Flavor Boulevard

It’s just a white bun made from sticky rice, loosely wrapped in banana leaf so that it doesn’t attach indefinitely to your fingers, ready to sandwich a thick cut of cha lua. The purpose of the bun is purely a textural enjoyment, it has neither taste nor smell. All flavors come from the sausage. Eating the bun alone would be like chewing an incredibly huge piece of gum, the only difference is you can swallow the bun. Come to think of it, we can make a bunch of bite size sticky rice “gum” for American school kids, they can chew until they’re bored, and swallow it, no unfortunate mess under the desks and your shoes. Cool, innit?

Because of either its simplicity or its antiqueness, the bánh dầy is not quite a favorable snack among the young Vietnamese these days. Or perhaps because it is a treat from the North? Southerners have a sweet tooth and are attracted to fatty, rich, flavor-compact concoctions. Bánh dầy is none of that. When I was in Saigon I knew of bánh dầy through three sources: the extremely common tale of bánh chưng bánh dầy, the book “Hanoi 36 streets” by Thạch Lam, and the tiny buns filled with bean paste (bánh dầy đậu) Little Mother got for me from Ngọc Sáng bakery in District 1. Another case of cross cultural similarity: compare the banh day dau with the Japanese daifuku: the sticky rice coat is exactly like mochi, the mung bean filling is salty while daifuku’s filling is sweetened.

For something the size of a can bottom, banh day makes a dense snack (just like its pyramid shape cousin, banh it). We got both at Giò Chả Đức Hương in Houston, but banh day is not always there. The reason might be the good amount of work in making those simple looking buns. An authentic banh day is supposed to be made by pounding cooked sticky rice to a goo, although the packages of sticky rice flour in stores would do the job. I’m not sure which method  Đức Hương used. I also wrongfully microwaved it once, the result was a plain thick blob that could possibly rival superglue. Yep, banh day is supposed to be eaten at room temperature (not for folks who want a warm meal).

Address: Đức Hương Giò Chả (Houston)
11369 Bellaire Blvd, Ste 950
Houston, TX 77072

Given how often my family comes here, I feel obliged to give this store a proper post. About every other week or so, my parents make the hour-long drive to get a loaf or two of cha lua (silk sausage) and maybe a few Vietnamese between-a-snack-and-a-meal goodies. The affable owner lady knows our usual grabs, and we know her trustworthy provision. Whether it’s wrapped in banana leaves, aluminum foil, or cling wrap, Giò Chả Đức Hương has the best of its kind in Bellaire.

The shelves of nem (fermented pounded pork sausage), bánh tét (sticky rice log), and bánh ít (sticky rice pyramid). These small bánh tét are sold all year round, they are only about 4 inches long, usually with vegan filling (mung bean paste or banana). They make an appropriate snack for a teenager, but usually a little too much for me. Unwrapped below, left-right-down: bánh giò – bánh ít – bánh tét:

Bánh giò always reside on the front counter, next to loads of chả (sausages). There are chả chiên (fried), chả lụa (lean pork), chả Huế (spicy), chả bò (beef), chả gà nấm hương (chicken and shiitake), and boxes of chà bông (also known as  ruốc in the North, pork floss in English, and similar to rousong in Chinese).

A few more pictures of bánh tét just to do partial justice of how many kinds they have there:

Black bean mixed with sticky rice, disrupting the usual smooth glutinous texture by nutty bites.

Sticky rice mixed with pandan leaf extract for flavor and color. A sweet touch.

Plain white sticky rice, usual fatty pork and mung bean paste filling. The classic.

Address: Đức Hương Giò Chả in Bellaire, Houston
11369 Bellaire Blvd, Ste 950
Houston, TX 77072
(near the Vietnam War Memorial)
(281) 988-6155

This sausage store sets their price a knuckle higher than the Asian markets, but the care, the freshness, and the family touch are unbeatable.

If I had to pick one Vietnamese dish made from rice flour and eat it everyday for the rest of my life (whole grain white rice doesn’t count), then bánh cuốn would be it. These rolls of thin rice sheet, filled with minced pork and woodear mushroom, gently dipped in nước mắm, make the perfect warm breakfast, light lunch, and quirky dinner. The question is where to find them. Bánh Cuốn Tây Hồ tops the chart everywhere from Texas to Cali, but does Bánh Cuốn Hoa II come close? Maybe rival? Miss by a long shot?

I cheated a bit at the beginning. The first picture isn’t bánh cuốn, but bánh bèo, a rice flour spinoff drafted in the shape and size of waterferns, hence its name. Flooded with nước mắm, they make great appetizers while we were waiting for bánh cuốn.

Bánh bèo comes with a few toppings: fried shallot, chopped green onions, and tôm chấy (dry fried shrimp). The tôm chấy I usually have are totally desiccant, ranging anywhere between flaky and powdery, but these (I’m guessing homemade) shrimps are still plump, and more sweet than salty. It’s not a bad twist from the usual though. The flour part is a bit tired, they broke easily into pieces the moment my chopsticks pinched them. Bánh Hỏi Châu Đốc does it better.

Because it is very hard to go wrong with grilled meat, it’s always safe to get bún thịt nướng on first try at a new restaurant, also a friendly choice for those who have not had Vietnamese cooking before, want to try, but are still cautious. There’s no weird stuff, just rice noodle, crushed peanuts, vegetable and honest grilled pork. Nước mắm seasoned with a tidbit chili paste, a lot of sugar, and a squeeze of lemon juice would spike the taste to infinite pleasure. Bánh Cuốn Hoa II nailed it with a supertender juicy marinated pork.

As much as my dad is a fan of grilled meat, my mom is loyal to noodle soups. She ordered bún măng vịt (vermicelli soup with duck and bamboo shoot), which actually comes in two parts: the duck salad (gỏi vịt) and the bamboo shoot soup (bún măng) with no duck. Dunk the duck into the soup and you get duck soup :-).

The broth is quite pure and slender, free of fatty bubbles floating on the surface, not as heavily seasoned as pho or hu tiu broth, simply refreshing. As for the bamboo shoots, there were both the fresh kind and the re-hydrated dried kind. The dried kind is a tad firmer and more squid-like than the fresh kind. A lovely texture. Boiled duck is also very tender and flavorful.

Bánh Cuốn Hoa II has a pretty clean look. Varnished wooden chairs and tables, high ceiling, humble paintings of Vietnamese countryside sceneries on the walls. I took a peek into their kitchen to capture the banh cuon production line.

Clockwise from bottom left: 1. stirring the liquid batter (rice flour with water); 2. spreading a laddle of batter on a hot flat surface; 3. making a roll; 4. 3 kinds of final products: normal bánh cuốn (with minced pork and mushroom), bánh cuốn tôm chấy (dry fried shrimp), and bánh cuốn thịt nướng (grilled pork).

The lady was just too fast for my camera, I missed capturing the crucial step where she gently used a long chopstick to take the thin rice veil off the cooking surface and whip it aside for the rolling chef.

So here it is, the restaurant’s signature plate: bánh cuốn topped with cha lua, bean sprouts, greens, and fried shallots. The filling is good. The sheet is thin and not oily. But the flour has a sour hint. Bánh Cuốn Tây Hồ is still the champion of bánh cuốn.

Price: a very reasonable lunch for 3:
1 bánh bèo + 1 bún thịt nướng + 1 bún măng vịt + 1 bánh cuốn = $24.57

Address: Banh cuon Hoa II
11169 Beechnut St. #K
Houston, TX 77072

Take a look at RavenousCouple’s recipe for bún măng vịt, it’s my new fav noodle soup.

Update: the amazing pictures and recipe for homemade banh cuon, also from RavenousCouple.

The French colonizers brought many things to Vietnam – Catholic churches, potatoes, veston, coffee and rubber tree plantations, to name a few – but perhaps their baking recipes have left the sweetest memories. Some of those recipes were modified, like the baguette with extra leavening became the crisp and light banh mi, or the croissant with extra butter which is crisp at the two horns (to match its Vietnamese name – “water buffalo’s horn”), golden and shiny at the bottom, more substantial inside, subtly salty, and smells delicious from several feet away. Some names have mysteriously disappeared from the world wide web of delicacies and can only be found in Vietnamese conversations, Vietnamese bakeries, and Vietnamese food blogs – the pâte chaud falls into this category. But many stay true to their origin, like the choux à la crème, the gâteau, and the buche de Noel.

There’s the frosting. It can be white chocolate, coffee, hazelnut, even durian flavor, but the traditional dark chocolate ganache is best in my opinion. There’s the middle layer to resemble tree rings, chocolate again is great but pineapple jam if you like it fruity but not too sweet. There’s the layer of spongy génoise, soft, light, plain, a levee to keep the palates from a sugar flood. As for decoration, powder sugar would make a good snow, meringue mushroom to look more botanical, a couple of icing roses, branches, or pine trees to be Christmasy, some fresh raspberries for a little tart.

The Vietnamese keep the tradition of a strictly European réveillon even after the French left, no member of spring rolls, rice noodle, sticky rice, sweet bean paste and the gang are allowed, but goose is extremely welcome and buche de Noel is a must. Then we crossed the sea and here in America although Christmas desserts are overwhelming – fruitcakes, gingerbread, pumpkin pies, mince pies, banana bread, candies and cookies – la buche de Noel doesn’t exist. Why is that? We brought over the turkey, the ham, the Christmas tree, even the actual Yule log to be burnt in the fireplace, why is the edible and delicious Yule log left behind?

Anyway, our little homesick craving has been found in a Vietnamese bakery northwest of Houston. Made by preorder, each log costs $29 at Xuan Huong.

Address: Xuân Hương Bakery
13480 Veterans Memorial Dr. Suite D
(in the same shopping center with Hong Kong Market #3)
Houston, TX 77014

(281) 895-6553

Drop the ingredients into the boiling stock, let ’em bob up and down while you watch and chat, tak’em out and whack’em on top of a wad of noodle, pour a ladle of broth, and inhale the sweet steam… So what constitutes a good hot pot? Well, the stock is of course the key, then it’s common practice to have some meat, seafood, vegetables (some kind of leafy greens and mushroom), some noodle for the starch base. But there is no set rule. Whatever you want in your mouth, you can put into the hot pot. We opted for the half-and-half stock: Vietnamese lau and Japanese shabu. The two are quite similar, but the Vietnamese lau has tomato and is slightly more seasoned. Both stocks contain green onion and sweet onion, the taste is neutral, neither too salty nor too sweet, just downright savory. In increasing order, you can add more tomatoes, pineapple, or tamarind to make it sour, and any kind of chili pepper until your eyes water.

Canadian style thin egg noodle went well with everything. As for the add-ons, we also picked the moderate route, with beef rib eye, beef meat ball (hidden behind the Napa cabbage), broccoli and spinach, fish ball and tiger prawn, a garlic sesame oil sauce (suggested by the waitress but did little to enhance the flavor). Opinions split about the fish balls: Mother and Mudpie like their soft, almost gummy texture, while the rest of the crew voted for the firm and definitive beef balls, which I believe contain ground bits of tendon.

We forwent beansprouts and mushrooms to make room for the yau ja kwai (or dau chao quay, Chinese deep fried bread sticks, usually accompanying soups and porridge). Its misleading name in the menu, “Chinese donuts”, gave the impression of sugar glaze, perhaps even rainbow sprinkles and chocolate? Asian cooks are inventive, but we are not that Picassoesque. No, they are just simple crispy oily sticks of dough to jazz up yet another texture in the variety. Their fluffiness soaks up the broth, delivers it to your mouth packaged and speedy. I remember dau chao quay in Saigon are a tad more salty and less flaky than those served here. The owner of this restaurant is Chinese, so perhaps he prefers it the original way.

Address: Hot Pot City
8300 W. Sam Houston Pwy
Sugarland, TX 77478
832-328-3888

Price:
1 Half-n-Half soup base for 6: 8.95
3 Noodle: 3 x 3.50
+ beef rib eye slice, beef meat ball, fish ball, tiger prawn, napa cabbage, spinach, broccoli, dau chao quay, garlic sesame oil sauce
= total +tax: 57.72

The bill is softer (~$35) if you order the pre-selected combinations and let the kitchen surprise you with what goes into your bowls. Either way, hot pot might just be the easiest solution for a small gathering, as everyone can pick their favorite ingredients, cook and enjoy at the table in their own way without the worries about preparation and post-party cleanup. It can be problematic if a member has some hard feelings against soups or anything cooked in liquids. They would then have to enjoy the posh fractal designs on the walls and Lady Gaga’s rhythmic gnarling in the background, since the menu here offers nothing but hot pot.

It was 7 PM in Houston. Cold winds crept up the rustling trees. We were in the mood for kolaches. No kolache store was opened. (I would be surprised if I could even find some right after noon, it’s usually sold out by 9 AM at any local Shipley Donuts.) Desperate as we were for something small and meaty, we pulled into this backyard parking lot on a dark little street of Montrose. The name is cute, but… “Go Horns”?!*

A few years ago I would have shy away from any place resembling a shady, fuming pub with TV screens blasting out a football game, hoards of muscles with beer in one hand, cigarette in the other, and a gigantic burger streaming cheese and lard in front of the mouth. That’s what Little Big’s looks like from the outside. But the patio was empty. And so were our tummies.

Inside, it was a tamed ambience with three or four rows of long tables and high stools. It has a TV, and football was on, but no attentive enthusiasts screaming at the screen or banging mugs on the table. There was little room between the door and the counter to stand looking at the overhead menu, but luckily we had an expert of the area with us to quickly order and moved out of the way. Everyone walking in here seemed to know exactly what they were hungry for. Not that there are much to choose from on the card.

This joint doesn’t have mayonnaise out for a squeeze. I was in great despair, considering the array of mustards on display. Although the special house sauce was white and good, I thought I felt a tidbit of jalapeno or something equally mordant; besides, it lacked the creamy consistency of mayo. My worries quickly diminished, though. It was instant love at first sight between me and the sliders – baby burgers that can fit snuggly in your cupped palm and come in herds of three. Each herd will set you back by 5.79, an addition of cheese constitutes another 69 cents. Who needs the busy shebang of tomato, lettuce, and those of vegetable origin that keep falling out embarrassingly every time you take a bite? The beef patty admits a layer of rich, juicy grilled onion, and the fried chicken breast was comfortable with a slice or two of pickles. (As Katie put it, Chick-fil-A knows their stuff.) But that was it. A slider epitomizes the way to eat a burger: if you want one, don’t let guilt cover it up with skimpy fresh bits of greens. There is no such thing as a tasty healthy burger, beside one that is only savoured by the eyes.

*Texas A&M was the only school I applied to, so I consider myself a pure bred Aggie.

Before you say hey dummy foreigner, learn how to spell, no, I did not come up with “potatoe”. Potatoe Patch did. And I think it’s pretty cute.
These days it’s been hard to find wholesome meat within walking distance and spending measure (for a frugal grad student). The best one can afford around Berkeley is little slivers of chicken in a *huge* bundle of pad thai, or minced pork in cheap dim sum. I can’t help but posting about this now to ease the carnivore’s mind.

I would flat out say that this is our most-frequently-visited American restaurant. Great food. Good price. Excellent service. A serving here would freak out the health-conscious, nitpicking nimble diner, but who cares. We’re here for the hearty, generous embrace of baked potatoes in melting cheese and sour cream, of thick gravy, of sizzling steak, of tingling barbecue sauce, of a full rack of ribs so tender it falls of the bone.

Forget fork and knife. Ribs are sweeter and better with fingers, and so is a philly cheese, that which should be called philly meat not philly cheese. Gooey, mushroomy, beefy. Good fries, too.

But forget all that. Potatoe Patch is home of throw’d rolls. The best rolls I have ever had. It’s crusty outside, fluffy inside, the dough is so gently sweet. It’s warm. A guy goes around with a tray of freshly baked rolls, you raise you hand, and he throws it to you, sometimes from across the room. And you know it’s a good catch. I would go on TV and do a commercial for this even if they only pay me with unlimited fresh rolls. If it’s not a very busy time for the roll thrower, he’d be happy to throw you as many as you want, make sure you stock up on them. We do every time we come here. Makes perfect breakfast piece for the morrows.

I should be fair and say that they also have great muffins, which usually aren’t throw’d. But nothing, I repeat, nothing, beats the rolls. Even the meat.

Each serving of philly cheese or sirloin steak sets you back by roughly 9 dollars. A full rack of ribs costs 17.95. Total (including tax): $38.59

Address: The Potatoe Patch #1
2504 FM 1960 East
Houston, TX 77073
281-443-3530

Vietnamese places usually don’t appear on the web, why? Because they already paid for ads on Vietnamese newspapers and radio station. Of course the ads are in Vietnamese. There are a little over 30,000 Vietnamese in Houston. It’s amazing how such a small community can sustain its numerous restaurants, with customers primarily themselves. I think I’ve said the word “Vietnamese” enough times for the month. But let me say it one more. Vietnamese must really like to eat out.

So we found a new address in one of the newspapers. We arrived past lunch time, so it felt as if we rented out the whole place. The hostesses seem to be enjoying their leisurely afternoon snack as well, they sat at a nearby table watching TV with us. A flat screen on the wall with documentary films about Vietnam.

Anyway, let’s start with an appetizer.

This is for 3 people to share. Each bánh bèo (water fern bánh) is like a really thin mini rice-pancake, steamed instead of fried, topped with dried shrimp powder, scallions, and guess what, mung bean paste (once again, Mr. Mung Bean won the competition and became Paste of Choice). The final and most important touch is the nước mắm (fish extract sauce). Bánh bèo, like other Central Vietnamese dishes, cannot go without nước mắm. I’m not exactly sure what the coconut milk is doing there. The thinner the pancake is, the harder it is to eat with chopsticks, or any kind of utensils you can think of, because it’s slippery and fragile like jello. But only the thinnest kind is the best kind. Too thick, and all there is is a block of utmost boring rice pudding. So, I’d say these were above average. Onto the main course.

Bánh tầm bì thịt nướng (bánh tầm with shredded pork skin (bì) and grilled pork). I’m confused by the Vietnamese naming system sometimes, there’s not much “bánh”-ness about this cold udon-like noodle. Authentically it should be shorter and fatter. They really gave us a behemoth bowl here, filled with noodle, peanuts, sliced pork skin (bì), and veggie, but only one skewer of pork! A little blackened. Good pork though. Can crispy-edge grilled pork ever not taste good?

Bánh canh cua (bánh canh with crab). Yet another rice noodle variation, strangely named “bánh”. I think this restaurant uses the same type of noodle for the soup and the grilled pork dish above. The orange color is from gạch cua (something under the crab shell whose English name I know not). The mysterious substance supposedly is stirred in frying pan until gooey and gives the broth a natural sweetness. I’m not big on sea crawlers. My mom likes it.

Bánh hỏi thịt nem nướng (bánh hỏi with grilled pork and grilled nem – a kind of pork sausage). It’s among the more expensive dishes in Saigon and the abroad, but cheap in the provinces where it was first made. The intricate nets of rice vermicelli gives the tongue a fun texture. Chopped scallions swiftly stir-fried with olive oil and a tad salt gives the sleek taste. Generous sum of sliced cucumber, bean sprout, pickled carrots and the backyard herbs counterbalances the carcinogenic charred and brined meat. Nước mắm is also a must. This plate rightfully makes the restaurant’s name.

Bánh hỏi Châu Đốc

Lunch for three: Bánh bèo tôm cháy: 4.95, bánh canh thịt cua: 6.95, bánh hỏi thịt nem nướng: 9.95, bánh tầm bì thịt nướng: 7.95. Total: $29.80.
Address: 10800 Bellaire Blvd, Houston, TX 77072.

If I recall correctly, the menu does have brief English descriptions, and the young waiter seemed more comfortable speaking English than Vietnamese.

Korean movie series are my soju. It’s for celebration, depression, even seeking motivation. I got motivated to learn Korean and to try Korean food. I made a couple of attempts in College Station, but it’s not a good idea to judge Korean cuisine from a local Chinese restaurant. The urge to understand why their food looks so appealing in movies overtook the resistance against chili pepper. So we went to Bellaire the first weekend I got home, to a Korean buffet.

Korean Garden Grille has a spacious feel (again, something of Texas that I will miss). I made a point to sample everything, and I almost accomplished my goal. I tried “beef seaweed soup” (no beef was visible, so I assume it was beef flavored seaweed soup?), 11 kinds of kimchi (not knowing most of the Korean names nor the veggie names), bulgogi, japchae (stirfried cellophane noodle), 7 kinds of fried egg/veggie (again, not knowing either the Korean names or the veggie names). The kimchi was mostly sour (a little more sour than pickled daikon and carrots, not as salty as pickles, much less aggressive on the back of the throat than the French pickled cornichon).

Above image: From left to right, first row: napa cabbage (wombok/baechu/cải bách thảo), don’t-know, don’t-know radish, bean sprouts; second row: not-sure seaweed, daikon-maybe? kohlrabi, no-idea. I tried a couple of angry-looking-red-peppered kimchi the angry-looking red-peppered odeng (first thing in the image below), but they weren’t too spicy (well, at least not in small quantities), the fried octopus (red, bottom right) was quite tongue-catching actually.

I finished a half mini-bowl of rice with just one piece of those. Now I’ve never been to a Korean restaurant before nor have I any Korean friends, so I’m just judging from the Korean movies I’ve watched: this place is typical Korean, rice is plentiful and brought out at the beginning (just like water), since (again, movie trivia) Koreans consider good eats cannot be without rice.

It’s also nice that the place has a grill at the table, and we can sizzle as much meat and shrimp as we want. Spicy smoke, fatty sound, savory emanation. Right next to a plate of fresh green-leaf lettuce (that’s right, not iceberg lettuce).

The meat is a little sweet, which is perfect. I am never a fan of eating uncooked veggie with cooked food. I think putting fresh bean sprouts into a bowl of hot phở is hideous, the textures just don’t cooperate. But nothing beats a lettuce wrap with beautifully-browned, well-cooked, well-seasoned meat inside. It’s marvelous. Although busy gorging I was, I also watched the Korean hostess got herself a plate: she wrapped a spoonful of rice and a piece of meat inside a lettuce leaf, making it the size of a tennis ball, and put the whole thing in her mouth at once. Now that is skill.

Fried veggie and egg. Beside the obviously must-be egg, I could pick out squash, but that was about it. Barely seasoned. No oil streaming out as I took a bite. They were all tasty appetizers.

The seaweed soup is warm and slender, almost like refreshment. Little mom preferred the daikon soup. Many thumbs up. I will definitely try more Korean food. Now, for spice-inclined diners, the taste might be a little too plain (except the kimchi) compared to other Asian cuisines, and it seems like not much salt was used. Cost: about $60 for 3 people. Sure, this is much higher than Chinese buffet, a notch above Kim Son Vietnamese buffet, but the quality is well worth it. I have proof.

UPDATE (July 2010): This restaurant is now closed, replaced by Saigon Buffet (opened May 2011).

Can you be overflowed with art? My afternoon started with a lecture on the dawn of Cubism (when abstracts paintings were still somewhat legible if you really try hard to make sense out of it). At 3 I rode in the car with my physics professor and advisor across the countryside to downtown Houston, filled our eyes with sight of uniform corn fields, carpets of bluebonnet (yes, they’re still out and blooming!), and relaxing cattle. At 5 we reached the Wortham center garage, parking for the Rigoletto performance later in the evening. At 5:10 we were at Artista, 2 blocks down the street. It’s owned by a Nicaraguan family, featuring South American dishes, ranging from high class to what you might find around the corner for a good tummy-filler. So I’ve heard. You’ve gotta have a nice dinner before an opera, spend your TA check of the week on a single meal, and feel good, right?

Act I: chupe. “maine lobster bisque, charred tomato and smoked panela cheese” is what on the menu.

I found lobster, corn, rice, and mysterious white cubes underneath the calm surface. Not unexpectedly, it was thick, a little peppery, just luke warm, and cries South American. The most interesting thing was the white cubes, which taste very much like tofu, except for the extra firmness, or perhaps the almost gummy-bear texture, plain and pure. Was that the panela cheese?

Act II: churrasco. I saw it on almost every dinner banquet menu, and I like my meat, so why not?

Beautiful combination of colors. At the left we have béarnaise, made from egg yolk and spices, but by itself it really doesn’t have much of taste other than fatty. In the middle, just a simple steak. On the right, (roasted ?) ripe plantain. This is the best thing. I had to sacrifice the meat to have room for the plantain. It was sweet and compact. It enhances the steak. Oh, did I forget to mention that we had plantain chips while waiting? So much better than potato chips and corn chips. Thin and crisp, but they break nicely, you don’t get a mount of crumbs in front of you. The Dominican in our group told us that they make the chips from green plantain, and keep the ripe ones for side dishes (like with the churrasco) and for dessert.

Now I couldn’t take a picture of my dessert because there wasn’t enough light. Half of the group was persuaded into getting the Tres Leches, and was very happy they did. A sponge cake soaked in milk it was, but it is much lighter than it sounds. The Dominican said that it’s their best dessert, the final touch that makes you come back, the ultimate satisfaction that you must have before you die. Well, it was good. But I like my rich cocoa tart with “fudge and chocolate ganache and coconut ice cream”, which was absolutely not coconut, but more like sweetsop sorbet. (Don’t let the name fool you, sweetsop, i.e. sugar-apple, is neither sweet nor apple, but rather pulpy and a little sour, and beware of the seeds if you’re eating the fresh one.) Well, does this swapping of tropical flavors occur on regular basis? I don’t know. I did enjoy my “coconut ice cream” very much, and the chocolate quiche too, but each on their own. The combination wasn’t a good match.

We were an assorted group of 15, several Americans, a Swiss, a Dominican, a Peruvian, a Mexican, a Vietnamese, a lot of wine, and different levels of cuisine adventurousness. Guess how much was on the bill? 1186 dollars and some. Well, of course it got that high because Dr. Agnolet and Sandi were kind enough to pay for most of it. But, there you go, physics students don’t always eat cheap. 😉

See the menu.