Souvenirs from Cape Town

What do you cling to, to hold on to the vacation glow?

Mine was salt and vinegar chips left over from a week staying in Cape Town.

My friends and I had rented an Airbnb just outside of the central business district, and my first order of business upon arrival was sorting the food situation. Luckily, there was a Woolworths Food just down the road from our house, and I ended up visiting the M&S doppelganger three times in our first two days of vacation. (For those unfamiliar with Marks & Spencer, imagine a high-end grocery store, shrunk down to the size of a 7-Eleven, with all the ingredients you would need for cooking at home -- produce, meat, bread, etc. -- supplemented by lots of prepared options if microwaves and ready to eat are more your style).

I had selected the sharing-sized packet of salt and vinegar chips thinking that our merry band of four friends would have ample snacking opportunities during our week in this coastal city. But as it played out, we came to the end of our stay, ready to fly to the eastern part of the country for some safari time, and the bag had remained untouched. I considered leaving the chips for the next Airbnb guests, but an inexplicable fear that we would find ourselves somewhere desperately hankering for some salty-sweet fried potato goodness -- on the airplane, during the drive to the lodge, in the game viewer 4x4 doggedly hunting down an elusive big animal -- pushed me to hastily stuff the chips into my carry-on.

Of course, the game lodge did a superior job of feeding us and hunger became but a distant, abstract notion during our four days of safari. By my count, the lodge offered a meal or snack no less than every two to three hours, from our pre-dawn coffee and muffins to the nightly four-course dinner. And so the salt and vinegar chips got buried deeper and deeper under a mass of khaki and olive green clothing in my luggage.

Neither did my 28+ hour return journey proffer an opportunity to justify my impulsive snacking purchase, so I found myself back in the United States with an errant Woolworths branded packet of salt and vinegar chips amidst sundry other relics of our South African adventures. And it was there, in the jetlagged, disturbed cicadian rhythm haze of my re-entry into the real world, that I finally feasted.

With their origins in Ireland, salt and vinegar chips are hardly the most representative items of Capetonian cuisine. Coincidentally, I had also purchased a packet of peri peri potato chips that, due to their more exotic appeal, got consumed before we even left Cape Town. Yet, over the next few days of returning to work, stressing over how to feed myself absent a full game lodge culinary staff, and waking up at 4 am, each time I turned to that bag of sweet and salty goodness, I felt flushed with a wave of nostalgia for our South African vacation. Others might use postcards or kitschy souvenirs to recall the glory days of a recently completed vacation, but this was no ordinary Lay's packet of chips; these chips traversed hemispheres to accompany me back home.

Bright Lights, Big City

There's something wonderful about looking out at night over a city, all the little lights representing people and lives, whole existences separated from yourself and yet connected to you through this luminescence.

There's something wonderful about looking out over a great city at night and just marveling at what civilization has accomplished. From nothing, to this. Unimaginable toil and suffering and destruction and inequality.

But also, all of this stands witness to lifetimes upon lifetimes upon lifetimes of happiness and joy and revelations and love and peace and appreciation, and whole, whole extremes of the human experience. Cities hold within them magnitudes of life, teeming, over-flowing, rife with the human experience all compacted one on top of each other. So many thoughts, so many feelings, so many experiences... surely the meaning of life hides in there somewhere.

Surely one of those lights represents someone falling in love, appreciating love, savoring life, being raised to new heights, living a happily ever after.

There are undoubtedly people who, like all of us sometimes, are just going through the motions, are just passing time until chance or destiny might smile upon them again. But in cities with 500,000, one million, six million, 10 million people in them... surely one, if not some, if not several people might be experiencing some of those things in life that make us feel ALIVE. And there is an energy that comes out of that, that comes from being close to that, that comes from gazing upon it.

The country is a lovely place to be when you are happy with yourself, when you are happy with your life, when you want to be alone with your thoughts, or alone with the thoughts of a select few. But, for inspiration, for illumination, for the human experience beyond oneself, the city is clearly where it's at.

Best Bites of 2013

I realize that March of 2014 is rather late to be posting a best eats of 2013 list. But so it goes around here, and better late than never!

2Amys (Washington, DC)

Rare, I think, is the restaurant that can be a comforting midweek family treat, and also a destination for celebration that feels special and unique and indulgent – but 2Amys does it with aplomb. Lucky are the tourists who might casually stumble onto the black and white tiled floors after checking out the National Cathedral. For those who prefer not to leave their culinary delights to serendipity, make sure that 2Amys is built in to your DC itinerary (and yes, the cab ride or mile walk uphill from the Cleveland Park Metro station is well worth it). Their pizzas are always delicious (when in doubt, you can’t go wrong with the classic margherita), but their attention to detail and clean flavors in their small plates selection is also phenomenal. Yet this is no hipster hangout, nor is there any white tablecloth pretension; parents and kids can easily enjoy a plate of house-cured salumi or fresh gigante beans with the most amazing olive oil without batting an eye. Admittedly, this place made it on to my list of best bites of 2013 for somewhat sentimental reasons, but I didn't plan months in advance to celebrate my 30th birthday here on a special trip to DC just for sentimentality. 

Burma Superstar (San Francisco, CA)
All the things you’ve heard about Burma Superstar are true, and YES, the wait is worth it. I don’t say that lightly. Though I often recommended the restaurant to others and especially out of towners (seeing as most people visiting San Francisco are hard-pressed to find Burmese food in their own hoods), for a long time I eschewed Burma Superstar personally for its less hyped, less populated Burmese counterparts elsewhere. I mean come on; a tea leaf salad is not that difficult to replicate.

But then out of towners came to visit ME, and when the place that I had hyped to them (Ad Hoc in Yountville) was less than spectacular, I joined them for a final meal at Burma Superstar. With five people arriving at 7:30 pm on a Friday night, it was close to 10 pm before we finally sat down (dear gaggle of twentysomething girls just dishing the dish for a solid 30 minutes after you have paid the bill: yes, those death stares were aimed at you). And I understood again why the wait list begins about 15 minutes after they open at 5 pm and doesn’t abate until late in the evening. If you’re just craving some tea leaf salad or mohinga soup, the 20 or so other Burmese restaurants in the Bay Area will likely suffice. But if you want a tea leaf salad that feels refreshing and not slicked down with oil, or a mohinga soup that finishes clean on the tongue even as its thick warmth satisfies your belly, stop the grumbling and wait for a table here. The menu items are similar to all the other Burmese places, but everything is just done *better* than anywhere else. 

Beast (Portland OR)

Such a delightful surprise of a brunch -- there was something just so lovely about arriving on a crisply sunny Sunday morning to this straightforward, unassuming, simple space. Everything was clean and organized and placed just so, such that I was inspired by the mere simple reptition of multiple place settings on the communal tables. The space is minimalist in the best way: a straightforward dining room of two long tables overlooked by an open kitchen, and just enough pink and chalkboard writing to feel modern and welcoming. When we arrived on the early side for our seating, the chefs (all female by the way) were still preparing dishes: hand-whipping cream, breaking up candied bacon (more on that later), dicing vegetables. Nothing was hurried or frantic; rather, I felt instantly at ease and comforted by the fact that *they* all seemed so at ease and comfortable.

There are just two seatings for brunch, and everyone sits at the same time and eats the same menu. Though my party didn't really interact with those next to us, there was definitely a sense of a shared rather than individual experience. When you're eating a divinely indulgent poached clafoutis with whipped cream and a slice of maple-glazed bacon oh so deliciously thinner and more crackly than you would ever expect, your heart veritably swells with appreciation that all these people around you get to experience the same amazing food.

Benu (San Francisco, CA)
This was a bit of a surprise. I had heard of Corey Lee when he came to speak at a CIA graduation, and had heard great things about Benu, but clearly didn’t have my facts right. For one, I thought that his restaurant was in Oakland. For another, I had no idea when I suggested my friend try this place at the end of the year that the tasting menu would be $200. Many jokes were had about getting our full money’s worth... but once we arrived, I swiftly regretted not having brought the “fancy” camera.

I don’t know if it was fully worth $200 per person, but I’m a cheapskate. That said, it was a very very good meal. Surprises abounded, there was whimsy, but with soul, and I loved the new take on some very familiar Asian flavors and concepts like black beans, XO sauce, xiao long bao, etc. I actually don’t know if someone not familiar with these the flavors would have had the same experience… perhaps such a person would interpet the dishes as more novel, rather than as innovative re-creations. On the other hand, I often thought to myself that my mom would have dismissed the food as frou-frou versions of Asian cuisine that is readily available for cheaper elsewhere. To some extent I think she would have been right: some dishes were highlights, while others were so-so, like a more modern take on salt and pepper calamari. None were horrible. The final dessert, a light and airy cake flavored by the tempting mystery of white sesame and counterbalanced by an intense sweet-tart plum sauce, was perfection.

Cavalier (San Francisco, CA)


I’ve been intrigued by the bad rap that British food gets all the time, and I have to say, if more places like Cavalier opened up around the world, maybe that rap would go away. There is a kind of practiced, pretentious masculinity in its ambience that verges on obtrusive to me (I always hate when a restaurant makes me feel not cool enough to eat there, before I've even eaten anything), but the menu is like a greatest hits compilation of all the British food Americans didn't realize was delicious. The vibrancy of colors on my plate should surely put to rest the idea that all British food is gray mush, and this sticky toffee pudding in particular made me feel like I had died and gone to heaven. The prices could come down a bit to make it all feel a little bit more accessible... though I suppose if you consider the exchange rate between the British pound and the US dollar right now and standard London prices, the Cavalier might actually seem like a good deal.

Getting my panties in a bunch over media coverage of female chefs

Thank you, New York Times, for succeeding where TIME magazine so clearly, publicly, woefully failed. Not by writing a story about how few women there are in professional kitchens – that story has been written several times over – but by talking about how women *have* penetrated the once male-dominated kitchens, and how their presence and influence is only growing in the world.

The backstory: The internet and culinary worlds were aflutter back in November over TIME Magazine’s publication of a “Gods of Food” feature that neglected to include any female chefs. Taken to task over the lack of female chefs in the list, editor Howard Chua-Eoan dug a deeper hole for himself by explaining in an interview to Eater, that, "We did not want to fill a quota of a woman chef... We wanted to go with reputation and influence."

Cue female indignance, and every savvy internet editor (read: any and every other editor) capitalizing on Chua-Eoan’s fail moment to print their own lists recounting multitudes of female achievement in the kitchen.

But I have to admit something: I get it. When Chua-Eoan says that a Barbara Lynch is not as well-recognized or as well-celebrated as a David Chang, I get it... because aside from Dominique Crenn and Alice Waters, I, perhaps like you, did not immediately recognize many of the names that have emerged in the wake of the article's uproar.

I can name the renowned female chefs that have informed my own culinary sphere of course: Julia Child (I distinctly remember watching her make a hollandaise sauce on VHS over and over again), Cindy Pawlcyn of Mustard's (maker of the best hamburger, per my parents’ world view, which of course became my world view), Judy Rodgers of Zuni Café (favored haunt of my dad from when he used to sup there weekly), Alice Waters of Chez Panisse, Slow Food, the Edible Schoolyard, etc (it’s Alice Waters… there’s really no explanation needed, is there?). I've had the pleasure of meeting and witnessing firsthand the energy and innovative brilliance of Susan Feniger and Elizabeth Falkner, and most recently marveled at the all-female kitchen that served me a delicious brunch at Beast (Executive Chef, Naomi Pomeroy). My Top Chef addiction (and their wise choice in later seasons to seed the competition with many more female chefs from the get-go), has exposed me to more female legends in the culinary world, both longstanding and emerging, like Anita Lo and Stephanie Izard. I'm a slightly more educated than most foodie who now works in the culinary world, and yet I have to admit (though don't tell my boss!) that I struggle to name more female chefs than that. I'm guessing that unless you are a dedicated foodie or professional chef, you might also struggle to do so.

But, is our inability to name "big" female chefs with a widespread reputation similar to David Chang or Rene Redzepi or Thomas Keller due to the "basic reality" that there are fewer of them who have the name recognition? Or is it about *how* one gets their name recognized? That is to say, is David Chang really more of a "God" of food than Barbara Lynch as Chua-Eoan suggests, or is Chang’s PR machine, his drive for public recognition, his ego and machisimo -- in sum, his "manliness" -- more intrusive into the popular culture sphere than a female chef is wont to be? Yes, yes, "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus" has become passe. But men have particular traits, women have particular traits, and the system of public recognition (largely distilled through media coverage, awards, and festivals) tend to reward those who trump up their own accomplishments more, i.e. men. Men who want to establish a broad geographical empire. Men who are concerned with leaving a legacy, and being critically acclaimed, and seeking recognition for their genius.

People say that one’s cooking should speak for itself and that reviews and accolades should not necessarily highlight the sex of the chef. Indeed, some people think that by calling out the sex of a female chef, it's like saying, "This chef is great despite being a female." But, when Anthony Bourdain writes in Kitchen Confidential that the kitchen is no place for a woman, and you have to be a certain kind of woman (to wit: a man-like woman) to survive -- well, it just makes me put an extra pump into my fist when I see a woman being celebrated and lauded and deemed a culinary god (or goddess if one should prefer).

Because to me, the more interesting story is when a woman succeeds not in spite of being a woman, but *because* she is a woman. Because she cares about things like soul, and feeding people, and serving others rather than herself. In sum, those things that people so often decry as the failings of being a female, the reason female “success” lags behind male success. To ignore that one's sex, the way your identity is shaped by socially constructed notions of behavior based on sex, has an influence on how you cook, how you run a business, how you promote yourself, is to be as naive as to think that we live in a race-blind era.

Really, Chua-Eoan and the TIME team could have easily avoided this whole debacle by including some female chefs... yes, even to fill a quota. Up until Chua-Eoan's interview, I thought that TIME, as a leading news publication, would see its role not simply as telling people about the reality that they think they already know, but to push the boundaries and expose them to something that they don't know. Chua-Eoan does a pretty pathetic job of trying to defend the decision not to include any females chefs by saying that he thinks "media covers the industry. I don't think the media has to advocate for anything." On this, he and I profoundly disagree: I absolutely think that the role of media as gatekeepers and influencers themselves, is to push the boundaries and illuminate imbalance or injustice. Several people have commented that the preponderance of male chefs reflects that Chua-Eoan hasn't really been out eating in these restaurants and actually observing who is in the kitchens, relying instead on press releases and other media coverage to assess influence and reputation. Who is better at trumping up one’s own ego and reputation? Who tends to put money and energy and effort into making sure that people know their name and their influence? Let's be honest -- the men.

In the end, I see two failings here: TIME's failure to take a stand and be a voice for what this list should be, and a general failure to acknowledge that sex *does* matter. So thank goodness for the New York Times. For not being afraid to acknowledge that sex has a place in this, and that achievements and acclaim based on one’s sex are nothing to shy away from. For recognizing that the media’s role is to illuminate that which people cannot readily see for themselves, and to advocate for the world that we want to live in. And for the very basic ability to recognize that hey, women *are* doing amazing things in the kitchen... and have been for a while.

Pizza

Update on Conflict Kitchen

Two years ago (wow, really, that was two years ago?!?), I wrote about an intriguing project just getting started in Pittsburgh, called Conflict Kitchen. The premise was to focus on the food of a country with which America is in some kind of conflict, using the food to engage people in learning about these countries. The other day, I came across this Los Angeles Times article profiling the project, and its anticipated expansion from a stand serving street food to go, to a full-service restaurant in downtown Pittsburgh. Since the last time I read about them, they've done Persian, Afghan, and Venezuelan food, are planning for a Cuban iteration soon, and are also exploring a North Korean version. If you're in the Pittsburgh area, check them out!

Cultural Diplomacy and Turkish Coffee

This is what I call closing the last 3 feet of public diplomacy: handing out free Turkish coffee on the streets of DC, and inspiring lots of conversations about Turkey, Turkish culture, Turkish food, and Turkish coffee fortune telling in the process. 

 And I get to be a part of it! I would write more, but I'm headed to New York with the crew tomorrow as they spread the Turkish coffee love around the East Coast. So in the meantime, check out the Turkayfe website for more info on the project, and look out for lots of pictures and videos (courtesy of my newfangled DSLR) to come!

Chipotle's CSR

Since taking on a full-time internship in November that sadly for this blog has little connection to food and travel, my bandwidth for writing about these topics has been constrained. Of course, my appetite, both figurative and literal (get it? Literal? I made a double pun!), has not waned.

Chowing down on a puka dog in Hawaii

My internship deals with sustainability and corporate social responsibility communications, and one of my interview questions was, predictably, "What large company's sustainability efforts do you admire?" I say that the question was (or should have been) predictable, but clearly unemployment had hampered my clairvoyance, and I froze, afraid to mention a brand name that had some horrible environmental or social practice known only by true CSR experts. Or worse yet, that I might incriminate one of their clients as a bad example of CSR. Luckily a week-long temp gig a few weeks earlier got me through: I said something about admiring companies that fully integrate sustainability principles into all aspects of their activities, and cited National Geographic's zero-waste policy in their headquarters as an example of an organization expressing its mission -- conservation of the world -- through every little detail of its work.

It occurred to me recently, however, that if someone were to ask me the same question today, I would say Chipotle.

Chipotle's Asian Concept -- CALLED IT

A long time ago on this blog, back when it was still in its infancy and I was figuring out what shape it might take (I say as if I have since figured out what shape this takes...), I wrote about Chipotle's new "Asian concept" that was reportedly in the works.

Specifically I wrote:

Sidestepping the PC-minefield of conflating the diversity of Asian cuisines into one concept, I can see a Vietnamese "inspired" (for all you purists out there) menu that could easily work within the Chipotle model:

Banh mi sandwiches
Bun (room temp vermicelli salad-type dish)
Spring/summer/garden rolls (I'm thinking of the fresh ones, rather than the deep fried ones)

All of these draw upon easy to source local ingredients, can be adapted to suit a variety of diets and food preferences, and can be quickly assembled to order. Oh yes, and they're delicious.

Well ShopHouse has been open for a few months now, and all I have to say is,

CALLED IT.

The basic components of ShopHouse's menu? "Bowls" of protein, veggies, and sauce over your choice of jasmine or brown rice, or chilled rice noodles, and banh mi sandwiches.

Interestingly, despite being almost a year old, that original post has the most hits of any post here, and people still regularly find my blog from searching for "chipotle asian concept."

Apparently Chipotle is not the only one to draw on the mainstreaming banh mi bandwagon, though, as I discovered when I stumbled upon BONMi, just a 10 minute walk down the street from Shophouse. BONMi's website seems to espouse a lot of the same values as ShopHouse: inspiration in Vietnamese/Southeast Asian cuisine of course, but also "locally sourced environmentally friendly products whenever possible", and even similar tones of orange in their color schemes.

Despite emanating from national companies (Denver-based Chipotle and the New York-based JBH Advisory Group), both ShopHouse and BONMi are currently only located in Washington, DC. In another example of eerie similarities, both proprietors have talked about how DC is actually a great city for trying out new food concepts.

The District is an ideal launching pad for the concept, according to [Lynne] Jacoby [a partner in the JBH Advisory Group that has conceptualized the new 40-seat eatery]. "...D.C. is the best place for restaurants to open, believe it or not," she says. "Unemployment is very low here, it's a very eclectic group of people here, and there's a high concentration of educated people..." (BONMi Opens Today In Downtown D.C.)

"As for why ShopHouse chose to debut in the District of Columbia and not in New York City, [ShopHouse's director of concept development, Tim Wildin] explained that D.C. is a better "proving ground."
"There are just hundreds of restaurants in New York City that aren't great, but last," he said, noting that New York City's high population density might sustain an eatery even when the concept isn't exceptional. On the other hand, Wildin said, a restaurant's performance in D.C., a city with a burgeoning food scene but fewer people, might be a better indication of a concept's potential success elsewhere. (ShopHouse, Chipotle's New Asian Spin-Off, Opens In D.C. )

This is one of the few times that, from a food perspective, I feel lucky to be in Washington, DC.

My Love Affair With Brunch

This is a story that begins with buffet and ends with brunch.

First plate

When I was a kid, I used to say, "I don't know" a lot to people's questions. What did I want for lunch? I don't know. Did I want to sit next to Mom or Dad? I don't know. Do I want milk or juice? I don't know. Buffets, however, were the perfect answer to my indecisiveness. At a buffet, you don't have to decide on just one dish, only to regret your choice later. You can have it all.

Second Plate

I loved buffets. My family used to go to the Sunday brunch buffet at the Hyatt Regency in San Francisco. I don't actually remember much about the food there, except that there was a lot of it, and I could choose anything I wanted. What I remember most are the distinctive concentric circle-patterned floors.

My love of buffets often befuddled my parents. Or maybe just pissed them off, because much as I loved the variety of food available, I could never actually eat enough to get their money's worth. Such are the perils of having a small stomach.

Third Plate

When my family moved to Hong Kong, we started frequenting the Sunday buffet at the Conrad hotel. There are actually two restaurants that jointly occupy the eighth floor of the hotel, Nicholini's and Brasserie on the Eighth. Though they generally function as separate restaurants, with a de-nationalized room mediating between their Italian and French cuisines respectively, on Sundays, the borders dissolve to host a tour de force champagne brunch buffet. Over 20 years of patronage, my family has now come to refer to this experience simply as "Conrad". As in, "Did you confirm the reservation at Conrad?" or, "If I died tomorrow, I would want my last meal to be Conrad."

Or, "Conrad is the birthplace of my love affair with brunch."

The Evolution of a Foodie OR An Ode to My Nephew

Since coming into my life about 7.5 years ago, my nephew has been one of my favorite people in the world (the other favorite being his sister who followed him a year and a half later).

One of the things that makes him especially awesome? The fact that he will pause mid-bite in whatever he is consuming with nary a complaint, just to let me take a picture.

Of course I would love him to bits regardless of his aptitude for being a featured subject in my food photography habit. But seriously, here he is about to chow down on an ice cream mooncake (kind of like an ice cream mochi), and he barely batted an eyelid when asked to delay his gratification so that I could take this picture.

Since I've never lived in the same city as him for more than a couple of months, I don't get to witness the evolution of his food tastes firsthand very often. Of course I know that he loves chocolate cake, and that he will eat almost anything wrapped in a tortilla. I know that when he's about to garnish his pumpkin pie with whipped cream, you'd better make sure he takes his finger off the trigger at some point. But usually these are things that I learn ex post facto, seeing the culmination of several experiences into one preference that I can identify, but don't know the origins of. I'm rarely there at the actual moment of discovery, the moment when he takes a bite of something and realizes that this is not just anything in his mouth, but something that he wants more of, something revelatory and magical that transcends the current meal to become a food memory.

Maybe it's the age he's at or the experience of being in a foreign place, or some combination of the two, but our trip to Hong Kong at the end of July proved an especially ripe occasion for memory-making. Like the night we had three dinners.

The Fanciest Dim Sum I Ever Ate

Part of the fun of returning to Hong Kong is in seeing how food in its "original" context is so much more varied and nuanced than the standardized version that gets exported to the States. To see the myriad interpretations of a dish in its homeland is, I think, one of the strongest arguments against the idea of a single, representative "authenticity" when it comes to food. Dim sum is a perfect example of this.

In the States, dim sum is generally a casual affair. As with most American Chinese cuisine, its hallmarks involve tasty, quick food at a cheap price with minimal attention paid to the quality of service. More often than not, it's raucous, noisy, and crowded, with some jostling for the har gow lady's attention to be expected because no one's about to settle for anything less than the shrimp dumplings that JUST came out of the kitchen. Even the "nicer" dim sum places (some might say the "gwailo" dim sum places) are still more large than intimate, the previous night's Chinese wedding banquet hall transformed into rows of ten-tops crowded with tea-swilling regulars. Only the glittery foamcore cut-out names hanging on the wall mark any change in experience from week to week.

Suffice it to say, then, that dim sum as I grew up with it, is not a "precious" experience. The Chinese are a feisty bunch, and when delicious delicious bbq pork buns are at stake, there's no time to worry about the teapot that invariably leaks on the tablecloth as you refill your neighbor's cup, or whether the eggs in the custard tarts were free-range.

At least, that's what I thought dim sum was about, until I had "all-you-can-eat" dim sum at the W Hotel at Kowloon Station in Hong Kong. I would venture to say that the W brand tends to be too cool for me on any given day, but the disconnect between this mod boutique hotel line and my clearance Old Navy duds and 4 year old Target sandals seemed especially striking early on a Saturday morning (the all-you-can-eat offer is only available from 9:30-11:00 am). As a twenty-something, there's also nothing to up your cool factor like going out with your parents and young niece and nephew. Much as I adore their company, I think they all needed a giving or taking of about 20 years to make our motley crew fit into the target demographic of the W hotel hip yuppie.

As we entered the lobby through stylishly massive doors, vaguely techno music pulsated around us. Appropriately beautiful people stood behind the registration counter, ready to cater to the whims of the slightly more beautiful people who stay in such places.

Then I turned to the right, expecting to see supermodels and TV celebrities waiting for their fancy cars to be brought round. Instead, I was bemused to find a small gaggle of decidedly plebeian families. Parents crowded anxiously around the closed doors of the Sing Yin restaurant, waiting for the magic hour when the dim sum feast would begin. Meanwhile, their assorted kids frolicked amidst a giant iron horse sculpture, and plastic black boxes that were too sleek to be comfortable seating implements. As my niece and nephew experimented with the utility of cushions on a backless sofa, I was grateful that they might be spared the burden of self-consciousness for another few years at least.

As befit its mod surroundings, far and away, dim sum at the W was the fanciest dim sum I've ever had (at HKD$175 per person, or about USD$23, it was probably also the most expensive dim sum I've ever had). Gone were the claustrophobic arrangements of tables designed for 10 but squeezing in 15. Gone was the bright lighting that makes dim sum a curious Sunday rendezvous for hip and hungover twenty-somethings. Gone was the noise, the chaos, the flat-screen TVs showing Chinese dramas or the football game.

Instead, what followed for the next two and a half hours was a decidedly refined and civilized affair. The five of us occupied what amounted to a semi-private room, surrounded by painted glass panels. Our chairs came with armrests and cushions; no fighting for extra chopstick-maneuvering room here. The interior of the restaurant was dark, and the selective lighting both lent a certain atmosphere to my foodie pictures and made me curse my low ISO settings.

It's interesting what happens when you take familiar food out of its usual context. While other Hong Kong restaurants have expanded beyond the usual har gow, siu mai, char siu bao rotation into more innovative and experimental dishes, the W selection deviated little from the expected list of dim sum staples.

Standard fare in above-standard surroundings

And yet, the setting definitely made a difference vis a vis the eating experience. Even the picture a few paragraphs above, simply capturing our table and assorted dishes, evokes sophistication rather than banality. While other travellers might take pictures of their overcrowded tables in a noisy dim sum hall to say, "I am cool because I travel to exotic places to eat exotic food," this picture draws upon a different kind of a cool, a "W" cool, rather than a "Lonely Planet" cool.

Though chrysanthemum and goji berry jelly generally impresses, the dessert appeared particularly rapturous under the dramatic lighting.

Fried spring rolls, neatly lined up on a white platter, seemed to hold a deeper message.

Finishing out Tokyo

Whew, who knew it could take so long for me to blog about 48 hours in Tokyo? But here I am finally finishing out my posts on my August trip. Clearly the two weeks in Hong Kong that preceded Tokyo will see this blog through the end of the year...

Just some bits and pieces that didn't quite fit in anywhere else or didn't seem to merit a full blog post on their own:

In-flight snack on ANA; I'll take this over stale pretzels and coke any day (thanks again for the deluxe air tickets Mom!)

A big part of the reason I was intimidated about navigating Tokyo on my own.

A manmade stream-like feature running through a park in Ropponggi where people can "rent" a seat:

Further along in the park, a tranquil scene at dusk:

A fairly delicious avocado and "Italian frozen yogurt" shake from the food basement of Mitsukoshi in Ginza. What made it "Italian", I don't know, but the attention to detail with the petite mint leaf tickled my fancy:

Lunch at a delicious Kyoto-style small plates place in the Nakameguro neighborhood. This place was tucked away from the street down a narrow little path with nary a sign (as far as I could tell) to indicate that it was even there. Definitely would never have found it on my own. Thanks for lunch Taro and Christine!

Cold udon was perfect for the 30+ degree Celsius weather

The history of Sensoji temple juxtaposed against the hypermodern Sky Tree broadcasting tower in the background

Cheerful mini-temple

Something about the way this bike was parked outside the restaurant and the black and white photo in the window made me think of an old Japanese film. Maybe channeling the quiet simplicity of an Ozu film?

All the guidebooks talked about the "salarymen" aka government workers who throng Tokyo's izakayas and bars after work. I have no idea if this crowd worked for the government, but this picture captures the faceless anonymity that that term always conjures in my head:

A big reason I was delighted to be navigating Tokyo on my own -- more tonkatsu for me!

This was at Maisen, a well-known tonkatsu establishment. Their special sauce totally made the meal -- none of that thick gloppy sweet stuff you squeeze out of a bottle.

This stuff was fresh, with I have no idea what inside it, but definitely had hints of fresh ginger and maybe even pineapple? I recommend dousing the tonkatsu with it to get that perfect bite:

All in all, not too shabby for a glorified layover methinks!

Sensoji Temple and Carving Out Your Own Fortune

For some reason, Senso-ji, the major Buddhist temple in Tokyo, was closed when I visited it in early August.

Luckily, my visit to Asakusa, the neighborhood around Senso-ji, was not a complete waste. Not far from the temple is the kitchenwares district, with shops upon shops selling all sorts of food-related implements. Including those awesome plastic food models found outside many a restaurant. I was actually hoping to come away with some kind of plastic food as a souvenir (how cool would it be to have a bowl of udon on my desk, ALWAYS), but the prices seemed exorbitantly high for this unemployed vagabond (USD$20 for a keychain with a plasticized crepe at the end of it at one store!).

There is also a shopping street, the Nakamise, leading up to the temple that was bustling despite the temple’s closure.

In addition to the usual knickknack and souvenir stores selling fans, ninja costumes, and perpetually waving cats, were snack stands selling freshly made rice crackers:

I chose to indulge in a deep fried cake filled with a green tea paste:

Though I didn't get to actually enter the Senso-ji temple, I did participate in one of its popular rituals.

How to get your fortune told at Senso-ji temple:

(My favorite part is the warning at the end against being arrogant or fearful based on your fortune.)

Step 1: Shake the canister (politely!) while thinking of your wish.
[insert picture of tall hexagonal silver canister with a small hole at the top here. I tried to take a picture, but just couldn't get a good photograph out of it.]

Step 2: Note the number on the stick and find the corresponding drawer:

Step 3: Open the drawer to reveal your fortune:

If you get a bad fortune, you might want to do this so as to leave the bad luck behind:

But if you are destined for awesomeness, like me, and draw stick number 78, feel free to carry your fortune with you and go on to rock out in life. Of course, in case you have doubts about your proverb-interpretation skills, you can always consult the handy breakdown of what this all means in layman's terms at the bottom:

No matter what you draw, though, don't forget the final takeaway from those initial instructions: "You can carve out your own fortune."