Flavor Boulevard

There seems to be a new trend in the East Bay restaurant business: it has to be hidden and/or without a sign. First it was embarrassing walking up and down the street to find Commis, and now the same thing happens with Plum. Is this some kind of scavenger hunt joke?

Plum‘s menu is short and sweet like its name. However, the same thing can’t be said about the majority of its dishes, which either tip a bit over to the salty side (pate ciccioli and bacon) or stay way back in plaindom (crispy pig ears and trout). There are bright notes, too. The turnip soup with yuzu kosho, pear and cilantro is a light, heart-warming start. The short ribs with peanuts and sweet potato has a deep Asian flavor. The caramelized brioche with coffee ice cream makes a comforting finish.

Ironically, the yummy dishes didn’t have good pictures. But here’s a small album to get a taste of Plum.

Address: Plum
2214 Broadway
Oakland, California
(510) 444.7586

Every year just after the winter holiday hustle and bustle, Mom and Dad let me choose a restaurant for my early birthday dinner. Last year it was Martin’s Place for barbecue. Dad never tells me no, but let’s just say that Mom didn’t feel too confident of my aesthetics since then. This year she gently insists on French. But I manage to sneak in a twist of Texas. 😉

After all, Chef Philippe Schmit dubbed himself the French Cowboy. His two-story Philippe Restaurant & Lounge opened last February just a mile north of The Galleria. Looking out to the Houston’s limitless horizon, the second-floor dining room is bathed in a warm chocolate hue of the furniture, accented with soft vanilla light and word decorations made of Chef Schmit’s quotes in watermelon red. In contrast, the menu is bold, extensive, spanning from Texas BBQ and cactus to foie gras and fish pâté, from the classic croque monsieur to the carefree duck confit tamales; there’s a little something for everyone.

“The Moroccan”, beef tartare with raisin, almond and the Tunisian hot sauce harrisa served with flat bread, rings amazingly close to Mexican flavors.

The roasted duck magret is drowned in a rich clementine-Cognac sauce and accompanied by one crispy fried duck confit ravioli on a lustrous carrot flan.

The four monkfish medallions topped with sun-dried tomato tapenade are pleasing. Although their texture errs on the dry side, the supple artichoke confit makes a fine complement.

The most pleasant surprise must be the garlic-butter escargots, listed among the “contained decadence”, served in a jar with airy brioche toast on the side. On one hand, my Vietnamese friends have chastised me many times for not having eaten snails ever; on the other hand, Little Mom isn’t a snail advocate. Today, the snails win. In Mom’s words: these snails have the fragrance of the roots of rice plants, the earthy but comforting hint of mud and grass. To me, they’re like chubby shiitake smothered in fennel puree and a “tipsy mushroom” paste. It’s a good first impression.

And finally, the deciding factor in my choice of restaurants: the desserts.

A smooth tonka bean creme brulee. The lime scent in the chantilly is a bit too faint for me, and the liqueur taste in the griottines is a bit too strong that I almost felt drunk (guess I’m not cut out for Western alcohol); besides, I’ve never fancied whipped cream and candied cherries. But Little Mom likes this one. And I like that there are three cherries for our family of three bears. 😀

The second dessert, plated like the setting sun on a mountain range, is much richer than the first, as it’s whimsically named the “Texas Millionaires tart”. Decadent chocolate and lace cookies are tempered by the super sour grapefruit. To top it off, the jasmine ice cream is a sweet lullaby.

As we get to the desserts, the dinner rush starts, the patrons fill the room, but the atmosphere remains easy. A waiter, tall and slouching, whose bushy Abraham Lincoln’s goatee makes him look like a toothbrush, leisurely takes a gander into the bright night cityscape. Through the voluptuous portions and the rich sauces, Philippe the Restaurant embodies Houston: bountiful, down-to-earth, wittily romantic. And above all, it is wholeheartedly welcoming.

Address: Philippe Restaurant and Lounge
1800 Post Oak Blvd, Suite 6110
Houston, TX 77056
(713) 439-1000
www.philippehouston.com

The difference between a bowl of ramyeon at Gomnaru and a six-course dinner at Commis is the ratio of satisfaction to expectation. This is how I rank my foods, which allows me to enjoy a Cheetos just as much as any prime ribs done well, perhaps even more. There are certain extremes, like the cafeteria at Berkeley and LBL, no matter how low I set my bar, they manage to wow me with their ability to ruin everything, including fried rice. Anyhow, I figured that it’s only respectful to the chefs that I go to a well applauded, top ranking restaurant with high expectation. But for Commis, I think my expectation was a bit too high.

The ingredients: fresh, interesting, nothing to complain about. The techniques: nothing I know enough to comment about. The combinations: hmm… An hour after dinner, Rob asked me: “How would you describe your dinner tonight in four sentences?” “Four?” “Three. Ask me again and I’ll say two.” The truth is I would rather sum it up in one: “I don’t remember”.

I can remember vividly the banh mi a vendor sold in front of my high school ten years back, the way its charred meatballs melted in my mouth, its yellow mayonnaise, its crumbs broke free into the motobike-exhaust-filled air. I can remember equally vividly the chicken crepe I bought a rainy night in Seattle four years back, the running warmth of its cheese, its springy softness, my frozen fingers. Just how was the poached egg, or the soup, or the dessert at Commis last Wednesday night? I can’t even remember what’s in the soup.

For every course, like at any fine restaurant, our hostess arrived with a gently toned, slurred-together string of ingredients, of which I could hear the first and the last words and consonants in between. I am not skilled enough to detect a sprinkle of tarragon just by tasting, so I base my judgement on the harmony. Scallop-like monkfish paired with grainy beans was the most discordant in texture, and its accompanying sauce was a bit too fishy and too salty. The opening cookie excited us in its rock-like appearance but hit a dry tune, I suspect a pebble size would be more palatable. The ending nectarine jelly invited little attention and tasted too sweet. Intermittently flared a few high notes, such as the dill weed‘s tanginess in a cauliflower-potato-salad combo, or the pistachio sauce tightened with a radish zest of horsegrass (one of these days I will find it on Google).

The most memorable piece of the night was a cucumber, green apple, and eucalyptus palate-cleanser. It was what it sounds like: a sorbet. The cucumber made a profound impression. I would trade the whole dinner for another shot glass of this. But the sorbet alone does not make the meal worth its hundred dollar value or make it stand out.

It was neither too good nor too bad. It was like a landscape painting with excruciating details and no focus. There could be a better night, but tonight’s impression was not enough to prompt a revisit, so there won’t be a better night. The next time I pass by Commis‘ signless glass door, I’ll just pass by.

… to my skinniness.

If there’s a place I should frequent to quickly improve my willow look and strengthen my Texas tie, it’d be the House of Prime Ribs on Van Ness Avenue. I might have lived in the Bay for too long and hung out with too many vegetarian, environmentally conscious, ethical-eater friends that sometimes the thought crosses my mind; except I always feel extremely hungry on my vegan days so I don’t think I can give up cookies and ice cream. Thankfully, I also have a number of fleischliebend friends who keep me from straying by putting me face to face with a slab of tender, juicy red meat. All ethical thoughts begone, I helplessly grabbed the knife and fork.

I actually got a gasp, a deep sigh and a disapproving look from my company when I asked that my prime rib be medium. The men asked for “as raw as possible” because they wanted to “taste the meat”. Men… I could taste my medium meat just fine.

The second difference between their dinner and mine is the size. There are four sizes (and a kid size with milk and ice cream, which kinda sounds attractive to me :-P); I got the smallest size, of course. They got the second largest and the largest (the King Cut), which qualify for an extra slice of meat if they so desire after finishing the first cut. The King Cut is 27 ounces, with a bone, wider than my spread hand and roughly one inch thick.

The third difference is the condiment. They smothered their rare prime ribs with horseradish cream sauce, making a dreamy cleansing beef sashimi; I eat my meat pure in its own juice.

The last difference is the accompanying drink. They paired their meal with a red Zinfandel, I paired mine with water. (Who can taste the meat now. :-P)

But that’s about it. There is not much room to wiggle in your order. There’s a choice between creamed spinach and creamed corn, which was added when there was the salmonella scare among the spinaches, but everyone recommended the creamed spinach anyway. Then there’s a choice between baked and mashed potato, and as long as one of us got the baked potato, we got to watch the waiter mix and dump a dollop of sour cream onto the potato in just the amount of time that he says “first we fluff, then we stuff”. I like that I don’t have to think much when I come here, simply set the carnivore loose and enjoy.

But in all honesty the meat isn’t the best part of the meal, it’s the salad with the house celery salt dressing and the vegan breadstick that come before the meat. Besides, I was sufficiently full after the salad.

At the end of the King Cut, Mike skipped the bone (which I think is the best part) and gently downed another slice of beef. I admire the American appetite.

We did do dessert, and if you must ask, the strawberry in the strawberry shortcake was better than the shortcake, which, being a few hairs too dense, was one of two slight disappointments for me at the House. The other is the 45 minutes spent at the bar despite having a reservation. Either the House likes efficiency and semi overbooks, or they’re being considerate enough to give us a wait in preparation for the gargantuan meal. In return, I got to watch the barmaid and reassured myself that I can never be one. 🙂

Address: House of Prime Rib (open for dinner only)
1906 Van Ness Ave.
San Francisco, CA
(415) 885-4605

For a foodie, I dare say nothing beats dining with other foodies. Foodies want to try new places but have a fair assessment of the food, regardless of “the trend”. The food can be scraps and you’d still have a good time dissecting how that kind of scraps made its way into a diner. But more importantly, you’re not the only one taking pictures of food, your companions also remember what you got and write about it too. In his calm, knowledgeable, matter-of-fact way, Bob Fukushima beat me to writing about Hawker Fare today, which drives me to push this post ahead of the other thirty backlogged.

First, the credit must go to Robert Bergstrom for recommending this lunch spot in Oakland. He and Bob are barbecue buddies. How I got to know Rob is another post. We sat and chilled over rice bowls, among other things, for more than 2 hours; I could almost feel the sneer from the line of customers waiting to get seated. Hawker Fare opened in late May, why they have such busy lunch time is probably because of their off-the-norm, concise menu and accessible location (the corner of Webster and 23rd, paid parking lot right across the street).

We started off the Asian-street-get-together way: peanuts with beer. No plastic blue stools and middle-aged lady fanning over a coal grill, though. I think I heard they said that the (Singha?) beer Hitachino Red Rice Ale was good, but I haven’t had beer since I was three, so I can’t comment. The Siamese Peanuts, though, is an interesting affair. Covered in a sweet, salty, and sticky mix of semi-spicy shrimp paste and chopped green onion, the nuts kicked in strong and went down dry. A drop of lemon juice gave them a soda feel on the tongue, which faded quickly, leaving you thinking “hmm, that was kinda weird?”.

Bob seemed to enjoy his Beef Short Ribs, marinated in coconut milk, chargrilled, and served with loads of chopped herbs.

Rob was also happy with his Lemongrass Chicken, which was coupled with a strong tangy fish sauce mix. How could I tell? Well, one of the waitresses attempted to take away his unfinished bowl while he was talking, and he held it back. 😀

As for me, I knew what I wanted as soon as Rob suggested this place: the 24hr Pork Belly, “tom khem” style accompanied by pickled baby bokchoy, onion, and daikon. The three thick, mildly flavored chunks, though had a lot of fat, were neither fatty nor chewy. Their soft yet dense texture makes you want more than three. For a deeper taste, there’s the preserved vegetable mustard that looks almost like a normal brown peanut sauce, but I would prefer more sweetness instead. Guess I was expecting it to be similiar to the Vietnamese braised pork belly, and it wasn’t.

To wrap it up, we spooned into an “Affogato”-styled condense milk soft serve with Thai coffee and a salted caramel Sundae with red beans and puffed rice for crunch. If you like the quick melting, relatively warm feel of soft serves, Bob says this is the place to go. I think I like ice cream better.

Similarly, if you have an hour for lunch, you’re in downtown Oakland, and you want a somewhat refreshing touch on Southeast Asian cooking in a clean, decorated, English-speaking, Caucasian environment, this is the place to go. For $9, the rice bowls were a little scarce on the rice but efficient on the meat. They wouldn’t blow your mind, but they would make you satisfied, as long as you don’t expect them to blow your mind. And like Bob said, who you eat the meal with already decides half the success of the meal.

Head to Bob’s Brew and ‘Que for some mouth-watering pork and steaks. This guy freaking makes his own bullets, you bet he’s serious about meats. 🙂

Address: Hawker Fare
2300 Webster Street
Oakland, CA 94612
(510) 832-8896

There is this quote of Anton Ego that I heard again tonight and is still ringing in my head: “In many ways, the word of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer their works and their selves to our judgment.” That is true: the critic (or the self-proclaimed critic, aka the food blogger) goes to a restaurant, eats the food, and writes about the food with respect to his expectation of what it should be. The expectation usually comes from a long list of preset rules that he goes through with check marks and x’s: beef is tender, vegetables are crisp, bread is crusty, truffles are included, lobsters were kicking the tank minutes before they turn red. But every so often, his expectation might come from friends’ recommendations. The judgment then includes not only the subjected restaurant or dish, it also indirectly includes the friend’s credibility. Whatever the (self-proclaimed) critic puts down in writing, be it positive or negative, he risks a part of his friend’s and his own credibility in his friend’s eyes, which is not a “very little” thing.

As such, I feel like tiptoeing with my words tonight. Der Miller has recommended Ruggles since last year and I was looking forward to their coconut crusted shrimps, but they only open for dinner. With 4 hours to go until dinner time, we swung by Ruggle Greens, where der Miller attested to be basically the same as its dinner sister, only more downtown-lunchy. It has take-outs.

The parking lot was packed. If we are to judge a restaurant by its number of patrons, Ruggles Green has no fear. If we are to judge it by price per fillingness, from this Berkeley-trained student’s perspective, Ruggle Greens is quite reasonable. I was full after an appetizer and half a dessert. Der Miller was full after two thirds of an appetizer and half a dessert, which kinda made me question my appetite. 😛

The hempenadas (hemp–empanadas?) ($9) were mealy, as expected of a hemp-and-wheat coat and a crowded filling of hemp seeds, raisins, beef, cheddar, and mozzarella.

The crab cake ($14), as der Miller put, was “bready”, but softened by its accompanying roasted tomato butter sauce. I’ve always liked the mini crab cakes that you can put all at once in your mouth like a sesame ball, break through the rough crunchiness into the sweet shredded meat, and repeat. I missed that with this Ruggles Green’s solo gargantuan version.

The bread pudding ($7), unlike the crab cake, didn’t have much “bread”. Coupled with a melting chocolate lace and vanilla ice cream, it sure was as warm, gooey, and chocolatey as puddings ought to be.

How would I rank Ruggles Green? Der Miller said that I’m a difficult eater, but he is one himself. His eyes showed neither approval nor disapproval of the food that day. For me, it is pleasant to see that the Houstonians are embracing the green fashion of today’s cookery, and that the Houstonian restauranteurs are making it a casual, affordable affair instead of some hippie hipster thing, which it isn’t. Although I don’t remember seeing any bamboo hats, I like that they show you how to stop junk mail. 🙂

Next time, I’ll go to Ruggles.

Address: Ruggles Green in River Oaks
2311 West Alabama, Suite C
Houston, Texas 77098
(713) 533-0777
www.rugglesgreen.com

*Bread pudding pictures credit: Jason Miller

I wish I could be like Hikaru, eating 20 cakes in 3.5 hours. Then I could go to cake shops like Masse, ask for every beauty of the day and not worry about missing out on any flavor. Wouldn’t life be so sweet then?

But maybe I don’t have to be like Hikaru. Minus the pastries and the cookies, Masse has only about 10 cakes on display, most of them are available in small size (because they don’t sell by the slices like Crixa Cakes); if I skip dinner and invite a friend, we could easily bring down all of them in one sitting, don’t you think? Danielle and I tried only two this time, though. Five bucks each, round and pretty and screaming “Got your spoon ready?”

The mocha walnut chocolate cake was a fun little one: I thought about peeling off its white, woody patterned wrapper but it turned out the wrapper was white chocolate. 😀 The caramelized walnut base proved a mild and coarse complement to the thick, creamy layers of dark chocolate cake, chocolate Bavarian cream and espresso mousse. Its richness is complemented by its stark coffee flavor. Just now, I realize the cake looks like a cup of coffee with two stirring straws. 🙂

But the main reason we came here was the cheesecake. The soft, subtly briny ricotta is wrapped up in a coat of hazelnut shavings and topped with a refreshing guava glaze. The glaze actually tastes too sweet and too fruitily generic to be guava, though. Regardless, when I combined a spoon of cheesecake with a spoon of mocha cake, I saw fireworks just like Remy.

——————
A few days later…
——————

I found out about Reuschelle’s. Victor Reuschelle says “[his cheesecake (I think)] is like heaven on a fork!”. I think it’s pretty heavenly that he offers delivery for free within 20 miles of the East Bay (in fact, there’s no physical store to visit).

Reuschelle’s Cheesecake is a one-man operation: Victor receives order via phone or email, Victor makes the cake, Victor delivers. Victor says ordering 4 days in advance would be best, but he makes exceptions based on what he has and what his schedule looks like. I ordered yesterday afternoon and the cheesecakes arrived this morning. The best deal is the 4-flavor sample of four 3-inch cheesecakes for $20, and unlike sampler plates in restos, you get to pick the flavors from a thousand choices on Reuschelle’s list. Okay, so it’s 57, but Victor says custom made is no problemo.

Clockwise from top left: Red Velvet, Original, Raspberry Lemonade, and Sweet Potato. I had my reasons for such picks. I wanted the original cheesecake flavor the way I want the original pho brought straight from the kitchen to the table, unadulterated by sauces or herbs. The red velvet is a playing-safe choice because it has chocolate. I haven’t seen sweet potato flavor in desserts. Raspberry and lemonade sound tart enough to temper the cheese.

Heaven forbids, these cheesecakes are no joke to get tempered by fruits. The Sweet Potato is a twin of the country pumpkin pie. The raspberry hint is stronger than the lemonade hint, but neither can emerge from the dense, creamy grasp of the cheese. The cocoa in the Red Velvet? Got lost. They’re good cheesecakes, but they’re all the same.

At Masse, North Shattuck, Berkeley. What happened to the boy's pants?

Thinking back, I’ve come across Reuschelle’s bites at Ghiradelli Square chocolate festival last September. He just started his business a few months before that. I like Victor’s casual friendliness, his delivery option, and his thrive for varieties, but if I must compare Masse’s one cheesecake with Reuschelle’s four, Masse’s wins. The fruit glaze makes the cake more dessert-like and less cheese-tray like, the hazelnut shavings break the textural homogeneity. The prices? Reuschelle’s a bit steeper, but you get the cake at your door.

And no, I couldn’t finish 4 mini 3″ cheesecakes in one sitting. Ninety percent of them are hanging out with the spinach and the pork chops in my fridge. Would you like some?

Address: Masse’s Pastries
1469 Shattuck Avenue (across the street from Safeway)
Berkeley, CA 94709
(510) 649-1004
www.massespastries.com

No-address: Reuschelle’s Cheesecake (aka Victor Reuschelle)
Telephone: (510) 219-2997
E-mail: reuschelle@gmail.com
www.reuschelles.com

San Antonio sleeps in on Sunday. It may be the seventh largest city in the States but it acts like either a college student or an old man who can’t sleep at night and frequently doses off in the day: Saturday night – cars, tourists and horse carriages packed Houston, Commerce and the streets about, Sunday morning – there may be 50 cars on the freeway and 3 people wandering downtown: us. The plus side for walking the pavements at 6 am is you can pose for pictures without being embarrassed about acting like a tourist. The downside is the restaurants aren’t opened, actually, they remain closed for the rest of the day.

Just when we thought about settling for the hotel breakfast, the internet came to rescue: the Guenther House in Arsenal, an 1860 old-house-turned-museum with a late Victorian styled parlor, German-imported porcelain and a terrace looking out to the river, serves breakfast all day.

The pancakes are fluffy. The white gravy is thick like melted cheese. The pineapples and oranges are sweet.

But the best of all was the so-called Southern Sweet Cream Waffle. I’m a pancake gobbler but in this pancake vs. waffle match, the crispy, airy waffle with subtly sweet dough and syrup-filled pockets won hands down.

A red head exercising down the river, across the street from the Guenther House

They sell the waffle mix upstairs the Guenther House for $6.50 per 15 oz. We cleansed our palates with a perfumed-cool, lingering sip of raspberry sage ice tea and filled our lungs with the river breeze as we prepared to drive back to Houston. Another town has been added to our list of retirement havens.
For a mini tour of the villa, click on Mr. Red Head’s beak.

Address: The Guenther House
205 East Guenther
San Antonio, TX 78204
(210) 227-1061

Country-styled breakfast for three: $25.63

We dive into the briskets and ribs at Martin’s Place for my birthday in 2011. That’s their 86th year. I was born in ’86. I like to think Martin’s and I share some common destiny to cross path, beside the appreciation of good ribs.

There is one flimsy door to the side of the red brick building, facing the supposed parking lot, which is just a flat pebble-and-dust land free to park wherever convenient. Crack open the flimsy door, we turn the knob of another, more solid door to the interior, and with it being our first time, we awkwardly stand there looking at the few customers who are in for an early lunch, not sure whether we should wait or just pick a table ourselves. The only hostess of Martin’s Place points us to a table next to a window with broken blinds.

The menus stand ready by the side of sugar, salt, and hot sauce. At first she seems a bit indifferent to us, the opposite of her cheerful friendliness to the likely long-term acquainted patrons at the other tables, but as I tell her that it is our first time here and I would like her to recommend a dish among their various delicious sounding options, she starts smiling more. Somehow I get the feeling that Asian families don’t often visit this family-owned beef stop between Bryan and College Station.

The BBQ dinners with choice of beef, pork, or sausage, and two sides cost $7.25, pickles and bread available upon request, but the bread is simply two white slices. A bigger appetite for meat would be met by the BBQ plate alone, ranging from 1/4 ($4.25) to 1 pound ($10.50) each.

Like at most Southerners’ country cooking joints, vegetable sides are not exactly vegetables, and it all comes down to picking fried (onion ring, okra, tots, corn, fries) or non-fried (cole slaw, beans, potato salad, sliced jalapeno, cheese). I go both ways: a house (German) potatoes and a fried corn nuggets.

The house mashed potato is sweet and creamy, highly recommended. The ribs, not as falling-off-the-bone tender as those from Potatoe Patch, are much more filling than they look. Two ribs out of three and I find my hand rubbing my belly.

How does a place so underkempt and lacking of attentive and giggling service stay in business for 86 years, when its beef does not quite give the most tongue-catching experience? The only answer must be its small town charm, fostered by its loyal patronage of the locals that does not need any advertisement about supporting local business. Maybe it’s my Texas self taking over, but I like it beyond reasons, like any other little country sites in the middle of nowheres.

Happy First Birthday to Flavor Boulevard! 🙂

Address: Martin’s Place
3403 South College Avenue
Bryan, TX 77801
(979) 822-2031

Reading in your room with music is one thing, reading in a restaurant by the sea with romantic golden oldies and the wind is simply indescribable.

Because I am not a fan of the sun, the waitress seats me in the shade in the middle of Seaside Grill, where I can look out to the parachute rising up from the beach but not the beach itself, and I can see Engelbert Humperdinck’s Spanish Eyes in the 70s music sweetness floating in the wind, but not directly feel the sticky salty wind itself. How can you read there? Well, when you sit alone in a restaurant (or anywhere), the best way to naturally observe your surrounding is by having a book in front of you. Also, being busy as they are at peak lunch hour, the waiters wouldn’t feel as bad leaving you unattended if they know you can get through the second chapter of Dodelson‘s Cosmology while waiting for the orders’ arrival.

So the wait is not at all unpleasant, in fact I even hope for a longer wait just to be more productive; after all, I’m here for a conference and not a vacation. That said, as soon as the food comes, the book is cast aside.

You don’t want to let these plump shrimps wait. They are cooled and gently coated in a coconut and lime juice, while their calamari partners are oddly tender. The Dreams ceviche gives you freshness without the cringe of rawness, it is succulent but not watery, bountiful but not overfilling, sweet but not sugary. Five stars.

Then comes the steak, as big as my two hands put together, and a lot fattier. On top of it melts a scoop of pink butter and lies a slice of grilled onion, to the side scatters a handful of fries half soaked in brown grease.

Barely finishing that monstrous prime rib, I grab a waiter as soon as he comes near to ask for the key lime cheesecake I saw earlier at the bottom of the menu. This makes me feel like a bear but I still need to stock up for the Berkeley winter. Thankfully, the slice is moderate, accompanied by one teaspoon scoop of key lime sorbet and three strawberry quarters. Creamy but light, this is definitely the best dessert I’ve had at Dreams so far.

Another (unsurprising) thing I discover during my 5 days stay is that once you eat a lot, you keep eating a lot. After lunch I think I must have gained 10 pounds and would go lie down like a python for a month, but no, a few hours later I call Room Service for dinner. I order…

Chicken fajita. It’s not as hot as it would be on a sizzling plate, but the temperature is easily overlooked as the melted Swiss cheese engages so harmoniously with the chargrilled white meat chicken.

A rainbow fruit salad as they name it: papaya, watermelon, canteloupe, orange, pineapple, and half a strawberry.

A mango pie (labelled “mango cheesecake” in the menu), remarkably similar to the key lime cheesecake at Seaside Grill, aside from the whip cream mount on top.

And finally, a coconut flan, the better of the two desserts. It’s not as caramelized as expected, it’s a tad watery and plain, but I adore its simple, Hangul-like presentation. 🙂

More Puerto Vallarta:
Dreams & Conference – Day 1, dinner at Oceana
Dreams & Conference – Day 2, World Cafe and El Patio