[January 14, 2011]
Dear softrice fan:
After a frustrating and disappointing day at work, I leave to pick Honey up at Barclays Capital. We walk to the Apple Store at Columbus Circle. Honey inspects the iPad, wondering if she should get one. Then her attention switches to the iPhone. Honey will upgrade to it once Verizon releases their new one in the summer. I should do the same, to get Gmail and Facebook at work. However, these purchases directly conflict against our master plans to save, especially since Honey just spent over a thousand dollars to buy a Sony HDTV. I am already at a negative net worth due to my business school loans, and I will have to buy a home (with it comes maintenance, insurance, taxes, and miscellaneous costs), save for a marriage, honeymoon, and raise children, and finance my dinners and travels. None of which comes cheap. Lover will have it worst too. I need a more innovative and effective means of money management. To combat my issues, which are social issues, Honey and I discuss our shared dilemma over dinner, while throwing out ideas for vacation.
Whilst debating our restaurant candidates for tonight, Honey expressed curiosity as to whether I would crack open a giant crab to eat it. Since there was a story point of interest for this, our final selection landed on Fatty Crab, an upscale Malaysian restaurant. They may have started in the Meatpacking District, but Honey and I decided for their more spacious outpost in the Upper East Side. Fatty Crab has a wooden backbone in its decor, which pushes the brighter logo of a yellow fatty crab and red background to the forefront. I like their simple, yet representative, logo design, along with their creative name, in both English and Chinese. Their motto, written in traditional Chinese characters, roughly says, “Improve your chi. Eat at Fatty Crab.”
Fatty Crab
2179 Broadway
New York, NY 10024
212.496.2722
www.fattycrab.com
I announce our arrival and the hostess escorts us to an intimate table for two in their secondary row of dining space. Fatty Crab packs their tables so tight that our hostess has to pull out the entire table, before Honey could squeeze in with her slim figure. I comment that this is the perfect breakup restaurant, because such a layout traps the girl in and disallows her from escaping. Behind me is a brick wall, which separates us from their main dining room and bar area. I would knock it over and unite the two dining areas into one big room. However, Honey questions if the structure could remain stable without such a wall. It is a valid point, but I believe it is still doable and a sensible pursuit. The hostess attempts to sit another pair next to us. She fails when the woman requests for a more private table, because they have some big gossip. I feel a sense of loss, to their possibly interesting conversations, as they walk away. Honey and I heard enough to share a quick laugh regardless.
Honey never had Malaysian chicken wings before, so we order the Jalan Alor Chicken Wings as our appetizer. Both of us thought they are fried chicken wings, but they are stir-fried, tasting similar to soy sauce chicken wings. Honey wonders why we do not get fork and knives, while I simply dig in with my hands. Lover has a trick where she can eat the meat and spit out the bones. I am less talented.
Since I cannot take pictures of the new food with my greasy hands, I decide to go to the bathroom before our other dishes arrive. I walk pass a hallway with children’s coloring pages of a fatty crab to find a unisex bathroom. Upon entering, I wonder if I accidentally stepped into a red light district. The bathroom is enormous for one. Lighting for the room comes from a singular source, a red light bulb. Erotic posters of nude and semi-nude Asian men and women cover the room as wallpapers, including the ceiling. I debate whether I should feel insulted, with no conclusion. The bathroom feels very homosexual, until I find the Miss Hong Kong contestants in bikinis. The most recognizable face is Koni Lui, nicknamed “Long-Legged Crab”, for her 44 inches long legs. I suppose in her case, it fits in with the restaurant name, although I doubt she or TVB would support such usage. The weirdest thing is the background music of a woman groaning. It is the same groan, with silent breaks in between. At first, I wondered if there were hidden doors to a couple in the middle of their happy ending, but then I realized this is just a weird and inappropriate bathroom.
I rush back to my table and excitedly tell Honey of my discovery. She will have to experience the erotic bathroom herself later. In the meanwhile, we have a new plate of food on our table. It is the Fazio Farms Fatty Duck, topped with mustard greens, and sauced with chili and gula jawa. Honey and I do not know what the gula jawa is, but I suspect it is the distinctive spiciness. The fatty duck is four chopped pieces of duck. The skin is a fragrant layer of crispiness, protecting a thin sheet of meat, and mouthfuls of duck fat. The downside is that the duck is not deboned, and the lighting is too dim to see where the meat and fat stops and where the bones start. I feel it out with my mouth, but still end up scraping myself due to the dangerous angles of split bones. This is Darkwing Duck coming at you with a knife!
Honey asked me if I tasted saltiness from the fatty duck. I only taste its fiery kick of spiciness. After a few more bites into her duck, Honey learns what I am talking of. Both of our mouths go numb. It is as if they went bathing in a pool of liquid red-hot chili peppers. I blame the mysterious gula jawa.
To counter the hotness of the fatty duck, Honey orders us a bowl of Coconut Rice, which actually does go well with the sauce. The coconut rice is extremely fragrant. I can smell the coconut in the rice from afar. Crunchy coconut flakes top the overflowing bowl of rice. This is a healthy sidekick to the artery-clogging duck. The first bite Honey took of the fatty duck was duck meat. The rest were pure fat into her digestive system. She will thank me for the next three months of exercise to work this off.
The star of the night is their signature Chili Crab, a Dungeness crab cooked in chili sauce, and served with three thick triangular pieces of white toast. This is the first time that either of us is eating a Dungeness crab outside at a restaurant. After such a messy meal, we decide it is also our last time doing so! Honey tutors me in the gentle art of cracking open crab shells, but apparently, I am better for my raging strength. I over apply myself and crack the shell into tiny shards. At least when there are flying pieces of crab shell, they know to fly towards Honey, rather than to our neighboring tables, to save me from awkward apologies to strangers. I am as dangerous an eater as I am a personable god. This is too much trouble for too little crab. The crabmeat does not taste that good either, in general, to no discredit of Fatty Crab. Our waiter likes to describe this messy process as fun, but I maintain a different perspective. I much prefer dipping the white toasts into the underlying orange chili sauce. Honey jokes that Fatty Crab is not only the perfect restaurant for staging breakups, but also the reason why you have to break up (for sloppy table manners that ruin all romantic fantasies).
Food: D+
Drinks: N/A
Dessert: N/A
Ambiance: C-
Final: D+
The heterosexual couple to my left was touching hands. The man had a wedding ring on. The problem is that the woman is not his wife. They were having a strange conversation, where the man was telling the woman about his children. The woman does not seem to know them. Honey and I quietly wonder about their relationship, but ultimately, keep out of their business.
I return to the bathroom to take pictures. The interior design of this lavatory is more interesting of a story point to share with lover than the restaurant decor. (The woman with her index finger to her lips reminds me of lover.) In the middle of my photography session, Murat, my Turkish contact, calls me. He has some secret information to report to me. Conscious of the groaning woman as my background noise, I quickly confirm with Murat that I am currently busy and I will call him back later (in a few days).
In turn, Honey visits the bathroom. She says the red light scares her, and the moving toilet seat is a freakier experience. Such a design is conclusively a mismatch for Fatty Crab. I do not see a point for it, unless it is encouraging dining patrons to go in there and have sex. It is a reasonably clean and odorless environment, more than spacious for movements too.
Honey and I leave Fatty Crab and make our way to a dessert bar in the East Village. On the train ride, I help Honey read a saved Chinese text message on her cell phone. (Honey cannot read Chinese.) I thought I was in for some juicy voyaging, but it is only some jibber jabber on forthcoming vacation days. Thoroughly disappointed, I switch our conversation back to vacationing.
Coincidentally, we walk pass Tsampa, a Tibetan restaurant. Honey wants to visit a somewhat undiscovered tourist location, so she is pushing those popular international cities such as Rome and aside. The ever-adaptable softrice recommended Lhasa. It is as top of the world as you can go, and all the better to do so when we are still young. Honey likes my idea, but remains uncertain about their food. She will not go to a place if she does not like their food. Hence, Tsampa just climbed to the top of our future restaurants to conquer.
Honey really wants to go to Chile. Yet she fails to excite me as to what possible sites we would see there. No fantastic images come to mind when I think of Chile. Their government tourism marketing must suck. I offer the idea of Istanbul, which Honey likes, but only because she knows that she likes Turkish food (or kebabs). Of our social circles, Jade has already discovered Turkey, so it remains less traveled, but traveled nonetheless. Another location that is in the same category, yet at the top of my list of desired travel locations, is Zhangjiajie (Zhang family homeland), discovered by Julie. It was the first national forest in China, and its scenery inspired the floating mountains in the movie, Avatar. Zhang is also the surname of lover, spelled differently. My only dream vacation (and home) is her heart.
We arrive at ChikaLicious, the famed dessert bar in Manhattan. Honey and I hoped that the cold weather would discourage people from waiting on a long line at this sweets shop, but still, we saw a couple stationed outside. Behind a line of two is better than their usual snaking long waits. An African-American gentleman comes out to ask for the next group. Surprisingly, the two in front of us said they were a party of three. Since only two seats at the bar were available, the opportunist softrice quickly volunteers that he is a party of two, so Honey and I grabbed the seats and did not wait for long. Larger parties soon gathered behind the waiting line.
ChikaLicious
203 East 10th Street
New York, NY 10003
212.995.9511
www.chikalicious.com
The dessert bar is an L-shaped bar, with a few tables behind us. Honey and I sit in stools, while watching the husband and wife duo of dessert chefs make their desserts. The prix fixe menu offers a limited selection of desserts, but it changes daily. Each dessert has its own unique plate, so we quickly recognize what desserts the chefs were making for other patrons. It is quite interesting to watch as the two partners each make half of a dessert, and leave the other half for his or her significant other to complete. The act is rather sweet, speaking to their mutual understanding and harmonic teamwork. It is only a little unsettling to see them use their hands in the making of the desserts.
While we wait for the chef to take our orders and make the desserts, Honey finds a second Chinese text message on her phone for me to read. This new nonsense is about the layoff of a man, over 60 springs of age, and that his work was his life. He probably will have a hard time finding a new job, if he is not ready for retirement yet. Even fresh college graduates encounter many obstacles in finding employment. (Otherwise, I would have my Prima back in New York sooner!) I do not know why Honey receives and retains such boring messages, but I am patiently waiting for the moment when my smartness in being able to read Chinese will make lover gushingly proud.
Our dessert meal starts with a spoon of butternut ice cream atop orange curd. When delivering the oval dessert, the chef deliberating fakes giving it to me first, and slides the dessert over to Honey. Then he gives me the second one in his other hand. It is not that funny, but I give a polite chuckle. The ice cream and curd are soft. You can taste the distinctive flavors between the two, but it is nothing powerful. The chefs also switch ice cream flavors as they run out of each. After the butternut ice cream ran out, they opened a new container of homemade sweet potato ice cream. The girl next to Honey, which she finds annoying, screams that she loves sweet potato. I comment that she lost out. I feel the same too.
For the main desserts, Honey chose a White Chocolate Mousse. ChikaLicious serves this dessert on a circular plate. The outer rims have patterns of green leaves and red berries. At its white center, there is a cylinder of frozen kiwi bits. The white chocolate mousse is in between two pieces of pastry, sliced in the middle for the filing, and stuck on the plate with mousse at the bottom. I steal some of her dessert to taste. I like the kiwi bites, but it, along with the white chocolate mousse, do not wow me.
I carefully watched the dessert chefs make each dessert and choose the best looking one to show lover. The winner among the selections tonight is the Lemongrass Panna Cotta, with pineapple sorbet, and coconut cubes. (The second choice was a grapefruit brulee, but it did not look as good.) My dessert arrives in a square dish. This plating looks better because the white dish has a light green floral design running diagonally across it. (I like giving lover flowers that never die.) The pineapple sorbet has a good hint of flavor in it, which is the more interesting aspect of my dessert. The Panna Cotta is soft, but plain. While the coconut cubes taste like Jell-O. I was expecting fireworks from these desserts, but they are only serviceable. Additionally, my wine did not pair well with the dessert. It is a glass of Moscato d’Asti, La Spinetta, 2009. The wine is good, even though it is not as sweet as I would like it. When combined with the Panna Cotta, the flavors of both seem to evaporate rather than elevate. The dessert and the wine are better divorced.
When the chef had a free moment, I asked him why there is a fork and knife available for customers. I have seen all their desserts for the night, and none of which requires such barbaric tools. As an architect personality type, I cannot tolerate inefficiency. I simply think they can do away with the silverware and save on the dishwashing. (I am inconsiderate towards their desserts offered on other nights, which might or might not require a fork and a knife.) The chef humorously answers that some customers might want to use them, but he really prefers to eat with his hands, especially avocadoes. He motions his hands, as if he was holding an avocado, and starts licking the imaginary fruit. Honey closes the joke by rhetorically stating she hopes that he cleaned his hands before making our desserts, and excuses my inappropriate assertion of curiosity. However, if you really think about it, my question is a legitimate potential for improvement and cost savings.
The closing of our three dessert courses is the petits fours, which include duos of marshmallow squares, dark chocolate balls, and circle cookies. These are neither pretty nor tasteful. They are simply free giveaways in exchange for an excuse to add an extra course to the meal, so the cost does not seem as high for the main dessert. As their names describe, the marshmallow is a bite of marshmallow, the dark chocolate ball is a drop of bitterness, to which Honey dislikes, and the cookie is a bite-sized cookie. These plain and boring snacks conclude our lackluster journey tonight, at ChikaLicious now and at Fatty Crab before. The food may be disinteresting, but my company is always good.
Food: N/A
Drinks: B-
Dessert: D
Ambiance: C-
Final: D+
Honey relates ChikaLicious to Totto Ramen, where our bar seats have perfect views of the kitchen making the food. I should be happier here, since they are making sweets, but I am not. I can get better desserts at fancy restaurants, with inspired appearances and extravagant flavors. I am glad I did not take lover here and squander a night out with her. There are greater conquests out there in the dessert mapping of New York (and the world), waiting for us. As for slices of pork belly to accompany ramen, I doubt there is better than Totto Raman has them. I was happier there, watching ramen masters torch those tender slices of deliciousness before my hungry eyes.
Before we make our departure, Honey asks why I merely post our pictures on Facebook, but do not comment on them. The reason is probably that I have no snappy commentary to add, whereas I include informational detail to the food photos. Upon reflection, it does seem I have a systematic approach to what I do, therefore lacking heart in the result. Everyone has a Sina (the Chinese equivalent of Twitter) nowadays, with timely posts and succinct commentary. (I follow those accounts for Linda Chung, Fala Chen, Elanne Kwong, Bonnie Xian, Samantha Ko, and Grace Wong.) I would revolutionize the way I blog and open a Sina too, except it is not user friendly (when you do not use Chinese online terminology on a daily or even regular basis), and it would exclude lover and most of my fans. I am a futurist, so I will have a solution before you know it is a problem. In the meanwhile, please enjoy my timelier updates.
Always in a puff of smoke,
softrice
