Sep 13
I haven’t had a chance to write anything substantial since coming back from vacation, but I did muster the energy to post photos. I’m so not a photo taker, so forgive the lack of interesting subject matter and technical skill. The fact that I even managed 100+ shots (though not all posted here) in nearly three weeks is a major feat. During my last lengthy vacation I only took twenty photos, if that. Sad, indeed.
Photo Albums:
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.
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.
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
Who knew that a humble fish head could be so tasty? I inadvertently bypassed Little India on my last visit to Singapore, so fish head curry was a must on this trip even though I wasnt super excited in comparison to other classic local dishes like chile crab. I wanted to have at least one banana leaf meal (where the rectangular frond serves as placemat and plate). Maybe hands-as-utensils is tradition, but everyone seemed to be using spoons and forks. And I'm not one to buck a trend.
As usual, we over ordered. Partly because everything sounded so good and partly because its hard to gauge portions. Here, I usually know what to expect and choose accordingly (its usually going to be big). We had a chicken biryani, which came with two vegetable sides, one a daal concoction, the other spiced tomato-y green beans. That, with naan and the small fish head (small wasnt that small) wouldve been plenty. But we also ordered a vindaloo just to see how its done in Singapore.
The fish head curry was much hotter than the vindaloo, and came in a broth dotted with okra or lady's fingers, as they call them. For some reason I'd envisioned the curry as being more chili-sweet, not chili-sour and unexpectedly bracing. The extra hot spice combination and soupy quality reminded me of Thai yellow curries more than typical Indian food (which isnt surprising since yellow curry paste uses dried spices typical to Indian food where most Thai curry pastes use fresh herbs) Fish head curry is really a Singaporean-Indian invention so the mish-mash comes with the territory.
Banana Leaf Apolo * 54-58 Race Course Rd., Singapore
If mooncakes are the fruitcake of Asia, then it’s no wonder that I have such a soft spot for the hearty little underdogs. It’s hard not to root for food with such a bad holiday (re)gift-giving reputation. Dense, heavy, stodgy—sure—but I actually think fruitcake tastes good. I’m not bowled over by the looks of these studded loaves, though. Mooncakes also taste good, however I’m more taken by their range of flavors, colors and designs. They have style and substance.
My first mooncake tasting in 1999 was slightly accidental. Browsing through Chinatown on the way to a friend-I’m-no-longer-friends-with’s apartment in the East Village (we’d both started dating new guys around this time, and it’s weird to think that we’re still with them. In fact, I think she’s marrying hers this month. Mine is her former best friend.) I ended up in a bakery. It’s hard to resist the pull of sweets in glass cases, no matter their country of origin.
A few of the treats on display seemed a little spendy, and it was exactly these round, pastry-covered orbs that I was most attracted to. I purchased a couple, knowing they were mooncakes, but not realizing they were a sporadic special occasion item. It wasn’t until I plopped onto the beastly pal’s bed and started snacking on my treasures (or does that make me the beastly one? She didn’t have a proper living room, just so you know.) that I realized how dense and rich they were.
Clearly the cakes were meant to be savored and shared, though I wasn’t prevented from plodding my way through them (I have no sense of portion control or stopping when full—I’m the quintessential American glutton that Europeans love to feel superior to.). They were mostly of the standard baked, lotus seed paste variety. I don’t think I got any surprise mouthfuls of egg yolk, though I definitely did get one of those nutty ham filled ones. Sweet and savory is one of my favorite flavor combinations, so it was a welcome surprise.
That was my first and last foray into the world of mooncakes until last year when I happened to be in Singapore during mid-Autumn festival (there was also that Hungry Ghost thing going on—what is scarier than ravenous spirits walking the earth?). We really got into the mall culture of the city, sort of because I enjoy shopping centers (particularly in other countries) but mostly to escape the exhausting, sticky heat (we couldn’t stop marveling at how all over S.E. Asia if a restaurant had both outdoor and indoor seating, everyone went al fresco. Me, no way.).
Takashimaya quickly became a favorite stop. We have one here in NYC, but it’s completely different, small, sparse, way precious and expensive. And most glaringly, it lacks a food court, instead merely offering the zen chic Tea Box Café in the basement where fast food fun should be. Our second visit to Nge Ann City was a sensory overload. On the bottom floor we were bombarded by the overwhelming snack stalls where we never were able to snag a seat. Then I had my mooncake interest rekindled by Bengawan Solo who tempted me with rows of soft, translucent miniature rainbow-colored confections (snowskin style, I later discovered).
Like a baby drawn to bright shiny objects, I go gaga for loud, multi-hued edibles. It’s hard to articulate, except on a superficial level, why I’m so attracted to S.E. Asian kueh, as well as American anomalies like green ketchup and blue Pepsi. Rather than reveling in organic and natural like so many foodie zombies, I relish the garish and invented. Slow food and fast food don’t have to be incongruous. Not everything that’s insanely colored lacks craftsmanship.
After being schooled in snowskins, I got distracted by crazy Beard Papa (he’s in NYC now) and weirdo Tio Glutton (I’m waiting for him next). Why are the Japanese so food crazy? And why do they seem to love anthropomorphizing edibles so much? Kogepan, beerchan and the cheese family are but a mere few such freaks of nature. Well, Asians in general (not to generalize) seem way more fixated on culinary customs that we are.
It wasn’t until I stepped out into the open mall for a little breathing room that I noticed the space adjoining Takashimaya that formerly housed an art exhibit had been transformed into what appeared to be a mooncake convention in full swing. Sweet Jesus, I almost crapped myself, it was one of the coolest things I’d ever seen. Stalls were swirling with customers vying for prime sampling and ogling positions. I regret my bewildered passivity—I didn’t get to try as many toothpick skewered morsels as I would’ve liked. It was a frenzy of purveyors and patrons. High-end hotels and local bakeries were competing for the public’s attention, each trying to outdo the other with inventive flavors, ornate packaging, and elaborate displays.
At least I was able to grab a glossy brochure from just about every table. My knowledge of style and variety was gleaned through these alluring pamphlets, not first hand experience. I have no childhood memories or points of reference to discern the good from the bad (though I’m not so retarded that I couldn’t recognize that Garfield, coffee-flavored Starbucks, and ice cream filled mooncakes probably aren’t traditional.) Shangahai, Teocheow, two yolks, four yolks, baked skin, snow skin…so much to learn.
The snowskin grabbed me, simply because I’d never encountered them before. They’re striking in color and flavor. Pumpkin, chocolate, strawberry, Oreo!? So gauche, yet so alluring. I could pick up a tin of the standard cakes in any substantial American Chinatown. But China filtered through S.E. Asian traditions only travels so far. These new anomalies I had to capture for safekeeping.
At least in my mind, and here in print, since I’m not much of a picture taker (I still have film from Christmas ’03 that I’ve yet to develop). Even buying a digital camera has proven futile in increasing my photographic output. While I’m fascinated by the food photography of others, I feel too self-conscious to snap shots in restaurants and markets. I’ll stick to the tedious written word for now, and leave the pretty pictures to those who do it better.
It's extremely rare that I have a dining experience so enervating that the quality of the food becomes almost irrelevant. In fact, I can only think of two other examples of restaurants not worth re-visiting because my first impression was too tarnished: Lupa and Chickenbone Café (which is gone anyway).
I love the idea of meat in monstrous portions, using unusual parts, and high-low ingredient combinations (foie gras poutine?). Au Pied de Cochon struck me as potentially being Montreals St. John restaurant (which it isn't exactly—St. John is austere where APDC is convivial). And I wasn't disappointed by the food. James had the French onion soup, which he declared the best hed had, and the massive “Happy Pig Chop.” I went pork crazy and started with a plate of pates and sausages that wouldve been better suited for sharing with a table of diners. For a main, I had to try the namesake pied de cochon. I didn't realize a pigs foot was so large. It filled the plate, and contained all the best aspects of pork: crispy skin, gooey gelatinous fat and tender inner flesh. The foot sprawled on a puddle of mashed potatoes and creamy mustard sauce. A tart onion, tomato and parsley relish was scattered liberally over the top and helped balance the porcine richness.
But–yes, theres a big but—the dining experience as a whole felt abusive. Initially, it was just off, the vibe was wrong, nothing specific. You'd think as New Yorkers wed be used to cramped spaces and long waits, so that wasn't quite it. But it did seem that no matter where we stood we were in the way. Before even being seated we felt a touch beat-up and jostled, like how a bad subway ride can ruin a day before you even get to work. After eventually getting our table, we were promptly ignored. After nearly 15 minutes it started feeling intentional. Customers seated after us already had food and drinks, and we couldn't even get eye contact with a server. It seemed like everyone knew each other. Maybe that was it, we weren't regulars? Was it because we were speaking English? I don't think so, there were plenty of non-French conversations in the air. We finally ordered drinks, then lost our waiter for about another 10-15 minutes. Things started getting odd when we noted our waiter and a cohort motioning to our table, speaking in hushed tones, then laughing. I was like what the fuck? Paranoia set in, we didn't say anything weird, I don't think we ordered poorly, I like to believe were at least moderately attractive—what was the deal?
By the time our food arrived, I was totally turned off to eating. No matter how much I scooted my chair and our entire table forward, the guy behind me would inch closer. After the millionth time he leaned back enough that the backs of our heads were touching, I started to lose my shit. Did I mention this was our fifth (dating) anniversary? If this meal was any indication of the future of our relationship, we were in serious trouble. It was just plain non-good and creepily ominous. I'd had high expectations for our dinner, and all I could think about was dining and dashing (I never even did that as a teen, but its never too late to start).
The clincher came when James chomped down on something hard in his onions, and pulled out a big fat metal screw. Yeah, a screw. Was this some sort of messed up message? A not so subtle screw you. Honestly, I didn't think so, but we weren't even able to point out the little screw up (ha) because not once did anyone stop to ask us how we were doing. At this point we were invisible, we couldn't have flagged down a waiter if wed tried. So, we just sat and waited, both our entrees barely touched. To be fair, the staff seemed genuinely concerned after politely being shown the screw. We didn't make a fuss at all, I'm never one to cause problems at restaurants, in fact, I'm probably overly passive when it comes to bizarre customer service. Thankfully, the Happy Pig Chop wasn't included on our bill (they offered to make another one, like we wanted to sit in this hell hole any longer).
The whole evening was so horrendously bad that all I could do was laugh. I mean, it was kind of comical. We imagined an Au Pied de Cochon review being written in a New York Post-ian style. The headline would invariably say something about the staff having a screw loose. It would be a hoot to read. But then, maybe I'm the only one gets a kick out of the Post.
Au Pied de Cochon * 536 Rue Duluth E., Montreal , Canada
There's nothing finer than a chaps wearing anthropomorphic peanut
A buffet genre nonexistent in NYC
We were practically the youngest people in the place
Who knew they had a restaurant?
What is this, Brooklyn?!
Cute until you realize…he's dead?
All roads lead to pig meat
Pigs and neon go hand in hand in Memphis
Little Debbies are pretty irresitable
R.A.I.P. (rest area in peace)
Weirdest (and most recommended by locals) attraction in Nashville
Drive thru Thai was a novelty
Ok, I’ve since had the real deal. I sampled Singapore laksa in Singapore at Lau Pa Sat and a Holland Village branch of Katong Laksa this past summer. I never thought I’d live to see the day. What I did see was where the Portland version was coming from, and it’s not totally off-base, though chicken isn’t a major laska ingredient. There might be shrimp and/or cockles, but I didn’t see any poultry being used. At least not in the Singapore version. I have heard of chicken in laksa, though, but it’s a different style. The only problem with laksa in Singapore is that there is so much damn food to be sampled, you don’t want to go overboard with it or else you’ll be ruined for the rest of the day. I totally had to restrain myself.
I don't know why Santa hawks burgers in Bangkok
How cool is a rendang burger?
One of the first indications that Hua Hin was an odd place. Thai workers in drindls and lederhosen were quite a surprise.
"Buffalo wings" from the Hua Hin Hilton. Don't forget that traditional marinara for dipping. After eating Thai pizza, it only seemed fitting.
No, it's not Mulberry St. When you think of Thai beaches, don't pizza pies come to mind?
I don't recall palm trees in Little Italy.
Ignore James's big head. I'm a very bad photographer and was trying to capture the Filipino Tom Petty in the background.
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