Day-long Chinese feasting, part 2: Pearl East

Pearl East is a restaurant I doubt I would have ever entered on my own: the place, with its faded Art Deco signage proclaiming "Chinese Cuisine" and "Cocktails," looks like a 1920s lounge whose specialties are chop suey and crab rangoon. But MH's parents had chosen it as the location for a celebratory graduation dinner for their daughter, and so only a few hours after my dim sum feast at Pacificana, I found myself headed out to Long Island for a full Chinese banquet.

When I entered, the place was filled with non-Asians, usually not a good sign for an Asian restaurant. After taking one look at me, the host directed me to the back room (where MH's parents had reserved five large tables) without even having to ask where I was headed.


After most people had arrived and gotten settled, several cold plates were brought out: braised tofu skin stuffed with water chestnuts and mushrooms; marinated sliced jellyfish; large shrimp in a sweet sauce. There were also adorable hot, flaky pastries filled with savory shredded turnip.

As you can tell from the above photo, Pearl East is big on presentation: that peacock, carved out of raw pumpkin, was only one of the many different animals that would show up on our table that night. And I'm not sure why there were strawberries around the jellyfish, but again, wacky, incongruous plating abounds here.

The classic marinated cucumber salad had been given a unique twist: the slim cucumbers had been cut in half lengthwise and then each somehow sliced almost-through as thinly as potato chips. They were delicious—gently sweetened and vinegary with a cool, snappy crunch. With a cherry on top to boot.

The soup course came out in individual, hilariously ornate vessels, whose glass lids were ceremoniously removed by the servers. I'm not sure what kind of soup this was, but it was light and well-balanced, with small chunks of tender pork floating in the broth.

Instead of a steamer-full brought to the table, each of these two dumplings was plopped directly onto our plates by the servers. While the purses were pretty cute, I'm not sure making food into little animals is desirable...I could barely bring myself to eat the delicate, shrimp-filled swan. (Um. But I did.)

Shrimp, two ways: on the left, in a sweet and sour sauce; on the right, broiled with chopped celery and bacon. The large, plump shrimp in the sweet sauce were pretty good, but the bacon ones were much too salty.

And meat, so much meat! Garlic roast chicken; orange beef; spare ribs; bbq pork ribs. The sticky-sweet spare ribs were much too salty, and so at the request of MH's parents the dish was replaced by the bbq ribs, which were tender and smoky and all-around much better. The roasted chicken was really good too, with a thin, garlicky sauce that went perfectly with the super-moist white meat. The beef was just alright, but had the most curious plating of all...I can't even guess what the heck that was supposed to be.

By this point, the few Korean friends sitting at the table—unused to the timing of formal Chinese banquets—were antsy from what had to them begun to feel like the longest meal in history. And I, who had arrived still full from the afternoon and was now beyond full from sampling what had come out so far, thought I was going to die. But then we received another "something, two ways" dish; this time featuring fish in a sweet brown sauce and in a light garlic sauce, and I ended up having a few more bites. I think this was one of my favorites of the night, as the delicate fish, which had been dipped in cornstarch and gently fried before being sauced and sautéed (I think), nearly melted in my mouth.

Oh, and that's a pheonix, I believe. Made of pumpkin. Who carves these? Do they reuse them? Can you guys tell that I was amused by all of this?

To my relief, after the vegetable/peacock dish arrived (with inedible, mushy white asparagus—why, Pearl East, why?), the customary rice and noodle dishes came out, which meant the end was near. This time "rice" was a giant portion of steamed glutinous rice in a lotus leaf, and "noodles" was a plate of sloshy, stir-fried udon. Having eaten the rice-in-lotus-leaf at Pacificana earlier, I all but groaned when I saw Pearl East's placed on the table.

To everyone's relief dessert followed shortly after: a fruit platter, and scoops of assorted ice creams plopped unceremoniously onto a glass dish. Seeing as how all the other dishes had come so carefully presented, this last arrival seemed most amusing of all. "Here, eat your damned American ice cream!"

So at Pearl East, the trick is to trust the food, and not the appearances. Most of what we ate was quite good, a big surprise for me given my first assumptions. Despite our huge meal, afterward we all managed to waddle out of there with some semblance of dignity. Of course, then we went drinking in Flushing, which turned into a whole other story....

Day-long Chinese feasting, part 1: Sunset Park and Pacificana

For the longest time the two big Asian hot spots in my mind were lower Manhattan and Flushing, Queens. Between those two areas were communities of Korean, Chinese, and Japanese businesses in K-town, Elmhurst, or on St. Marks Place that I dropped in on (still do), but it wasn't until recently that I began to pay attention to Sunset Park.

The layout of New York City's Brooklyn Chinatown is funny in that most of the shops and restaurants run along Eighth Avenue in one long strip. According to some, owners all wanted their businesses on this street because in Chinese culture the number eight—which sounds like fa, meaning fortune—is considered good luck.

Several weeks ago I made plans with friends to chill in this thriving Chinatown for an afternoon. Walking around before meeting them, I dropped by the above stand and picked up two buns for later, one pork and one vegetable. When I had them the next day I found the pork filling skimpy and the cabbage-heavy filling muddled and oily, but at fifty cents each, either would still not be a bad snack.

At the glitzy and massive Hong-Kong style Pacificana—whose take on General Tso's chicken I had sampled at the Village Voice's Choice Eats event back in March—I met up with MB and BH for dim sum. Above: shrimp dumplings, shao mai, and black bean short ribs.


Glistening baked roast pork buns; shrimp balls covered in fried noodles; pan-fried taro cake; rice noodles with dried shrimp and scallions. Thumbs up.


A delicious scallion pancake that turned out to be made with rice flour, giving it the crispy, chewy consistency of fried mochi; noodle-wrapped crullers; rice steamed in lotus-leaf; beef rice-noodle roll; and sesame balls filled with lotus seed paste. We also got a plate of Chinese broccoli, you know, to be "healthy."

Word to the wise: dim sum is best done with four or more, especially when you want to sample a variety of items. It was impossible for the three of us to finish everything.

After leaving Pacificana we walked around for a while, taking in the scene. I was fairly miserable with fullness—and then it hit me that in just four or five hours I would be attending a full Chinese banquet in honor of MH's graduation. I was a dead woman.

Pad thai surprise at Friend House II

The show Fuerzabruta—which RZ had scored free tickets to—confused us, amazed us, covered us in paper shreds and joyous rain, and afterwards we were ready to grub. She and I settled on Friend House II nearby, a slick, pink-hued restaurant I pegged as another joint in the vein of Kaleidoscope, a place serving a hit parade of Asian food with none executed well.

Since I wasn't expecting much, I wasn't fazed by the standard fillings and stiff rice of my eel-and-avocado, California, and spicy tuna combo; the rolls were adequate. What did surprise me was that RZ's pad thai was decent. I wouldn't call it the best and it certainly wasn't authentic, but nonetheless I liked it because the noodles weren't wet and gloppy, the flavoring wasn't overly sweet, and because the dish was studded with thick chunks of super tender chicken. I suppose it's a bit strange that I'm celebrating these noodles more for what they're not than what they are, but in the face of NYC's pathetic pad thai situation, anything better than bad is "good." The hunt goes on.

No panchan for royalty at Sura: The King's Meal

Sura: The King's Meal seemed sort of muted for a Korean restaurant; there was no clashing of serving spoons and bbq grills, no untamed assortment of panchan, and no harried but efficient servers. Instead, there was a rustic, sexy atmosphere, a careful roll of kimchi presented on a small white dish, and serene waitresses dressed in hanboks. Not much to say about my hwe deopbap (Korean sashimi bowl) above, except that it was good; I dig this stuff in general. Like cold soba and chirashi, this is a dish I find refreshing, satisfying, light, and super flavorful at once, and something about hwe deopbap's combination of rice, sashimi, assorted slivers of veg, and sweet, spicy gochujang in particular never fails to hit the spot.

I was a little disappointed about DW and MW not being able to sample a bunch of panchan, but at least there was kimchi, so that's that. If you want to take someone on a Korean food date, this might be a good spot.

Comfortable, easy deliciousness at Prune

I'd passed Prune a million times but had never gotten around to actually eating there. RZ was game to check it out, and after not seeing her for almost a year, it turned out to be the perfect place for a weekday girly catch-up date. The place is cozy and bright, with a friendly staff and a playful vibe.

None of the main dishes appealed to us, so we asked our waiter how we ought to manage our selections. He assured us that getting two appetizers and a vegetable from the main menu and a few small plates from the bar menu would be just fine, so that's what we did. But when our trio from the bar appeared, I knew we were in trouble. What came out—radishes with butter and salt; sardines with triscuits, cornichons, and mustard; Spanish goat cheese with buttered brown bread and red onions—was far more than I expected.

I was totally charmed, though; everything just looked so rustic and agreeable. Eating the fresh radishes and butter—which I'd never tried—made me understand the appeal of the ruddy little globes at last. They were crisp and spicy, and when paired with a smear of creamy butter and a sprinkle of salt, were refreshing and decadent at the same time. I hadn't eaten sardines before either; my only knowledge of them was that they were small and came packed in their proverbial cans. The fat, meaty filets we were given weren't anything like what I had imagined, and in a good way.

After these three I was already near-full, but the march had to go on. So out came the tender asparagus tips in browned butter with an egg yolk, and huge fried sweetbreads with bacon and capers, very different from the ones I had in New Orleans.

Followed by roasted marrow bones. The tall tubes seemed enchanted—each was an endless well of smooth, unctuous, beefy fat. The vinaigrette-slicked salad of parsley, capers, cornichons, and pickled red onions was just the right accompaniment to keep the marrow from being too crazy rich.

Dessert was an odd concoction of chocolate-cherry bread, raw goat's cheese, and a weird pine nut butter which somehow tasted like pork fat. All together or in various combinations, none of the three seemed to quite work together. I was happy to just eat the excellent cheese by itself, but also so stuffed at that point I was beyond real enjoyment.

Prune is a place I could easily imagine being a regular spot. The food is unpretentious and delicious, the environment delightful and welcoming. Our check arrived with two chubby hunks of dark chocolate sitting on top, just for fun. Since both RZ and I were mourning the fact that Prune was out of their monkfish liver with buttered toast that night, it's only a matter of time before I head back!

I roasted garlic!

So it's not even that much of an achievement, because roasting garlic is dead easy. Slice off the tops of several bulbs, nestle them on foil inside a pan, drizzle olive oil and a wee bit of salt over them, wrap up with the foil, and roast at 400 degrees for about 40 minutes. They're done when the cloves slightly rise out of their paper skins and feel soft and mashy. Let cool, and once you squeeze them out of their little pockets, they're ready to be spread in sandwiches, tossed with pasta, baked into bread, or used however you please.

I did about twelve bulbs and set out some at the house party with some toast wedges, and also gave another container to my brother. The rest entered MH's stomach in one frenzied go, and she smelled like garlic for two days afterwards—making her the human equivalent of these grapes.

Farewell scaffolding; Flatiron roundup

For the past five years that I've worked in the Flatiron building, it has been surrounded by scaffolding. Now summer has really begun, and as I prepare to start a new life on the other side of the country, the scaffolding seems to have come down for good. I'd call it a metaphor, but that would be too easy.

Things I've eaten in or near this office (click on the photos for a link to each post):

Chocolate-covered marshmallow; liege waffle

"Shack-cago" dogs and fries; brownie

Almond bar; crab "Christmas" roll

Duck pad see-ew; roasted turkey sandwich

Pastrami sandwich; egg custard tart