made it through eight and then the last two in the steamer had cooled down enough to start sticking to the bottom. There’s nothing worse than a soup dumpling bursting before you can get it on your spoon.

Din_tai_fung_hair_crab_dumpling
hairy crab dumpling

We ordered a batch of pork dumplings and another of hairy crab with roe. There was something very pristine about these little buns, despite their juiciness. In a way, the pork almost seemed more appropriate being simple rather than luxurious. We ate all twenty no problem.

Din_tai_fung_pumpkin

Orange flavored pumpkin slices were kind of unusual. I expected a softer texture, but I’m fairly certain the squash was raw. James isn’t really a picky eater at all, as far as picky eaters go, but he’s not into organ meat which was kind of unfortunate. I love cold, spicy appetizers made with tendon, tripe, jellyfish, tongue, any of that. Pumpkin slices are what you get when you’re trying to steer clear of weirdo meats.

Din_tai_fung_red_bean_ice

I’d read something about red bean buns for dessert, but I didn’t see them on the menu. When I asked about them, well, I experienced my first China mishap: an outrageously large portion of red bean ice. Yikes. I’m not opposed to less than sweet Asian treats, but this was way too much for two to pick at.

Din Tai Fung also introduced us to a few quirks of Chinese dining that existed at every single restaurant we dined at bar our two most expensive meals:

1. A ticket with your order is either left on the table or put in a slot along the table and gets pulled out and scrutinized by various staff members maybe every five minutes. Nothing changes, nothing extra has been ordered, but everyone seems very concerned with double checking. Or maybe I totally misunderstood what they were doing.

2. You put your jacket over the back of your chair and someone comes along with a nylon cover that fits over the whole thing. The coat protector is way easier than a coat check.

3.  You only get one menu, and this was the case at all restaurants high end and low. I suspect it's because one diner is meant to act as host and order everything for everyone but it did take getting used to.

Din Tai Fung * 24 Xinyuanxili Zhongjie, Beijing, China

Exterior photo from Din Tai Fung. Mine has cars in it so it's less attractive, though it's notable that the professional one also looks gray and gloomy. I think Beijing just looks like that.

Jishi

1/2  Maybe it’s just because I got back from Shanghai and I’m now sensitive to the subject, but all of a sudden I’m seeing mentions about Shanghainese food in NYC (Eating in Translation, Village Voice and Chowhound) when I don’t recall them before. It’s not a cuisine I’ve delved into much, my one bad fish finger experience at New Green Bo eons ago might have been my only exposure.

So, I wasn’t gung ho on the local grub in Shanghai, though I’ll admit I was swayed by every single description published anywhere calling it “sweet and oily.” Those minor pejoratives are totally positives to me.

Our first night in Shanghai was our only meal of that style and I regret that now. Technically, Whampoa Club, our last supper was upscale Shanghainese but we tried a Beijing-style tasting menu. Kind of wrong-headed, I guess.

Right after checking in at our hotel, we got out the maps and started our leisurely quest to find Jishi. Meandering through the balmy, mostly leafy, occasionally construction-wracked (all of China is covered in dust and littered with cranes, it seems) French Concession, I was already liking Shanghai better than frequently exhausting Beijing. Maybe we lucked out neighborhood-wise because nearly everywhere I had on my Shanghai to-eat list was under 20 minutes on foot while in Beijing we were near historic sites like the Forbidden City, but it took at least 20 minutes by cab to get anywhere of culinary interest.

I was also happy to see the place was still jumping at 9pm, our table up the narrow staircase, was the only one open. We’d made reservations everywhere since all my research indicted this was an absolute must, but it didn’t really turn out to be the case anywhere. There were always open tables and most restaurants didn’t even ask if we’d reserved. The only exception to this were the higher end restaurants, which still weren’t full to capacity, but it did seem that our seats were primer than those allotted to walk-ins. I’d heard about the Shanghainese dialect, and I think we were hearing it shouted from the frenetic young waiters running up and down the stairs, squeezing between chairs all night. The weirdest thing was the row of knocked crooked black and white photos of NYC on one wall. I never thought I’d be eating Chinese eels while staring at a BQE Cadman Plaza exit sign.

I’ve learned enough from Asia travel that upscale is frequently disappointing. Chinese-only hole in the wall isn’t necessarily better. Humble, home-style, one of those H’s is what usually delivers, places with imperfect English translations and picture menus. This was absolutely the case with Jishi. At least I think this clamorous, bi-level restaurant was called Jishi. The sign out front actually read Jesse, and I’ve seen it referred to as both. To complicate matters there seems to be another branch called Xinjishi. James’s guide book (he bought Lonely Planet, I bought Time Out and then left mine at Face Bar during a mid-afternoon gin and tonic pit stop the second day in Shanghai, which really enervated me because we both agreed that mine was the better reference) pegged this original location as the “foodie” one, which meant nothing to me until I saw Xinjishi, which is sleek, more sterile and in tourist-heavy Xintiandi. I would say Jishi is more “local” as opposed to the F word.

Jishi_pork_belly

If this braised pork belly didn’t epitomize sweet and oily, I don’t know what would. (I might also add rice wine as a distinctive flavor.) Perfect, and it reinforced that yes, I do love sugary soy and mouthfuls of unctuous fat. I still haven’t had a chance to go grocery shopping since getting back, and I’m completely starving thinking about this pork. I have to review a Chilean and Peruvian restaurant in the next two days, when I really want to seek out Shanghainese red cooked pork.

Jishi_eel_shreds

I don’t remember the exact description of this dish but “eel shreds” were mentioned. I thought that might be dried shredded fish but it was bits of eel. Yes, this was also oily, as well as strongly flavored with minced garlic.

Jishi_edamame

I swear this edamame preserved vegetable mix was dressed with melted butter. That doesn’t sound very Chinese, but it was certainly tasty, especially spiked lightly with chiles.

Jishi * 41 Tianping Lu, Shanghai, China

Southern Barbarian

One of my vacation dining goals was to sample as many regional cuisines as I could, and preferably ones not available in NYC (though my Sichuan bent got the better of me and I ended up eating it more than once even though I can get it here). Southern Barbarian, a slightly atypical Shanghai restaurant serving Yunnan food, was the source of one of my more memorable meals. Though to be annoyingly nonpartisan, I didn’t really eat anything unmemorable or even unlikable, with the exception of a few standard issue hotel breakfasts, melon slices and a shao bing that tasted like baking soda.

Yunnan province borders Myanmar, Laos and Vietnam so you might expect more Southeast Asian ingredients that typical Chinese ones. What I found didn’t really adhere strictly to any of those countries.

Southern_barbarian_interior

Maybe I’ve been in New York too long because I expect even the blahest of restaurants to be busy. There were only three other tables occupied when we arrived at Southern Barbarian at 8:30pm Halloween night. However, we did seem to eat late by Chinese standards. We tried scaling back our more typical 9pm to 8pm (two out of four nights in Beijing were a bust—I was so tired that I fell asleep before 8pm and I’m still steamed that I missed two potential dinners) but I think 6pm is more standard.

Southern_barbarian_salt_and_pepper_

One of the only unfortunate things about China was that I didn’t know anyone. Socializing wasn’t so critical, but sharing food would’ve been a boon. Two people can only eat so much and I can’t justify ordering lots and nibbling little even when pricing is extremely gentle. At most places we settled on two entrees and one appetizer. At Southern Barbarian we went a little overboard with broad beans with Yunnan ham, potato pancake, salt and pepper cheese, beef with chile and mint and grilled chicken, and somehow still managed to eat everything. I would've loved to try the dumplings and cross the bridge noodles (spelled/translated various ways) but that would've been ridiculous.

Southern_barbarian_potato_pancake

James was scared of Chinese goat cheese (I was scared of the dish with honeybees), but there was no way I was ignoring it. Fried cheese? Come on. The thin barely crispy squares were very mild, un-goaty, and dusted with tingly Sichuan pepper.

Southern_barbarian_chile_mint_beef

It was decided that chile powder coated beef on toothpicks would fit in at a Super Bowl party. We’ll try to replicate it come February. Strange as it sounds, a lot of this food, including their vast selection of barbecued meats, wouldn’t be out of place on a menu of bar snacks. Keeping with the pubby theme, they also have a very un-Chinese collection of imported craft beers in bottles. We had to ask for Brooklyn Lager because we’re hokey.

Southern_barbarian_broad_beans

“I don’t think this is Chinese food,” James commented. I could see his point with the broad beans and Yunnan ham, which strongly resembled thick split pea soup on a plate. What he meant was that he thought the chef was taking liberties. I didn’t believe there was nothing nouveau going on. We were told by the owner (one of the most fluent English speakers we encountered in a restaurant) that everything was home-style, not the sort of things you’d find in a restaurant in Yunnan, and that sounded reasonable to me.

Southern_barbarian_bbq_chicken

Maybe that’s why I liked everything so much; starchy and fried is my thing. If I had a few more days in China, I definitely would’ve tried another Yunnan restaurant for comparison.

Southern Barbarian * 2/F Area E, Ju’Roshine Life Arts Space, 56 Maoming Lu, Shanghai, China

China: KFC & Pizza Hut

Yes, strange that I would start my China restaurant recaps with Pizza Hut. I really intended to steer clear of western food, I swear, but curiosity eventually got the better of me. Pizza Hut and KFC (both Yum! Brands) definitely seemed to be the dominant US chains in China. You might think of McDonald’s or Starbucks as the global evils, but pan pizza and fried chicken are prevailing in that corner of the world.

Beijing_kfc_sandwich

KFC got the better of me while killing time in the Beijing airport, which is far from a fun way to spend two afternoons (Singapore’s Changi airport is completely engaging but I’ve never needed to hang around for lengths of time). Though I later saw ads for buckets, simple fried chicken didn’t seem to be the attraction. All the combo meals were focused on sandwiches and wraps, and crunchy breaded cutlets between buns appeared to be the snack of choice. As English was non-existent on signage or spoken by staff, James pointed at a random picture and that’s the combo we split.

Beijing_kfc_meal

The bonanza entailed the popular chicken sandwich, four drummettes/wings, a creepy mayonnaisey vegetable salad that I didn’t taste out of fear and lack of cutlery and what tasted like orange Tang. I don’t really eat at KFC in the US so I can’t accurately compare the two. I don’t think extra crispy is our default, though.

Beijing_kfc_egg_tarts

I intended to get two egg tarts for dessert and somehow ended up with four. As far as miscommunications went, this was a fairly minor and tasty mishap. The little custardy pies are served warm and were way better than a fast food apple pie (yes, I’m mixing up my chain desserts).

Beijing_kfc_interior

Malls, each with a unique name and different stores, can span multiple blocks connected by overpasses and underground walkways. The only inevitable commonality are the KFCs and Pizza Huts. I only meant to peek at the Pizza Hut menu posted outside a corner location (there was also a Papa John’s nearby, but I’ve never been to one and didn’t think I should start in Shanghai). But after seeing appetizers like escargots and catching a glimpse of the slightly upscale interior, I had to try one of their seafood pizzas, no way around it.

Shanghai_pizza_hut

I haven’t eaten inside a Pizza Hut in years (though I did briefly work in a drive-thru only one in college) so maybe they’ve fancified here too. Chinese Pizza Huts are more of a full service restaurant with soups, pastas and light jazz tinkling in the background.

Shanghai_pizza_hut_interior

I wasn’t bold enough to start with escargots, the New Orleans wings gave me pause; it was the cumin lamb meatballs that won me over. I just wasn’t expecting the cold marina-style dipping sauce that came on the side.

Pizza_hut_cumin_lamb_balls

Because I’m a grotesque American (despite attracting a 98% Asian clientele, we got nasty looks through the window by some young white folks. I really don’t get the big deal. No one ever takes issue with Japanese chains like Yoshinoya or Coco Curry House that were all over the place. I wouldn’t have a problem if someone from China wanted to try mediocre Chinese food in NYC) I ordered the most expensive pizza (around $8) from their Gourmet Line. This doozy contained smoked salmon, shrimp and squid and was drizzled with creamy wasabi sauce.

Pizza_hut_smoked_salmon_pizza

Lacking any Italian-ness whatsoever in my DNA, cheese paired with seafood doesn’t bother me in the least. And sure, the dairy and spiciness dominated but the mix of flavors was strangely compelling.

KFC * Beijing Capital International Airport, Beijing, China
Pizza Hut * Metro City, 1111 Zhaojiabang Lu, Shanghai, China

Morton’s

Predicting the future can be tricky. Theres no way I would have ever guessed that my final meal in Asia would be at an astronomically priced American steak house chain. We were spending our last day in Hong Kong trolling around Kowloon, and somehow got it into our heads that for dinner wed check out this massive mall food court I'd read about, a few subway stops further out at Kowloon Tong.

Well, the mall existed (complete with a university attached–odd) but this supposed fast food mecca was nowhere to be found. All we could see was a KFC, Café de Coral, Yoshinoya, a mediocre Thai place and a smoothie joint. We were starving, and by now it was too late to take advantage of another harebrained idea wed had–to hit Mortons during happy hour for their skyline view of Hong Kong and free mini steak sandwiches.

While I got something tiny to hold me over (four KFC Baby Wings, which are truly infantile, perhaps even premature–the point was not spoiling my appetite and they certainly didnt) James sorted out his credit card being frozen. After a little semi-desperate hemming and hawing, we realized it was getting late, we were in the middle of nowhere and we had to be up early to catch a flight back to the U.S. We said, fuck it, lets just go to Mortons and get a big, fat juicy decadent American meal.

Just a few days earlier, Alvin, James coworker and Singapore transplant, had been telling us how hed thrown a company Christmas party at Mortons and that the staff seemed sort of baffled by the meal. The massive portions and meat-centric concept kind of freaked the locals out.

What freaked me out were the prices. Wow. Ive never been to a Mortons so I dont know how Hong Kong compares to America. But I'm sure theres a mark up. That afternoon I had been staring longingly at the See's Candy display at Festival Walk. But at nearly $40 for a one pound box (which can be ordered online in the U.S. for $13.60), I just couldnt bring myself to spring for 16 ounces of nostalgia. Mortons has you over the same hump. Their porterhouse for two was HK1100 ($141). For comparison, Peter Luger, which many would say is America's, if not he world's best steakhouse, a total different league than Mortons, version for two is $75.

We put price out of our minds and drank up Bombay Sapphire gin and tonics and Johnny Walker Black (theyre obsessed with JWB in Asia) scotches and sodas. I got the $63 double cut filet mignon. We had giant salads filled with blue cheese and anchovies, sides of hash browns and of course, creamed spinach. My side of béarnaise ensured I was getting enough cholesterol. We couldnt even finish our steaks, but never relinquishing our thrifty cores, we got doggie bags and packed them in our luggage the next morning.

This was an atypical total high roller, power dinner, and it was really really fun. I'm sure a kick-ass sharks fin, birds nest, abalone and all Chinese banquet wouldve set us back as much and been more locale appropriate, but sometimes you have to go with your meat-loving gut and make chain-hating travel purists cringe.

Mortonsbone
Back in NYC: gnarly-looking nibbled-on leftover bone

Mortons * 20 Nathan Rd., Hong Kong

Victoria City Seafood

Supposedly this seafood restaurant is one of the best places to sample exquisite dim sum. I'm sure it is quite fine, but I'm just as happy with lower brow buns and dumplings. Subtlety is almost always lost on me, though—theres a reason Ive never been compelled to take a Japanese food vacation.

It was initially baffling because this isnt a dedicated dim sum parlor, you are handed nearly a dozen menus, some which contain small items that could be eaten in the yum cha manner. It took us a while to pare the choices down and decide. Really, I'd rather just look at whats on offer from an old fashioned cart. But menus were the point, I'd never tried the cooked to order style before and wanted the experience. Now I know.

We didnt go hog wild, it was a refined sort of meal with around five small plates of food including egg tarts. I say around because I cant for the life of me recall all that we ate. I know we tried salt and pepper shrimp, shrimp rice rolls, baked meat buns…er, and one more. Now I know why food bloggers are so snap happy. I could use a visual memory aid.

Ive heard complaints about the price, but I didnt find it to be outrageous. Thats the beauty of eating little things. Even if prices are double the more work a day venues, thats still only $5 per plate as opposed to $2.50.

Victoria City Seafood * 30 Harbor Rd., Hong Kong

Restaurante Litoral

1/2I knew little to nothing about Macanese food before setting out for the little island, and my knowledge is now merely slightly broader. We only got to eat one meal due to transportation woes, language difficulties and a general inhospitable vibe from the city. I'm sure its a fun place if you know what youre doing, which we apparently did not.

My original plan was a beachy sunset suckling pig at Fernandos but we couldnt figure out how to get to Coloane. Buses were confusing, a taxi took nearly an hour to track down and refused to take us, I wasnt about to hop on the back of a motorbike as locals were doing (very Thai, its easy to judge the wealth of a country by the motorbike to car ratio. Malaysia had plenty, Hong Kong and Singapore not at all). We were screwed. Getting a cab back to the ferry so we could get the hell out of Macau was tough enough.

Img_0200

But the afternoon started out well with an easy jaunt to Restaurante Litoral. I'd never given it much thought, but the Chinese-Portuguese crisscross cuisine is kind of Filipino in ways. I'm pretty sure our waitresses were speaking Tagalog, too. The décor was Spanish with whitewashed walls, dark wood beams, a tropical hacienda.

We were accidentally served a dried sausage and olive appetizer that belonged to someone else. By the time the error was discovered wed both taken bites and were happy to keep it for ourselves. We tried a pretty Portuguese dish of bacalao with potatoes and massive amounts of garlic and olive oil.

Img_0201

African chicken was my pick since it seemed like a good example of the natural Latin-Asian fusion (the African part, I'm not sure about). Lush orange oil pooled around the chicken and was perfect for soaking up with the fried potato rounds served alongside, and crusty Portuguese rolls. The overall taste is sweet, spicy and incredibly rich (I didnt think fat content once while on vacation) which isn't surprising considering the coconut milk, peanut butter and chicken skin had all been simmering and gathering goodness. African chicken also often contains five-spice powder, rosemary, and as you can see in the photo, sweet pickles.

[I had the urge to revise history after  randomly re-reading this post. I researched African chicken and found a great Wall St. Journal article on the dish that strangely was published today, February 29, 2008.]

We had enough food for an entire family and I felt guilty not being able to eat much of it (we were still saving our appetites for suckling pig later–if I'd only known) so we took it to go, which was kind of weird. I carted the bag around all day and night and ultimately we left it in our hotel, which I'm sure pleased the cleaning staff. Still, salt cod is less stinky than durian.

Restaurante Litoral * 261A Rua do Almirante Sérgio, Macau

Da Ping Huo

See, I'm not a foodie, fixated on ingredients, provenance, preparation, minutiae. Eating is fun, but I'm more about the experience. I regret not being able to recall details from every dish at this meal, but there were so many items, and not in tasting portions either. While I got over my public food photography phobia, I didnt feel this was an appropriate venue for geeking out (though I dont think anyone wouldve minded, after all, we were the only diners).

Si fang cai, a.k.a. speakeasies or unlicensed restaurants, seemed to be the rage in Hong Kong a few years ago, and still carry on. I'm not sure if Da Ping Huo still fits into this secret code, hidden door, word of mouth category, but it still feels worlds away from an established restaurant. It's not someones cozy home, but an austere concrete, metal and wood affair. Minimalist, chic-stark, but hardly soulless.

I knew the routine, primarily because I like to over plan and never leave anything to chance. It's like this: you must call ahead, there are seatings at 6:30 and 9:30, the menu is set and costs HK 250 ($32, which is a serious bargain) per person, and the eatery is owned by a couple. The husband, an artist with paintings adorning the walls, plays host, while his wife stays mostly behind the scenes as cook. Shes also a former opera singer, and I knew that she serenades diners at the end of the meal. Um, but I left this tiny detail out when originally explaining the concept to James, which was wise because it predictably freaked him out when brought up at dinner.

We were treated to (or traumatized by, depending on how much attention you crave) an unintentional private dining experience. My original worries about getting reservations were unfounded, and made me worry and wonder how they stay afloat (we were told they had four parties the night before). By this point during our vacation we were slightly more accustomed to the notion of being catered to in an unfilled room, and accordingly felt more relaxed than during our other foray into near solo dining at Frangipani.

We ordered a not too expensive Sauvignon Blanc (their corkage fee was surprisingly high, about $20, but I'm so not the oenophile—I'd never tote in my own bottle anyway) and waited for the food parade to begin. And once it started, there was no letting up. There are only so many synonyms for spicy and chile oil so allow me some slack because theres going to be some repetition.

First out were three cold appetizers in small saucers: shredded jellyfish in spicy oil, sweet and sour cucumber spears and bean curd rolls filled with tofu and mushrooms. Then there were impossibly slippery and chopstick-unfriendly transparent wide noodles bathed in yes, chile oil (I love chile oil, but I can see how its copious use might freak some folks out) and topped with something unexpectedly crunchy. After checking with the cook, we were able to deduce from our young waiter that they were deep-fried soybeans. The owners spoke next to no English and the waiter had a so-so command of the language, but didnt necessarily know food words and translations such as soybean. That was ok, it was kind of like a puzzle. We had cold poached chicken in chile oil, as well as a chicken and cabbage soup.

This was plenty of food and satisfying, but only the beginning. I realized we didnt have any rice, which would be a nice foil for all the chile spiked sauces, but perhaps its an appetizer/entrée thing because we were then informed that main dishes would be coming. Our plates were changed, rice was brought, and the big guns started appearing. A bowl of stewy, chile laden beef was brought out. At first I thought it was tripe, which I love, the meat was so chewy, but it was just a fatty cut. But good fatty (though gross seeming, I ate the remnants right out of our mini fridge before heading to airport two days later—it wasnt half bad cold) and tender. Classic ma po tofu arrived almost simultaneously and was crazy hot. It was at this moment that we realized that maybe youre not supposed to eat all of the food presented to you. I had no idea how many items were ultimately coming so it was hard to pace myself. We ended up “taking away” two dishes, both of these only at the owners suggestion. Normally I'd feel weird about this because I couldnt get a grip on doggie bag culture in Asia, which James and I are both unashamedly fond of.

The ma po tofu came with a preface that it would be spicy, which I was only half inclined to believe because I'm so used to restaurateurs saying items are hot when they are not, especially to Americans. Wow, the owner wasnt lying. The dish was tongue tingling in that front of the mouth hot way that you can even feel in your ears, not deep and creeping like Thai hot. On top of the burn Sichuan pepper conducted a background mouth buzz. The ground pork was firm and rich, the silky tofu like atomic white sponges. Breathing in or out merely fanned the flames. Our waiter seemed surprised that we could handle so much and admitted that he didnt like hot food (something we noticed common to many Hong Kongers). Maybe our taste buds have been dulled from smoking.

When new plates and a metal cracking implement were presented we got excited. A chile and garlic laden crab came hacked into large chunks. I'm not so good with extracting the meat since I didnt grow up eating crustaceans, but it was still fun. Seafood was followed by a dish of pork and yams, two flavors I adore but was too full to appreciate. Rich, almost gooey pork belly had melded into sweet tuber slices like a casserole. A peppery palate cleansing broth teeming with pea shoots buffered between the next and final savory course of pork dumplings. Two long slender skins were filled with smooth pate-like meat and sitting in a pool of what looked like red hot chile oil, but turned out to be mild and sweet. Dessert came in the form of tofu drizzled with a ginger syrup, which is very much in the Chinese sweets canon, and totally un-American. Refreshing rather than filling.

James posited that perhaps the cook wouldnt sing since we were the only diners. Ha, no such luck. Being serenaded can put pressure on you (do you smile, stay neutral, make eye contact?) and this was no strolling violinist or dinner theatre contralto. These were ear-piercing notes of Chinese opera. Which one, we didnt know, only that it was a “love song.” We were waiting for our wine glasses to shatter. It was definitely other worldly, at least other country-ish.

Somewhere during the middle of the meal there was a surprise interrupting incident when a large British group, ranging in age from maybe six to 76 randomly showed up asking “Sichuan?” They mustve had an inkling of what they were doing since they found the place and knew the style of cuisine, but thats where their knowledge ended. They then demanded to be served despite being walk-ins. The severe language barrier made it impossible for the owner to explain himself and the normal procedure. I could totally see a comedy of errors ensuing, but severely lacking in the comedy. I almost felt like I should say something helpful because it was going to end badly, but didnt think that was my place.

The waiter set the table, seated them and ran into the kitchen, likely telling the cook that six diners had popped in without notice. Mandarin shrieking commenced. Meanwhile the patriarch of the clueless crew was having a shit fit because there wasnt a menu. He just couldnt get the omakase (I know thats Japanese, but I dont know a better term) concept. “What do you mean, theres no menu. Ive never heard of such a thing.” Which turned into “Well, if theres no menu then well have to leave.” Completely offended and put out, the group were total preposterous British stereotypes, “well, I never…”

I was quietly busting a gut, but felt bad for the proprietors. And they apologized to us after the family left in a huff. And people think Americans are gauche. The fact that we “got” the meal and appreciated the efforts and graciousness of the hosts, made the evening feel more exclusive, like we really were members of some secret club. It's not that often that I feel more like a connoisseur and less like a clod.

Da Ping Huo * 49 Hollywood Rd., Hong Kong

Tuk Tuk

Whether this place is better or worse than the Tuk Tuk in our neighborhood, Ill never know because I refuse to patronize Carroll Gardens/Cobble Hill Thai restaurants out of principle (well, I tried 9D once because its the nearest restaurant walking distance from our apartment). I dont know what it is, Ill eat mediocre Chinese, Mexican, oh, and slew of other cuisines, but anything less than great Thai food seems like a waste of calories.

We found it impossible to believe that Singapore, Hong Kong and particularly Malaysia (since they share a border) wouldnt have better Thai food than the U.S., but the general local consensus was “dont bother.” From what I'd read, from what our waiter at a Sichuan restaurant across the street from Tuk Tuk told us, and was evidenced by the table of Chinese regulars sitting behind us who ordered “not too spicy,” Hong Kongers dont care for hot food.

So no, the food wasnt spicy, it was blander than Lemongrass Grill, our benchmark for Thai blahness. But at least we found out and had our fears confirmed. We had set lunch specials and both chose papaya salad that was completely sweet and sour, I dont think there was a single chile note in the entire dish. My green curry was adequate, as were James chile basil noodles, but once again were lacking punch. The cook and staff were Thai, which only made me wonder what kind of food they made themselves.

Tuk Tuk Thai * 30 Graham St., Hong Kong