Wala lang...

My friend Pam is taking up photography and flower arrangement. She let me adopt one of her arrangements because she's in Manila, so lucky me now has this lovely dining table centerpiece.
I have to convince hubby to invest in a Canon SLR though... my chunky, amateurish, ancient 3.2mp Cybershot doesn't do this arrangement justice. Grainy photos are not my cup of tea, but until I get my new camera and take my longed-for lessons, this will have to do.

Blogging is new to me, and since I'm a confirmed technophobe, this entry is quite an achievement! Finally, I have pictures! The salad you see here was my lunch today, an abstinence Friday. It's simply mesclun greens topped with lemon-white wine seared shrimp, shredded crabstick, thai pomelo and tomato wedges. The dressing is a simple dijon mustard/garlic/salad vinegar/canola oil/cracked black pepper/sugar/worcestershire sauce emulsion.

After the salad I had a small serving of pesto tossed spaghetti. The pesto was bottled and nothing compared to a freshly-made one, but a harried mother with a sick toddler doesn't have much choice in the matter. I heated the pesto, added some cream and leftover shredded mozarella, and mixed in some of the lemon shrimp I also used in the salad. The mozarella made the sauce extra thick and rich, and the cream and twinge of lemon added depth to a dull bottled sauce.

Sorry, better plating next time.

Profound Matters

1. Have you ever asked "what's for dinner?" while lunch was being served?
2. Have you ever wondered what to order at a restaurant because everything on the menu looked yummy, interesting and affordable?
3.Have you ever asked "when do we eat again?", an hour after a prodigious meal?

Questions you will always get from me, addressed to most often hubby or my dad, and sometimes new acquaintances:

When do we eat again? (This after I had just tucked in the last piece of cake)
Can I order an appetizer, soup and salad? (No, not to share, hubby)
Can I order a main dish and dessert? (After finishing off the appetizer, soup and salad)
Can we come back here to taste the other items you forebade me to order? (due to the fact that we've ordered enough for an army , and there's just the 2 of us)
Can I pass by Great? City Super? Santis? Rustan's? I just want to look at some stuff. I won't buy anything, I promise.
Why do you always question how much I order? I can finish everything. (Doggy bags please)
Why are you so kuripot (stingy) when it comes to food? We only live once. I don't want to die without having a good meal. (After the bill comes and they complain I've ordered too much)

Questions/Comments/Reprimands I always get:

Haven't you ordered enough? We can always come back.
I thought you were on a diet?!
Oh no, not a supermarket again! 5 minutes is always an hour, and not spending means a wallet-hurting grocery bill.
Are you sure you can finish that? We'll have to take it home again!
Everyone's looking at our groaning table. There's only two of us and 7 dishes!
What do you mean "where do we eat tonight?" After that meal, we probably won't!

Examples:
Cebu, 1999 - A friend and I entered a seafood resto at 1:30, famished. We ordered 1 whole grilled talakitok (good for 4), grilled squid, 1/4 kilo lechon cebu, rice, sauteed kangkong, and leche flan. We finished at 3pm, appeased.
Cebu 1999- Same friend. Same takaw-tingin and patay-gutom attitude. In a Japanese resto at a mall we ordered prawn tempura, miso soup, beef teppanyaki, chicken teriyaki, rice and udon. The table of 5 businessmen beside us were chortling.
Singapore 2002 - Hubby was busy with business, I was 7 months preggy with a license to wolf down anything edible. Thinking I only had one whole day to satisfy my cravings and curiosity, I ate Hainanese Chicken Rice for lunch at a roadside stall. After an hour I spied an oyster cake vendor so I promptly sat down and enjoyed my 10" oyster omelet, washed down with a fresh fruit shake. Setting off by foot to explore the Arabian and Indian Villages, by 4 pm I was aching to lie down in the comfy hotel bed. But I hadn't eaten anything Indian yet so I had a biryani complete with side dishes (eggplant and other mushy stuff) and a small serving of chicken curry. After that gastronomically exhaustng day hubby and his mates decided on dinner at Newton Circus. So it was po phia time, chicken and beef satay, chili crab, laksa and noodles.
The cab driver who took me to Jurong Bird Park and The Japanese Gardens cautioned me against eating too much spicy food because I was pregnant. His warning went unheeded. I probably gained a good 5 lbs that day, and 5 more after the trip. And no, little boy wasn't 9 or 10 lbs when he greeted the world, so all that weight just made my existing salbabida (love handles)even more noticeable.
Everyday of every year: I just HAVE to taste anything that comes my way, whether it's a teeny-weeny food sample in a supermarket; a streetside stall emitting smoke from sizzling grease offering HK10 tummy-fillers; a new bakery with the same old, same old displays of BBQ pork and tuna and corn bun; a hastily-opened pack of biscuits when I pay a surprise visit to a friend.

I live to eat. Food, in all its reincarnations, is an obsession. What to eat, what to order, how to cook, where to eat, when to eat, these are profound questions, to be taken seriously, especially when asked by this food junkie.

Restaurant Blues

I normally don't like dissing restos, mostly because I know what it feels like to run one, with all the mental, physical and emotional strain involved. I've kept all of the articles written about, and to, Lokal (especially Doreen F's life-changing one, and a high-on-praise placemat left by a dear customer). On low days, when customer complaints were what I ate for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and my normally unflappable self felt like breaking down, I would go home, flip open my Lokal scrapbook, and be filled with warmth and "kilig" (spine-tingling ecstasy) when I saw those words of approval from satiated patrons. Lokal was a seminal experience; I used to be Ms. Complain because I felt everyone in the foodservice and hospitality industry had an obligation to give excellent, perfect service. Three years in UPHRA can teach one to be very exacting. When I managed Lokal, and subsequently Oliver's main kitchens and my own catering biz, I became less stringent; consciously looking for the positive in many a restaurant and even writing letters to the manager whenever I felt an employee was unexpectedly warm and efficient. I am very forgiving, and will always give a less-than-sublime repast, made worse by mediocre surroundings, lackadaisical staff and astronomical prices, another chance.

But some sins are unforgivable.

Like charging HK20 for warm TAP water. Like dealing with surly waitresses who act as if they own the place and can't be bothered with customers because they're busy cleaning and throwing a tantrum. Like paying HK35 for a can of Diet Coke when the food prices are not reasonable to begin with. Like having to use a stinky, filthy toilet and sit on chairs that have seen better days and walk on sticky floors when it's so very obvious the place is raking it in, caters to mostly EXPATS and can afford to upgrade even just a little bit. Ambience is one thing, but ambience as a direct result of neglect is another. Like having to wait 45 minutes for a forgettable meal at an upscale, 5-star rated resto in a chi-chi mall, without any apology from the manager, or free dessert or even a token discount.

I'm not "the" expert on food. I love to cook and eat and try new things and all I want is value for my money. Translated, this means that if I have to pay top dollar, then the food must be terrific. If the place lacks atmosphere and the staff don't know the meaning of customer service, but the food is glorious, that's perfectly fine. If the food is average but the prices are reasonable and the staff makes you feel like a VIP, that's value as well. It's a rare place, after all, that can give first-rate food matched by superior service and charge fair prices. I think all of us who enjoy eating out, and eating well, can commiserate with me.

Ms. Complain came to the fore last week, and here's why.

The diamond-studded tap water I read about. I will never patronize that place.

The waitress was a Pinay at Al's Diner. From what I could see and hear, she was pissed off at her co-workers for not cleaning up the night before. We entered the place, which was reeking of bleach, and found her up to her elbows scrubbing the bar. No greeting, no smile. Fine. We sat on one of their rusty metal chairs (we really hate the slashed upholstery) while gingerly trying to find semi-clean inches of floor space for our shoes. We ordered hubby's fave, the beef nachos. It wasn't the best, but yummy enough, and priced very well. I ordered the supposedly fantastic fried chicken (not) with the smelly (malansa, I swear) gravy and KFC style (overboiled mess) corn on the cob. Sweet corn should retain a bit of crunch! I know burgers are their specialty, and I did enjoy the burger I ate my very first time there, so much so I didn't notice how dirty the place was (I can eat at dirty Chinese noodle shops anytime, simply because the food is exceptional!). However, Archie B's can make decent burger for half the price. I'm not saying they taste the same, but Al's burger isn't sensational enough to merit a HKD120 price tag. Their chili was anything but hot. I could live with some of the unjustifiably overpriced items, but the can of Coke for HKD35 was way too much! Especially since hubby had to pick it up from the bar himself after an interminable wait.

The regrettable meal we had to wait 45 minutes for was at Harlan's. We ordered several appetizers, and at first I thought mine was the only bland-tasting one, but I tried all the others and let me say they all tasted alike. I ordered the roasted scallops (overdone). After they had cleared the starter plates we had to literally wait almost an hour for our main course. Luckily the conversation, and constant refills of wine, carried us through those excruitiating minutes when our stomachs grumbled like crazy. Our food finally arrived and they didn't even look appetizing. Someone in the kitchen was in a big hurry to plate the food, so presentation was compromised. None of the plates resembled a "to be revered and not to be eaten" work of art. My seabass was fresh and flaky but the sauce was dull. The only dish I allowed myself to be excited about was the lemon pudding. Tart and smooth, not too sweet, accompanied by a light and creamy lemon sorbet and an interesting almond tuille. Eaten together they tingled the taste buds, and the sensation was very pleasant indeed. Good thing too, that sensation, because afterwards I stuffed Ms. Complain back in the closet. I really would rather write about a superb meal than an inferior one, but there's no denying some places take their fame for granted.

Now that Ms. Complain is gone, let me just add a postscript: Cafe Siam is one place that gives value for money. I can't get enough of the catfish salad with green mango julienne and lime dressing.

Slurp

Yes, the noisy, sucking sound we all make when

-we shove food (usually Chinese, i.e. congee, noodles with soup, stir-fry noodles) down our mouths using a chopstick or Chinese spoon
-we chomp noisily "chomp-slurp-burp-ahhhh" as we try to assuage our hunger karpintero-style (patay-gutom in other words)
-we drink thick liquids (think milkshakes, slurpee, Zagu) from a too-small straw

Every sunday my mom makes congee "poor family style". No fancy pork with thousand-year egg, certainly no fish fillet or cubes of congealed blood. What she prepares consists of plain lugaw (as in rice cooked in plentiful water, not broth), sometimes flavored with camote cubes, pickled cucumber (with a sour, sharp crunch), pork floss (not the unappealing stringy ones), and garlic-sauteed pork with black beans (the one in the small yellow can, Narcissus or Gulong brand) which my father would eat with some poached tofu. A fancier version would mean additional fried lapu-lapu in tausi sauce OR ground pork and pickled turnip omelette OR century egg with soya sauce.

My father the storyteller would regale us with tales about poor families in China partaking of this meal everyday. The homely porridge was tasteless but piping hot and filling, perfect for the cold Northern weather. Whatever rootcrop they had was boiled and eaten along with it. Better times called for fish or pork. Whether he was spinning a good yarn as part of our breakfast entertainment, recounting the pitiful story of his ancestors, or reminding us that feasting on gourmet food is a privilege we should be grateful for, our sunday poor man's lugaw took on a different dimension. It became not only plain old breakfast, but my father's ultimate comfort meal; a way to cleanse our bodies and rid us of the oily, unhealthy grub we've had all week; a time to converse and listen; a shared hiSTORY, if you will; and a childhood memory.

Papa always slurped his lugaw, using chopsticks with the bowl brought up to his chin and slightly tilted towards his mouth. Though at first I thought it rude, I now slurp my own lugaw (which I make here in HK whenever I'm homesick) maybe even louder than he does.

Speaking of slurping, when we were billeted in Shama Causeway Bay last October, my little boy and I would frequent a noodle shop just down the street. Shy mentioned that this place is known for its noodle and wonton. Chee Kei is always full, and the line snaking past the corner of Russell Street is a testament to its popularity. There are only about 10 tables inside, and oftentimes little boy and I had to share ours with slurping strangers. Their shrimp wonton noodle soup is a delightful concoction of heady broth, thin wonton wrappers folded around large, fresh shimps, and firm, al dente thin egg noodles (even better than that old HK insitution, Mak's noodles). The pork wonton, beef brisket and beef tendon choices are similarly satisfying . Once I tried a dry noodle topped with spicy pork (a specialty), served with broth on the side. As always, the noodles were firm and plentiful, the generous slivers of pork were tender and mixed with a spicy sauce that was piquant and full of hot, sweetish flavor. I wanted to lick the sauce off the plate, but the slurping strangers were eyeing me with suspicion. Each table had a condiment tray with the ubiquitous soya sauce, Chinese black vinegar, chili-garlic sauce, and, to my surprise and delight, a small bowl of pinkish-white pickled ginger (very thinly-sliced and crunchy). Our visits there (and the fresh wonton I would take home and fry for hubby) were undoutedbly the highlight of our otherwise boring CWB stay. The only dish I didn't care for was the briny, bitter, slimy raw clams (they were so tiny and indistinguishable) that was served with the equally unappetizing fried fishballs. I think they undercooked the fishballs that time.Our bill always rang up to HKD60-120. Not bad. The five minute walk to the place was part of its appeal, aside from the better-than-ok chow and light-on-the-pocket prices.

Once I tried frying fish (little boy's all-time fave) in Shama and the "hidden and silent" fire alarm necessitated a frantic phone call from the manager, who rushed up to our place, opened all the windows, cautioned me about frying, and very politely and discreetly tried to "fish" (no pun intended heehee) for more info (What was I cooking? Did I burn anything? Was the stove too hot? Did I know how to adjust the knob?). It drove me crazy. And this is what made us leave the smoky confines of our room to check out Chee Kei.

Back in Canada I couldn't fry fish too. The alarm went off more than once, in its unique shrill, ear-splitting manner, and as my Tito, mother-in-law and hubby tried in vain to fan the alarm and disconnect it, I had to deal with my semi-fried fish, oil splatter and disappointed son. No noodle shop 5 minutes away to soothe our nerves and my son's grumbly tummy. All we had were good ol' Mickey D's, Church's Chicken, Wendy's, Applybee's Ribs, Me and Ed's Pizza Place, Panago Pizza (really scrumptious, if only I could afford the franchise), Arby's, KFC... we had to make do with burgers and fries (not on my list of favorite foods to eat when in a bad mood, or any mood, for that matter, unless it's gourmet burger and crispy onion strings/rings).Panago Pizza, now that is one Canadian resto I truly miss. Anchovies, shrimps, sun-dried tomatoes, 5-cheese, all the wonderful pizza toppings you can't find at your local Pizza Hut. The Real Canadian Superstore Deli also makes a mean take-home pizza. Thin-crust, smothered with pepperoni, blanketed with mozzarella, 8 slices of genuine pizza goodness for all of CAD 6.00 (HKD 40). None of the frozen boxes in Great or Wellcome can beat that. Come to think of it, not even the HKD45 personal pizza in Cafe O or Wildfire comes close.

Speaking of Pizza (and Pasta), we tried Casa Nostra on Caine Road last Sunday. Out of curiosity, out of pity (it wasn't a SOHO staple, but looked quaint enough), out of hunger, and a hankering for Italian. Should've known we were in for a big disappointment when I read the lunch specials (fish frittata, or fish omelette the waitress had the temerity to announce, thereby rendering it mediocre; pepperoni pasta; rib-eye with fried egg, EGG???!!!!). Had carbonara (again, the specialty. i love ordering specialties. if they suck, then rest assured everything else on the menu will, too), which, while not fantastic, was better than average. A good-sized portion of fettucine was tossed with traditional egg, butter and bacon sauce. Very rich. Bolognese (CIBO rules!, need i say more?). Scampi with lemon sauce (faint, faint lemon taste, overcooked smallish shrimp). Noodles were al dente, which is a plus, but everything needed a dash of salt, pepper and a sprinkling of parmesan cheese to make them close to palatable. Never again.

Back to my humble lugaw and wonton noodles. slurp, slurp!

Macau in 12 Hours

Last year before departing for Canada (for good, we thought at the time) hubby and i decided to visit Macau, a place so pathetically close to HK it always bothered me why we never went before.

8:30- boarded the Turbojet. as usual when travelling with hubby, everything is photofinish! we arrived a mere 7 minutes before boarding. good thing the lines at immigration were short and quick.
9:45- got a map from the tourist center and asked where we could eat a traditional Portugese/Macanese breakfast. told to hop on bus no. 3 to the main plaza, look for McDo (i almost had an attack! McDo for breakfast in a foreign country? what the hell were these tourist officers high on?), turn at an alleyway beside it and have breakfast at any of the coffee shops lining the street. (ah! that's more like it, now they're behaving like true harbingers of culture). arrived at the plaza and took photos of the fountain and neo-classical colorful buildings, like any self-respecting tourist. found McDo (hubby had the gall to suggest we eat there!) and discovered a small coffeshop manned by Pinoys. ate chorizo bread (more bread than chorizo, but the chorizo was sooo flavorfully good), smoked ham and cheese on brazilian bread (the smoked ham was delicious, the rest ordinary) and a Macau-style bibingka (tastes like egg-tart, looks and feels like a smallish bibingka-yummy!). had galao (traditional coffe and milk).

visited St. Dominic's Church for some quiet prayer time. the museum of sacred arts on the top floors is very interesting. walked to the ruins (of course!). took more photos of the steps, ruins and fortress with hubby hamming it up.

loved the Museum of Macau. i think i took more pictures there than anywhere. museums and dioramas are my thing. the beautifully resored traditional Chinese sala of old and portugese dining room were exquisitely detailed. i took a picture of hubby offering a drink to one of the chinese statues sitting on a bench (who rudely ignored him). some caucasians commented happily that we were being so silly (better silly than bo-ring!).

bought some repro figurines and a carved wooden panel to bring to canada. so very cheap compared to HK! we asked the museum guy for a good Portugese eatery. we had reservations at Fernando's but he said it used to be good 10 years ago. so we asked him to tell us where the locals ate. he recommended A Lorcha and Dom Galo.

we wanted to see the sights in barra so we opted for A Lorcha. ordered bacalhau fritters (thought it would be salty and oily but it was crispy and whetted out appetites); clams with coriander, garlic and tomatoes (we loved the sauce and used the warm bread to finish it off); african chicken (to me it tasted like a cross between mild curry and afritada); and baked beef ribs (carnivorous hubby was swooning over this one! thankfully the staff were all Pinoy, so i got the recipe). we paid a mere HKD 310.00 for this feast, which included drinks and the Portugese dessert serradura (milk and cream pudding with crumbled biscuits on the menu, rich and thick vanilla ice cream/sylvanas to my taste buds. nice, but too sweet).

visited the a-mah temple and moorish barracks--nothing special. got lost in the streets of Barra looking for the Penha Church. asked for directions from locals who scratched their heads and smiled and pointed every which way. after minutes of bickering we found the church. outside is a tourist trap of a table selling religious wares for sky-high prices! while waiting for a taxi to take us to the Macau Tower which we could see in the distance, a man offered to take us there in his mazda for HKD25! we didn't want to be fodder for robbers and the like so we opted to walk down. it was quite a walk but we saw really unique and spacious homes on the steep way downhill (much like the Peak). we found ourselves on the promenade by the lake and decided to walk all the way to the Tower, which was a bad idea because once we got there, we didn't want to shell out HKD70 each to get scared shitless!

more cultural and artsy stuff beckoned at the Museum of Art. while derrick sunned himself in the open lobby, i drooled over the visual masterpieces on display. more photo ops at the golden statue of Kum Iam (goddess of mercy) by the promenade (reminded us of Roxas Blvd), then we were off to Sands to try our luck with the slot machines (no such luck!) and partake of the Las Vegas 888 Buffet. too many choices, most of them mass-produced and commercial tasting. i only enjoyed the oysters, prawn, lamb and dessert. the rest? substandard fare for such a hyped-up place. we should have tried Litoral but Sands was nearer the ferry and as usual, we arrived 11 minutes before boarding and had to run all the way to the gangplank.that's our macau rush-rush trip for you. the weather was cool, the sun shone intermittently, we had a good lunch and took a hundred pictures to prove that we've been there and done that.

postscript: we've been to Macau twice since this trip and were finally able to try Litoral and Fernando's. The Litoral oxtail stew in red wine was rich and mouth-watering but the bacalhau fritters in A Lorcha tasted so much better. Litttle boy loved slathering butter on their freshly baked bread. Hubby enjoyed the tender grilled lamb chops. At Fernando's we tried the famous mildly spicy garlic prawns which my little boy loved, crispy roasted pig (hubby was in 7th heaven with this one, imagine golden reddish-brown crackling skin hiding a layer of juicy meat interspersed with some fat), and grilled lemon chicken ( a bit too dry and ordinary). At A Lorcha, which we never fail to visit, the grilled chorizo platter was gone in a jiffy, and we were tempted to order more. Portugese and Macanese cuisine have such tasty, thick sauces bursting with various flavors that leaving them on the plate to be scraped away is a sacrilege. Most restaurants offer warm, home-baked crusty-on-the-outside, soft-on-the-inside bread that is perfect for absorbing the richly infused sauces of their dishes. Ahhh, the mere thought of it makes me want to board the Turbojet today, right now.

A Tale of Disappointment

With my newfound freedom, owing to the fact that my little one is busy and distracted in school, I gamely set off one morning to rediscover the little nooks and crannies that dot the Mid-Levels escalator, my preferred destination when the exploratory bug hits me.

While walking jauntily down Stanley Street, I spied a dark, quaint-looking tea house peeping hesitantly from a hefty building overhead. To the unseeing eye, it looked like any entrance to the myriad shops, eateries and buildings that lined that section of road. But amongst the filthy, bustling Chinese fastfood places, camera shops and tired-looking lobbies, and to the trained eye of a perpetally hungry foodie searching voraciously for new, exciting gastronomical finds, the antiquated tea house stood alone, incongrous in its lighting and design.

As I stood by the entrance, taking in the high ceiling fans with their constant whir and the old Chinese ladies merrily calling out the contents of the trays hanging from their necks, it felt nowhere near 2006 Hong Kong. No trolleys here bursting with endless dimsum delights, no brightly-lit aquarium with crustaceans and fish packed like sardines, no background music, and, it seemed to me, no... English menu?! HELP! I approached the counter by the door with trepidation. How could I partake of the culinary magic this strange place had to offer? Then I spied English menus, thank goodness! For a while there I thought I would have to barge into Maya's place and threaten her with my ballpen, just so I could have someone translate for famished me.

Satisfied that I could order what I really wanted (and not have to point at inaccurate pictures and devour an array of "surprises"), I set about surveying the menu. Strangely enough, there were no prices, but how could this little place be expensive? It was clean, it was charming, but elegant it was not. It was also called Luk Yu Tea House, and in one of my magazines I remember a food critic state that the food was "authentic, unpretentious, generous and inexpensive", and there were spitoons all over (which the old-timers actually used). Was it my hunger-induced state, or were the spitoons hiding from me? Needless to say, I was semi-relieved that I could enjoy my meal sans the spitoons (and the spit).

Ravenous and expectant, I dug into my sticky rice with Chinese sausage and dried shrimps, BBQ pork bun and spare ribs in black bean sauce. Waiting for good reviews? Don't. Hereafter my tale will be spiked with bitterness and disappointment.

I have tasted much better sticky rice from a roadside vendor in Wan Chai. The one before me was a tiny, tasteless portion with a few slices of sausage and a couple of dried shrimps. The ribs, though tender, sadly came from an undernourished hog. More bones than meat. And I had to spoon the remnants of sauce as I searched for the black bean flavor. The bun, oh the poor bun, which is my favorite HK snack, was papery, dry and the filling smelled all herb-y and medicinal. Not very attractive to the taste buds. I finished what I could, bearing in mind the millions suffering from famine, all the while cursing my fate, the food critic, the bubbly, portly waiter, and the poor lonely pork bun that I was forced to take home. My only consolation was the knowledge that the whole ghastly meal would probably cost only HKD 80. I was willing to lose 80. Imagine my horror when the bill arrived, and to my utter chagrin saw that my breakfast of three minute portions of inedible mush I would'nt feed my worst enemy, cost a whopping HKD 140!!!!!! I felt cheated, stupid, angry with myself and the world in general. How could my exciting day have ended like this? :(

I hurried home, vowing never to enter that tea house again, never to believe that liar of a food critic, never to have breakfast alone... until I remembered that the tea house the magazine so magnanimously praised was called Lin Heung and located not in Stanley St, but in Wellington St. Ooops, there go my vows, because when little boy goes back to school I will most assuredly have breakfast alone at a small, charming, quaint tea house along the escalator, and I'll enter the right one this time.

Here's to more culinary adventures in the HK underbelly (to paraphrase Anthony Bourdain)!

P.S. I would love some company on these little foodtrips. If any of you are awake by 8:30am, give me a call. We can experience gastronomic highs and lows together.