Mahlzeit, Bon Appetit, and all that.

The time has come for us to push our chairs back from this table.

We thank you for your company.  Both of us hope that you have enjoyed the meals here.  It has been our pleasure, setting the table for you.  (The centerpieces weren’t always as we wanted, and some of the dinners ran rather later than planned — and there was no end of improvisation — but so it goes.)

We raise a glass to meals past and menus yet to come — and, most importantly, to the lives that and people who make them everything they are. We give thanks for this planet.  We give thanks.

It has been a grace.

Him and Her, wishing you the best meals in the right seasons, taken in company that gives the greatest joy.

One Final Day and Night

Her day began with congee.  Yes, again.  This time, it was mixed with pork and thousand-year egg.  She also had fried bread and an unidentified rice noodle — if you can call something broader than a lasagna noodle a noodle — sered with sesame seeds, soya sauce, and chili sauce.

Lunch brought her a new friend, who led her to:

chicken feet

radish and taro cake

chicken feet

egg custard in a steamed bun

sliced sea-bed coconut with water chestnut in thin syrup

and blanched choy sum

Sadly, the restaurant was out of water chestnut pudding with fresh lily bulb.

Later, She had milk tea mixed with coffee {a local specialty, and very interesting} and an egg tart.

After a walk, She drank a medicinal tea: sea coconut, Sichuan fritillary and almond.  She ate fresh rambutan and lychee {only one of each; I’m not composed of greed}.

Then, She and Her companion took a much-needed break.

Dinner consisted of poached wind whelks served with a sweetened vinegary sauce, and steamed black-shelled red-fleshed clams served with one spicy sauce and one sweet one.

Dessert was a two-parter:

Her companion had mango in coconut juice with red beans.  She had mango in coconut juice with crystal jelly and glutinous rice balls.

They shared.

Fresh durian (She smelled it before seeing it, and knew what it was; Her companion saw it, recognized it, and then smelled it.) was almost acquired, but it was too pricey.

Tomorrow, She leaves Hong Kong.  The long repast has ended . . . unless the airport lounge pleasantly surprises Her.  She is prepared to be happily startled.

Him and Her, hoping everybody has happy food surprises in store.

Saturday was full of food (and so was She).

Her day started lightly, with water, a couple of bites of different jellies and a dash to the ferry.  In transit, she nibbled milk and sesame candies.  After that, much walking took Her life.

The rest of the day involved:

dried plums {sweet}

spicy vinegar-pickled ginger {very sour}

fungus and sea coconut drink

fried meat (beef) balls

fish balls

fried fish balls (sweeter than the steamed)

octopus tentacles (orange

squid tentacles (white)

mussels (shells bigger than Her hands) with black bean sauce

infantile razor clams {too young to use a razor} with garlic sauce

beef balls, rare, spicy

shrimp shu mai

chicken with pork and taro root in tofu skin

steamed dumplings willed with sweet orange-coloured custard {Many egg yolks were sacrificed . . .}

green coconut juice {and the flesh of the young coconut, which was as tender as clotted cream}

and it was good.

Her, eating an island, and Him, wishing for leftovers.

Friday Food

She started Her eating day casually, with a packet of chestnuts, a cup of green tea, and the remnants of a container of chocolate soya milk.

She’s broken Her fast that way in several other countries.  That made the satisfying somehow inadequate.  She went out in search of locavore food.  She found it.

It is fortunate that She is addicted to walking.  It’s going to take some hiking to burn off this morning’s meal: congee with fish, scallions and shredded ginger, with two {immense to the point of intimidating} savory crullers (“fried bread sticks”) on the side.

She found a place He’d like.  Wontons City Noodle & Vermicelli Café had two dishes that would cause him to screech, digging two-heeled streaks in the pavement, to a hungry halt:

chicken feet and spare ribs with steamed rice, HKD23

pig’s trotter in reddish bean cheese sauce, $16

Pig’s trotter for less than two US dollars?  She saw that and thought, “He’d be eating out every day.”

fresh, warm silken tofu with sweetened red beans

cane sugar juice

purchased: one tofu tart, golden, with red beans; one flat jelly roll (think of fruit leather) with sesame seeds, and three jellies.  One of the jellies is dark red, almost black, with red beans; one is golden, with taro root; and the last, brown, studded with soya beans.  {All are very tasty.  The tofu tart, which has a few red beans, is similar in taste and texture to a Portuguese flan.}

not {yet} purchased: durian, which, when whole, is too large for one woman to eat on her own {I seek either a half of a durian or a person or two with whom to share it.}

gelati, two scoops: coconut, pandanus and palm sugar; black sesame {good, dark stuff, no red beans} {I shared both with my companion.|

sorbets, two scoops: tamarind and lime; longan tea and red date {My companion shared both with me.}

broccoli rabe with an unidentified brown sauce

vermicelli, ditto

two bowls of unidentified wontons in pale broth — different wontons, which were shared; one bowl also had broad, pale noodles

coconut milk, blended with ice

tea, tea, tea, lots of tea

and, finally, a large mixed bag of Asian sweets and — at long last — durian {No, I haven’t tasted it . . . but I have it.}

Her, having, and Him, coveting his friend’s fruit.

Thursday’s Eating

She started Her day with a black sesame bun {the bun, like the seeds, was black}.  It purported to be filled with ham and tuna, but the fish looked, smelled and tasted like salmon, so She has Her doubts.  The bun was soft and slightly sweet, and the filling fatty and salty.  That, and a cup of tea, nudged Her body toward believing that She was alive.

The rest of the day held (if only briefly):

dragon fruit juice puréed with ice and red beans

from a corner stall (no tables): squid legs, skewered, one set bright orange; one grilled {“Chili?” asked one of the nice ladies behind the counter.  “Oh, yes, please, chili,” I said, and she dunked the whole of the skewer into a vat of chili-marinating fish balls and left it there whilst she heated the plain set.  Another nice lady nudged me toward the mustard,  which was nicely bity.}

egg tart

jelly, green, indeterminate

home-made green bean dessert {not unlike a sweet porridge with texture}

fresh-pressed dragon fruit and carrot juice

another brace of skewers, this time shared

fish balls on a stick

fish paste squares, yellow, on a stick, with soya sauce atop

fried huge hot green peppers

steamed scallops with mounds of garlic and glass noodles

fried — not batter-fried, but fried — oysters with slices of ginger root and healthy lengths of scallion

{Both of the above were bathed in brown broth.}

green tea, several intimate encounters with

milk candy: ginger, red bean, and corn

Her, reminiscing, and Him, wishing He were there to share.

Eating Hong Kong, Day One

She is in Hong Kong.  She’s taken four flights in six days, and is now taking neither prisoners nor addresses.  She does, however, remember what She’s eaten.  [She'd better.  I want details.] {Outlines today.  Details after sleeping.} [If you have to.]

Since arriving, She has ingested:

mixed vegetables in beancurd skin (masses of mushrooms, multitextured layers of tofu, ranging from firm to crisp

la mianen with sliced beef in spicy soup {which turned orange atop after I dumped Szechuan — a word I can now pronounce close to correctly — peppers and oil into it}.  The roasted peppers were an especial delight.

some of Her companion’s la mianen with shredded eel

chive shoot dumplings

and, at another meal:

some of Her forbearing companion’s fresh fish balls with rice noodles

wonton soup {glorious: thin-skinned wontons filled with fresh, whole baby shrimp} with broccoli rabe

hot almond milk

The latter meal, which was eaten near the night market on Temple Street, cost HKD30.  A look at the exchange rate will quickly define that as something keener than a bargain.

She ended the day with a scoop of black sesame ice cream, which is one of her favorites.  This scoop had red beans, as well, making it an official new taste.

Tomorrow, She plans to take photographs of the belly-up, flipper-flicking, yellow-finned shrimp at the night market — after She’s had fresh shellfish.  She has Her eye on abalone, but this is Hong Kong, and detours are delectable and many.

Him and Her, thinking of spices, shellfish and worthy edible distractions.

A Shank of Bird

It was His night to cook, and He was prepared.

Yesterday, He thawed five turkey drumsticks, purchased earlier this month on deep discount. [Eighty-eight cents a pound.] {That’s deeper than deep. That’s an ocean trench of a discount.}

He has cooked turkey before — but only the whole bird, never a collection of lower legs. The situation called for a modified approach. He arranged the drumsticks on a rack in a roasting pan, seasoned them with ground ancho pepper and popped them into a 350-degree oven.

Twenty minutes in, He started basting the pieces with a mixture of lime juice and honey. After another half-hour, He turned up the heat to 450 degrees and listened for the sizzle and pop of skin beginning to char. As soon as He heard it, out came the legs.

They were moist in the middle, slightly crisp on the outside, with a sweet-sour-spicy bite. He served them with skillet-fried potatoes {Cooked in and seasoned with?} [Chicken fat and salt and pepper.] {Extra physical labor for you, bub.} [I know. I'll burn it off cleaning the garage tomorrow.]  and a simple cabbage slaw dressed with mayonnaise, grainy mustard and strawberry balsamic vinegar.

It was no holiday feast — but in its own way, it was an honestly celebratory meal. After all, each day, and not merely one Thursday in the fall, should be an occasion for thanks. {Remember that tomorrow, when you’re hip-deep in boxes.}

Him and Her, glad for legs that work.

The Busboy’s Dream

All too often, we have to report that another fooderie has died. It’s a great pleasure to be able to say that one is alive and thriving.

Tonight, she’s enjoying the produce of one that is more than a hundred years old.  White and green pasta glisten against ruddy tomatoes in a plain white bowl.  The adornments: chili pepper and nutmeg, both freshly and finely ground, an end of Cypress Groves‘ cheddar, very finely minced, and a dash of olive oil.

The pasta comes from Bruno’s Ravioli.  There was a Bruno.  In 1888, he imagined moving to America.  He moved.  He worked as a busboy.  He heard customers asking for fresh ravioli, but there was none to be had.  His dream birthed a dream.

Now, the 19th century feeds the 21st.  In the course of Her lifetime, one location closed and another opened, but the original pasta machine is still in the family’s hands.

One hundred years . . . Her multiple-great-grandparents could have eaten pasta made by Bruno’s family.  She’s eating it today.

That’s a savory lineage.

Him and Her, happy when family food firms thrive.

Let Grapes Abound

He took himself to the JavaNaut Cafe in Kansas City tonight, to check out an art show there.

He bought an iced Vietnamese coffee (rich, sweet and invigorating), made notes on the show and sat down in a comfortable chair to do some writing.

Half an hour later, He was still writing — in the middle of a singer-songwriter’s concert. [Live music at work. Can't complain about that.] {It helps if the music is good.} There was a short lull between songs, and one of the singer’s friends came through with a big bowl of red table grapes.

“Take some if you want them,” the singer said. “I bought way too many grapes today.”

He took some. Each was a tiny Perfect Bite: sweet, cool and juicy.

It would be easy to get used to surprises of this sort. Too easy, perhaps. Taking things for granted is the enemy of gratitude — and this certainly fell under the heading of grace.

Him and Her, always in favor of unexpected joy.

Late Birthday Lunch

She had offered to take Him to lunch for His birthday.  Tonight, She did so: days and hours late.  His was a hard-upon-midnight lunch.

He’s not complaining.

They shared a Kobe burger (very rare) with fries (anything but rare) with two dips (one mustard and one house-made catsup) and a Kobe beef tartare, followed by an exquisite complex dessert composed of mint and chocolate in various textures and temperatures.  He had a cocktail featuring a house-infused vodka: strawberry and rosemary.  In short, they ate at Bluestem.  As He said, “If the question involves going to Bluestem, the answer is always ‘Yes’.”  In our world, it’s usually, “Oh, yes, please,” followed almost immediately by, “What are we waiting for?”

It may be a new definition of a late lunch, but do you know what?  Some meals are worth waiting for.

Him and Her, raising a midnight glass to celebration.