Ramen from Rai Rai Ken
Nestled on a quiet street in the East Village,  Rai Rai Ken is a little shoe box of a restaurant. There is an L-shaped bar that seats maybe 12 people, and chefs lowers steaming bowls of ramen over the edge of the counter.  Rai Rai Ken serves miso, shoyu, and curry ramen, along with a handful of other seasonal noodle dishes, appetizers, and yakitori.  This place kind of reminds me of the movie Tampopo and the protagonists’ quest for the perfect broth.  Rai Rai Ken’s is rich and multi-layered, and the egg noodles are fresh and wonderfully chewy.

Rai Rai Ken Japanese Restaurant
214 East 10th St, New York, NY 10003
(212) 477-7030

Chocolate Covered Bacon from Roni-Sue’s
Bacon + Chocolate?  How could we go wrong?  My friends and I saw this on Serious Eats and thought we’d make a stop at the Essex Street Market to give it a try. The first bite is all creamy chocolate, but then as you chew, all the salty, porky, bacon-ness starts to come out.  It’s very strange, fatty, and delicious.  Roni-Sue also make some great truffles.  Big ups on the coconut, pineapple, and toffee flavors.

Roni-Sue’s Chocolates
Essex Street Market #24, 20 Essex Street, New York NY 10002
(212) 260-0421

Korean BBQ at Kum Gang San
My aunt’s friend, a long-time New York resident, gave me two recommendations for Korean food–Kum Gang San and Hanbat.  They are only a few blocks from each other, so I let my friends make the final selection.  They chose based on which restaurant had the dirtier sounding name.  We feasted on grilled galbi, bulgogi, shrimp, vegetables, seafood pajun, and sake, all while being serenaded by a piano/cello duo that performed in this strange rock wall outcropping.  Their kimchi is especially good–so good in fact, that the placemats extol the its health benefits (children love New York kimchi, for it has no offensive smell!). Service was harried, and the restaurant was packed on a Saturday night. Ultimately, you can get Korean BBQ that is just as good, if not better, in the NoVa suburbs for cheaper.  However, it’s a fun place to eat with a group, and it fit perfectly with post-dinner karaoke plans.

Kum Gang San
49 West 32nd Street, New York, NY 10001
(212) 967-0909

Interlude: The Return of KTV
If you’ve ever spent some time in Asia, you’ve hopefully had the pleasure of experiencing KTV.  In Asia, they love karaoke and have these bars where you rent out a private room with your own tv, microphones, and drink service. The whole thing was freakishly reminiscent of the bars I went to in Hong Kong–unmarked building, nondescript elevator that opens up to a metallic, overly air-conditioned maze of rooms, all blasting pop music. I don’t know the name of the bar we went to and I’m not entirely sure I could find it again, but I suspect that 32nd Street between Broadway and Madison is filled with these places.

Uncle Ming’s
This was bar #3 of our Saturday night jaunt, so forgive me if my memory is fuzzy.  (The other bar was really small, crowded, and I can’t remember it’s name.)  Uncle Ming’s is this unmarked second floor bar somewhere in Alphabet City.  The space is dark and a sort of like cavern meets sexy French lounge decor. People make out on these couches by the window.  The bathroom door lock is broken.  The bouncer didn’t card any of us.  Everything was red.  But it was way less crowded than the last bar.

Uncle Ming’s
225 Avenue B, New York, NY 10009
(212) 979-8506

Free comedy show at Beauty Bar
This was actually my favorite bar of the whole weekend. It is resplendent with 60s kitch decor, including old salon chairs, bullet-shaped hair dryers, glitter, and beehives. We saw a free comedy show, which started out as truly abysmal and ended up pretty decently, with the last 3 or 4 comics actually being quite funny. The DJ also played some great music (sounded like the Ramones?) and the drinks were cheap, for NY and DC at least ($5 rail drinks). The only downside was that it quickly grew crowded and too loud to talk.

Beauty Bar
231 E 14th St – New York, NY 10003
212-539-1389

A good weekend all around, even though I didn’t make it out to Flushing to sample some bad ass Chinese food. It’s okay. I’ll be back soon. After all, I’m still hungry.

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Bourdain was in town today to promote his latest book, No Reservations. It’s basically a collection of food porn-y (and sometimes Bourdain porn-y) photographs collected while on the road for his show on the Travel Channel. I didn’t realize this until after I handed the cashier my credit card and suddenly found that I had paid 36 dollars for a coffee table book. Yikes.

However, my 36 dollars also bought me a little slip of paper with a number on it. This number ensured me a place in line to get my overpriced photo album signed by the man himself. This would become important later, when it turned out that it was so crowded in the store that I couldn’t actually see Mr. Bourdain the entire time he was speaking.

Olsson’s is a small, independent chain, and Bourdain’s celebrity was definitely too large for the tiny row of folding chairs the set up for the audience. While I’ve always known the DC professional population to be unnecessarily competitive and aggressive (this is what happens when you build a city entirely of lawyers), the lack of seating made for some especially nasty interactions.

Because there weren’t enough chairs, most people were forced to crowd two to three deep in between the bookshelves of the Mystery and Non-Fiction sections. Some really considerate folks decided that this would be a good time for them to sit down in the middle of the aisle, put their stuff all over the ground, and start partaking in leisurely activities such as eating a sandwich or reading the Post while everyone else tries not to trip over them.

Now, I don’t think the world owes me anything in particular, but as a very short person, I find myself at a special disadvantage in a crowd. I therefore think that I am at least somewhat entitled to cut to the front of the group, since nearly everyone can see over my head anyway. Unfortunately, the rabid Washington, D.C. Anthony Bourdain fans thought differently.

While trying to walk to the front of the aisle and not step on this giant box of takeout that someone decided to place in the middle of the floor, I bumped my foot into this woman’s knee. I did not hit it very hard, but it was pretty much impossible not to bump someone given the circumstances. Most people probably wouldn’t say anything, but this chick says in a very loud voice, “OUCH!” and gives me the uber-bitchface.

I start apologizing all over the place, but then Bitchface sets in on my co-worker, who’s standing in front of me. My co-worker tries to sit down on the floor in front of Bitchface, but BF informs her that she can’t sit there because Anthony Bourdain needs to walk through. So my co-worker stands up and scoots the side. BF informs her that she can’t see and that her coat is in the way. My co-worker explains that she’s planning to sit down once Mr. Bourdain has walked to the podium. Then Giant Takeout Box Lady (whose takeout caused me to hit BF in the first place) starts screaming at everybody to sit down because she can’t see. A disgruntled bald man grumbles back, “Then why don’t you stand up?!” At this point I back up because there is clearly no reasoning with either Bitchface or Takeout Lady and resign myself to staring at someone’s back during Bourdain’s entire speech and Q&A session.

Anthony Bourdain sounds exactly the same in person as he does on his tv show. This is kind of refreshing, actually. It’s the same dry, cynical, and usually crass voiceover from his “No Reservations” journeys. And while the show’s navel-gazing can occasionally become too overwrought, I find that it usually works because it really is a genuine sentiment. It’s not canned and certainly not sanitized. Bourdain rambles on about filming the show, and as a semi-regular viewer, it’s pretty neat to hear the back story on some of my favorite episodes.

Bourdain then spends the rest of the time taking questions from the audience, about anything from where he ate last night to who is the most/least evil bobble-head chef on the Food Network (most evil: Sandra Lee, least: Mario Batali and Ina Garten, though Bourdain is convinced that something creepy is going on at her Hamptons estate). I walk away from this discussion liking Bourdain and disliking Washingtonians more than ever before.

Some high points include when someone asked what he thought the best restaurants were and, after listing off the standards and a few personal faves, said that really there is no best. The best food is what you need right now. If you need a bowl of pho on a short stool in Vietnam, then that is the best food. I completely agree and tend to think that questions like that are missing the point.

Someone else asked about whether travel had changed his views on vegetarianism. I got the sense that from the asker’s tone that we were dealing with a Self-Important Vegetarian who was hoping Bourdain might say something about how India made him see the light in a plate of palak paneer. Bourdain said he completely understood being a vegetarian for religious reasons or socioeconomic reasons. However, for any comfortable person with access to all sorts of foods (i.e. Americans), that it was just plain rude and stupid to go to another country and insist that they bow to the demands of your elected diet. First of all, don’t short change yourself–most foreign countries have cuisine that predates ours by hundreds of years. Clearly they know how to make food and you should try it. Secondly, in many places meat is a luxury which they are going to offer a guest out of respect. It would be rude and hurtful to them to refuse to eat it.

Some low points of the Q & A session were, well, the audience. For some reason, perhaps due to Type A Personality run amok, several members of the audience felt it necessary to affirm their wannabe-foodie status by peppering Bourdain’s speech with self-congratulatory verbal outbursts. For instance, someone asked where Bourdain ate dinner last night. Bourdain couldn’t remember the name of the restaurant, but remembered the chef (Eric Ripert) and location (Ritz Carlton). Before he could finish his sentence, a woman starts screaming, “Westend Bistro! WESTEND BISTRO!!!” Okay. Seriously, lady. Calm down. This isn’t class, and no one is getting graded on participation points.

Still, others decided that they were being graded on food snob points. While answering the question about best restaurants, a multitude of people felt the need to yell out things like, “Yes!”, “Niiice!”, or “I’ve eaten there!” while Bourdain listed off some of the top restaurants in the world. The most irritating thing about this was that he wasn’t saying anything revolutionary. Only after he listed off some big names (The French Laundry, El Bulli) did he then turn to some of his personal favorites (like this random fish shack in Singapore). It is not especially exciting that both you and Anthony Bourdain love The French Laundry. EVERYBODY loves The French Laundry. Get over yourself already. I can tell you, this would have never happened in the Midwest. People are actually polite and do not feel the need to overcompensate for any insecurities they might have about not being the Biggest Food Snob on the Planet.

But, a few sour moments aside, Bourdain’s book talk reaffirmed what I’ve always liked about his show. His travel experiences, while different from mine, still really seem to capture some universal truths, especially when traveling to less-developed nations. For instance: The absurd usually has a way of finding you, especially if you’re adventurous (and/or in a Communist or post-Communist country). Great food and great dining experiences can happen anywhere. Not just in fancy restaurants with genius chefs, but in some bustling street market or in a dingy outdoor restaurant. And, finally, don’t be afraid–the more you try, the richer your experience.

Most food and travel tv shows on cable are vapid, stage-y, and ultimately unrealistic in their unwillingness to show both the pleasant and unseemly. Good food and good travel should challenge you, even if that means making you uncomfortable at times. That’s really the best part about it. How can we understand our world without contrast? You can’t have pleasure without pain, joy without melancholy, delicious without disgusting.

But enough of this nonsense. I need to go read my autographed Anthony Bourdain picture book.

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Mostly, it’s not for me. I knew that, but this trip definitely confirmed it. Lee and I booked a cheap flight to LAX, rented a car, and headed across massive highways to Fullerton to attend Inspiration Weekend (not related to Jesus in any way). Downtown Fullerton is pretty cute, but it’s surrounded by industrial office parks, strip malls, and miles of asphalt parking lots. As we rode along in our rented PT Cruiser, belting out what few lyrics we know of “The OC” theme song (“Californnniiiiyaaa, here we caaaaaa-uhhhmme!”), it seemed eerily quiet. No one was out on the street. They were all in their cars.

There are subcultures in America and there are regional cultures. I am fully aware of how stereotypical it all sounds, but I walked away with a strange sensation of being surrounded by a lot of flash, but little actual substance.

But, enough of the creepy surface details. The only real saving grace about the OC (for me, anyway), was the food.

Lee and I had some fabulous pho and tried the famous In N Out Burger, as well as Carl’s Jr. We also ran across a 24-hour drive-through donut shop with awesome apple fritters the size of my face, and a family-owned chain of taquerias.

Pho 88
1121 S Lemon St, Fullerton, CA
(714) 773-4022

I think this was some of the best pho I’ve had. Granted, I have not eaten enough good pho in my short life, so take that for what it’s worth. However, it certainly trumps anything I’ve eaten in Minneapolis or at Nam Viet in Cleaveland Park. Lee had the traditional beef broth and I had a combo with mock duck, beef, and cured pork. In both cases, the broth was phenomenal–you could really taste the star anise, cilantro, meat, and vegetable flavors. We finished it off with Thai iced tea and Vietnamese iced coffee. (Thai iced tea is this bright orange, sweet, soy milk-y concoction, while Vietnamese coffee is an ultra dark, cold-pressed brew served with sweetened condensed milk.) Perfect for a hot summer day, and the whole thing was under $30.

B & B Donuts
925 S Harbor Blvd, Fullerton, CA
(714) 879-9670

Personally, there is nothing like eating something greasy and terrible for you after a hard night of dancing. I mean, why not replenish all the calories you burned (x3)? Anyway, late night dining options in Fullerton are pretty bleak. It’s donuts or fast food, and the donuts are way, waay better. While the chocolate glazed was decent — quite light, with a little crunch, the apple fritter was momentous. It was like eating a giant baseball mitt of fried apple and dough. The fritter was fried to a deep brown. Crisp outside, chewy inside, with a nice coating of glaze, cinnamon, and big chunks of apple. I would <em>almost</em> go back to Fullerton just for this donut. Except, I have no reason to go back to Fullerton.

Taqueria De Anda
Multiple locations, CA
http://taqueriadeanda.com/

It only seemed right to seek out authentic Mexican tacos while in Southern California. DC apparently has a dire shortage of authentic Mexican food, so I think I will be savoring the taste of Taqueria de Anda’s tacos for some time to come. It went something like this: Alicia and Lee drive around OC aimlessly, trying to find a taqueria. Alicia and Lee can’t find the first taqueria listed on GoogleMaps. Luckily, we find Taqueria de Andra across the street. The inside of this place is pretty bare bones and maybe not that clean. We immediately take this as a sign that the food will be delicious.  And it is. We order 4 tacos, ravenously inhale them, then order 4 more tacos which are snarfed down with just as much gusto. Standouts include the carne asada, al pastor, and cabeza (aka steamed beef head–a little chewy, but served with a refreshing green salsa).

In N Out Burger vs. Carl’s Jr.

I guess In N Out is just one of these cultural food institutions that’s become such a, well, institution, that no one stops to notice that it actually isn’t that good. Lee didn’t believe me when I told him that you were supposed to order it “animal-style” (with pickles, extra spread, grilled onions, and mustard fried onto each patty). Perhaps if we had been aware of all the special “secret menu” options, the burger would have been more impressive. The fries were also pretty weak–the color was weirdly anemic, not very crispy, or flavorful.

Carl’s Jr., on the other hand, totally surprised me. The Six Dollar Burger was amazing. Firstly, it was huge. Secondly, the flavor was a cut above other fast food burgers. Rather that a limp, gray, flavorless patty, the meat was thick, juicy, and tasty. The other toppings (lettuce, tomato, onions, cheese) were very fresh and colorful. (As you may have noticed, fast food vegetables seem to be consistently pallid and flavorless.) Sorry folks, but I’ll take Carl’s Jr. over In N Out any day.

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This was also my first Thanksgiving travel experience, and, I have to say, what really makes traveling insufferable (aside from my proclivity to motion sickness) are other travelers. People who pack three suitcases for a weekend trip. People who stare in confused horror at the self check-in kiosk, even though the touch screen could not get any more basic. And now, the people who hold up the entire security line because they packed 18 different liquids in their carry on and then realize they were supposed to put them in a plastic bag. There are signs all over the airport and TSA people passing out baggies at every entrance, yet the woman in front of me stops the entire line because she has to dismantle her suitcase (on top of the stack of metal detector trays no less) and then can’t figure out if her lipgloss is a liquid or gel. I know where I wanted to put her lipgloss, and it wasn’t in a plastic bag.

While I’m being peevish, there is one more thing that always perplexes and upsets me about Thanksgiving:

In my world, sauce is not shaped like a cylinder, and it is definately not sliceable. Cranberry sauce is actually made of cranberries, not high fructose corn syrup, gelatin, and red #5. Frankly, there is no excuse for fake (and that’s what this is, fake) cranberry sauce. While I cannot account for anyone who actually prefers this bland, Jello-like substance to the real thing, if you are going to go to the effort of roasting a turkey and making at least 12 side dishes involving squash, marshmallows, and those crunchy onions in a can, you can most certainly make homemade cranberry sauce.

Cranberry sauce was one of the first things I ever learned how to cook–you put cranberries into a pot, add enough water to cover the berries, and simmer the berries have popped and become mushy. Add sugar, and, if you’re feeling fancy, some orange zest and you’re done. Of course there are endless variations on this; cranberry sauce is really a very versatile thing (as evidenced in Iron Chef America Flay/DeLaurentiis vs. Batali/Ray Cranberry Battle). Try it–really. Because I just can’t stand this tyranny of jellied cranberry tubes. The sauce keeps forever in the fridge and goes great with all sorts of foods, not just turkey. And, when traveling this holiday season, remember: Real cranberry sauce is definately a liquid or gel, so be sure to put it in a ziploc baggy. (I’m pretty sure that other stuff is actually a solid. And that’s just not okay.)

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I returned to Beijing for my final week and spent most of it buying a new wardrobe for myself, swing dancing multiple nights a week, and eating all my favorite foods for one last time (sizzling eggplant with lots of garlic and minced pork, crispy Japanese tofu in sweet and sour sauce, Korean bbq, bottled green tea, and “plain” yogurt that tastes just like a sweet Indian lassi).

I spent my last 4 days in Hong Kong, with a day trip to Macau, which has some fascinating history and a whole lot of casinos. In Hong Kong I ate Indian food twice–at the Delhi Club in Chungking Mansions and at Branto (all veg) on Lock St in Tsim Sha Tsui. I cannot get over how much they’ve cleaned up Chungking Mansions (this slummy block of old apartments and the only place to find “cheap” hostels, mostly inhabitated by East Indian and African folk). It’s better lit; the floor isn’t sticky; there’s much less hawking; and there are security guards that help you navigate the weird maze of buildings, shops, and elevators that only go to odd or even floors. I suppose it’s for the best, but part of the charm was the weird, sketchiness of the place. It’s worth a visit in any case, though I really liked the food at Branto, and the atmosphere was nicer. They had delicious fresh mango lassis.

I also had my fill of dim sum and ate 3 servings of mango pudding in 3 days. Hong Kong is definately not designed to be eye-level; all these great restaurants are tucked away on the 2nd floor of rather run-down buildings. Half the time I walk past the signs because I forget to look up.

One thing I love are all the fruit juice stands on the street. For 5 or 6 HKD you can get freshly squeezed juice, smoothies, and tapioca drinks. There are also all sorts of little dessert shops (in TST and also dotted around Mongkok) that specialize in various fruit and geletin concoctions. They’re delicious on a hot, sticky day (which is most days in Hong Kong).

But, the bottom line is, it’s all over now.  I’m back home and recovering from my jetlag. I think my life might suddenly become a lot less interesting. We’ll see.

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 This last weekend has been fabulous.  We traveled to Shanghai for the weekend, most of which I spent tromping up and down Nanjing Lu, the Bund, and French Concession, not to mention burning a giant hole in my wallet at the Yu Gardens bazaar (touristy stuff and some sweet clothes) and Xiang Yang market (a treasure trove of knock off handbags, jackets, and shoes).  I also soaked in a little culture at the Shanghai Art Museum, which is currently featuring a selection of works by modern Latin American painters.  

We also hit up some of my favorite spots from my last trip, including Simply Thai in Xin Tian Di, and Number Five bar on the Bund.  We also listened to the jazz band at the Peace Hotel, which is composed of adorable geriatric Chinese musicians.  The playing wasn’t the great, but I felt like I’d just stepped back in time (aided by the purchase of a retro-style dress earlier that day).   The jazz at Number Five was much better and featured a very nice vocalist, though the chill atmosphere almost had me passed out in my oversized leather chair.

However, the greatest amount of my time was definately spend stumbling around the JC Mandarin Hotel buffet, wide-eyed and drooling.  I don’t even like buffets.  I have eaten at an awful lot of buffets on this trip, and it’s safe to say that it was probably the best I’ve had thus far.  The food was actually so delicious that I became paranoid about supply shortages and began hoarding plates of pizza, cheese, and museli.  (Hey, everybody else was doing it too.)  The JC Mandarin was also the first hotel I stayed in that actually had a bathroom scale, allowing me to monitor the progress of my rapidly expanding waistline. 

Sadly, we left Shanghai on Monday, a little bit poorer and a little bit fatter.  I’ll miss the fabulous restaurants, trendy bars, shopping, glitz, glamour, European architecture, beautiful subway system, and cab drivers that wear uniforms and white gloves. 

I already miss the buffet.

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I arrived in Dalian this morning, after having my intinerary reversed by the tour company.  Dalian is very modern, clean, and actually has trees.  A very nice Chinese coastal city.  We did some sight seeing things… then we drove out of the city… then into the new Dalian Development Zone… then out of the development zone… to nowhere, to these little cabin things… and this is where we are staying, an hour outside of the city (in clear traffic). 

There are no cars on the street here.  I am in this internet cafe that I had to walk like 20 minutes to find because we are literally staying in THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE by a beach.  Except we can’t even find the beach.  And it is not well lit here.

Most of our tour group is Korean.  I think most of the students on our tour are afraid to talk to us, except for these two clearly Asian people who are from France.  At least they blend in physically–they look Vietnamese or otherwise South East Asian.

I feel white.

Tomorrow night I leave for Qingdao via boat.  I hope I’m not staying 25 miles out of the city again.  Things are getting very Chinese, very fast.  This is definately ridiculous.

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Tomorrow is the official start of China’s week-long labor day holiday, where apparently the entire country (or close to it, since there are hardly any train tickets to be had) picks itself up and goes on vacation.  Well, of course it’s not everybody, but since there are 1.3 billion people, it’s still going to be a lot of Chinese vacationers out and about this week.  Unable to make train arrangements and unwilling to spend hundreds of (US) dollars on a plane ticket, Michael and I are heading into the thick of it on a Chinese tour. 

A Chinese tour.  I don’t quite know what we’ve gotten ourselves into; the guides will most likely not speak any English, my translation skills are rather subpar, and the tour brochure has such broken English that I’m not even entirely sure what sights we are supposed to be seeing.  In any event, somehow we will board a train to Qingdao tomorrow night, “live active freely by the sea”, take bus to Yantai, boat to Dalian, “live active freely in the People’s Square” and do some other stuff, like visiting “Tai qing pour”, “Eight Strategic Borders”, and a military port/base which foreigners are not allowed into. 

I looked up the word for “arrested” in the dictionary today. I’m going to start working on that self criticism.  Wo wanquan bu zhi dao waiguoren bu keyi jin qu.  Zhen de.   Wish me luck.

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Thank GOD.  I have never been so thankful to return to a place in my life. 

Words cannot really describe the last week spent in Shanxi Province.  Most of it ranged from polluted to uncomfortable to utterly absurd.  Things like… scratching the top of my head and having my fingernails turn black from the coal dust…  Or drinking fen jiu (the local liquor that smells and probably tastes an awful lot like rubbing alcohol) with Communist party officials… being mobbed by small schoolchildren asking for autographs… eating three Chinese banquets in four days… or having a random man off the street walk uninvited into my hotel room because he wanted to see some foreigners.  I felt like an alien/celebrity, and not in a good way.

Walking around Beijing today, Gobi desert grit has never tasted so good between my teeth. 

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Second off, I ate some absolutely delicious German food here last night, at this place that translates to Schindler Fillingstation, a few blocks from the Xi Shui silk market.  The potato salad was out of this world: tangy, vingary, sweet, bacon-y.  I had pork filet with mushrooms over spatzle with cheese.  It was salty, creamy, and delicious.  We also had some wonderful German beer (Erdinger) and great Riesling as well–lots of flavor!  I’m not a dark beer fan, but the Erdinger wasn’t bitter at all.  As much as I love Chinese food, this has probably been my best meal here so far.  I think we’ll definately be eating there again.

In other news, tonight I am Shanxi bound, slated for one of the most ridiculous schedules I have ever seen (sightseeing from 6 am to 8 pm?!).  Who knows if I’ll have time to write, let alone sleep.  In any event, I’m sure the forthcoming stories will be interesting.

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