Little Dom's makes a BIG impression

(Chocolate Napoleon at Little Dom's)

Little Dom's (2128 Hillhurst Ave., Los Angeles, CA)

Being a restaurant critic on vacation has its advantages: the reader response seems slightly less weighty knowing that you aren't dining and critiquing in your own city, and the likelihood of colliding on the sidewalk with a loyal patron, or even worse, an angry owner or chef, who loathes your review is slim to none.  But it also has its drawbacks: when you have only two evenings in Los Angeles, the decision of where to eat becomes anguishing, as the need to make smart choices is exceedingly greater since you may not find yourself in the same neighborhood anytime soon, and when you do, the often fickle restaurant landscape is likely to have changed significantly.

So when my dear friend, Pete, graciously arranged a dinner with Brandon Boudet, the executive chef and co-owner of Little Dom's, it cut my stress in half.  And I will say up front that our evening at Little Dom's exponentially surpassed our second dinner in L.A. at Wolfgang Puck's latest venture (it was disastrous on several levels, but should make for a comedic write-up down the road).  Had I all of it to do over again, I absolutely would have dined both evenings at Little Dom's, as I cannot fathom a more holistically pleasurable experience to be had anywhere else in the city of angels. 

Carved into the steep and twisting hills of Los Feliz sits this drool-inducing beacon of Italian-American cuisine at its finest, which transplanted to New York City would rival even the most highly buzzed of trattorias.  Inside, the bar teeters the fine line between gaudy and elegant, with dramatic wallpaper, leaded glass windows, marble table tops, and leather seats, ultimately emulsifying to create a neighborhood warmth and coziness that is somehow nostalgic, current, and casual.  The waitresses are saucy, stunning, and remarkably knowledgeable.

Chef Brandon, a New Orleans native, joins us just moments after our arrival.  Our waitress seems shocked to see him actually sitting down, and even more so when he proceeds to order cocktails for the table.  Though he has the dark curls and warm smile of a creole cherub, the level of respect he garners is instantly apparent.  He asks if I would like to order any appetizer in particular, and I just laugh and push away my menu.  I think I'll let him decide what we should taste.

The jazzy cocktails at Little Dom's are just as serious as the food, with meticulous attention to details such as unique serving vessels, varied ice cube sizes ranging from crushed bits to two-inch cubes, and market-fresh garnishes distinct for each concoction.  A moscow mule over crushed ice sings of crisp vodka, sweet ginger, and tart lime.  Did someone say bacon?  Yup.  Applewood bacon infused bourbon with bitters, maple, and orange peel, the ultimate breakfast for dinner.  Do not be remiss and forego the cocktail list for your standard whatever-and-tonic. The gorgeous spirits are every bit as delicious as their plated counterparts.

The beer selection is an undeniable nod to N'awlins, mixed with a few other carefully selected brews.  The citrusy and hoppy Abita SOS Pilsner was full-bodied yet refreshing, and a portion of the proceeds benefit Cleaning Up Our Coast.

An impressively diverse wine list is delineated with headings like, "Tried and True," "Your New Best Friend," and "Go Out on a Limb."  The selection even features an irreverently named "dago red" and and "dago white" label crafted uniquely for Dominick's and Little Dom's.  Unlike other restaurants who often have generic wines repackaged and labeled for house service, the chef, owners, and wine team actually spend time with the vineyard tasting an array of varietals and flavor profiles, personally selecting the blends that eventually arrive in the restaurant cellar.

A simple first course of finely shredded emerald ribbons of raw kale with grilled baby carrots, all tossed in extra virgin olive oil and lemon set the tone spectacularly for the rest of the meal.  Fresh market vegetables prepared to perfection require no masking whatsoever.  If a basic autumn salad can taste this delicious, I knew I was in for a real treat with the more intricate dishes to come.

Pizza is served like a shiny garden mosaic on crispy, paper thin crust that miraculously crackles and tears simultaneously, like a tender water cracker.  Though toppings range from biellese pepperoni and speck to anchovies and egg, the pizza del giorno featured a simplistic, yet addictive and tasty harmony of arugula, aged provolone, mozzarella, and sweet red tomatoes.

Glistening artichokes are grilled to perfection, and as you squeeze caramel-charred drops of lemon juice onto the petals, it seems a tease when the last bit of meat from the heart of the plant is devoured.

Littleneck clams are anything but little, like plump pillows of the ocean that have been tenderly steamed and then dipped in garlic oregano butter.  The grilled ciabatta, brushed with olive oil, is almost a separate dish in and of itself.  Though the two pair excellently, be certain to taste each component individually.  I can't recall the last time I enjoyed such luxuriously succulent clams or such crisp, chewy, and simply wonderful italian toast.

One of the stars of the evening was also one of the few windows into the creole background of Chef Brandon Boudet, who once worked a stint alongside Emeril Lagasse.  Sweet jumbo shrimp are showcased on a pedestal of a crispy polenta fritter, a golden outer crunch giving way to a smooth and buttery puree inside.  The entire masterpiece is blanketed with a generous (yet not excessive) ladleful of tangy piquante sauce that tickles the tongue and seems to liven the sweetness of the seafood and savoriness of the polenta.

One true sign of an extraordinary restaurant is when it can elevate something as simple as potatoes to such a crack-addictive level of deliciousness that I have craved them almost every single day since my visit.  At Little Dom's, these little apples of the earth are boiled until tender, then smashed so that the skin and inner tater are juxtaposed in a playfully confusing hodgepodge of texture and flavor.  The exploded spud is then deep fried, and tossed with minced garlic and lemon, a kaleidoscope of salty, sweet, sour, crunchy, and tender all jumbled into one.  When something so ugly can taste so outrageously wonderful, how can you not fall head over feet in love with it... kind of like a wrinkly bulldog of side dishes.

Another dish that draws from the chef's southern roots is a fantastic spin on chicken and waffles, this version featuring a sublimely tender wood oven roasted duck confit with hearty polenta waffles, drizzled with a syrup of reduced marsala wine.  A decadent and elegant duet of sweet and savory, it was another highlight of my evening.

I would ordinarily skip over something as seemingly common as capellini pomodoro in favor of dishes like the fried ricotta gnocchi with chantarelles and porcini cream or the squash ravioli, but considering the feast laid before me at the table, who was I to complain?  And boy, would I have missed out on what was perhaps the best capellini I have ever enjoyed, a reminder that simple classics executed to superior degree are often better than the most beautifully complicated creations.  The capellini was outstanding, al dente threads of angel hair pasta, tossed with wood oven roasted tomatoes sweeter than I ever knew possible, oregano, garlic, a whisper of crushed red pepper, and a gossamer snowfall of grated parmesan.  If etiquette and gratitude were not necessary when sharing a table with three diners that included the chef himself, I would have greedily hoarded this plate to myself, and stabbed any chubby little finger attempting to share it with a sharp-pronged fork.

Though dinner left us beyond satisfied, pastry chef Ann Kirk's sweet endings are not to be missed.  Take, for instance, this caramelized white chocolate mousse on a shortbread wafer with sweet roasted hazelnuts and a passionfruit coulis, a buttery and fluffy cloud of cream and caramel cut beautifully with citrus, with the delicate crunch of hazelnuts.  Exquisite.

Speaking of luxurious and decadent desserts, the chocolate napoleon left me speechless.  Chocolate phyllo leaves remain crisp and crunchy like paper thin cocoa brittle between velvety dollops of malted panna cotta, chocolate budino, and whipped creme fraiche, dusted with confectioner's sugar.  This ranks as one of my top five favorite desserts... ever.  Garnish it with a few plump raspberries to cut the richness, and it could easily take the number one slot.

Grandma had better watch out, because Little Dom's has hijacked the traditional apple crisp, spicing it up with curry.  It sounds freakish and absurd, but it actually worked fantastically for one of the most unique apple desserts I've tasted (something I don't often say, considering I spent ten years of my life baking pies and desserts all summer).  The sweet cream gelato cooled the zip of the curry, and the result was uniquely scrumptious.

Though the napoleon won my heart (and belly), the table favorite was the butternut squash fritters, warm, sugar-tossed southern doughnut balls that break open to reveal steamy, sweet cake batter with glowing pieces of sweet orange squash, cooled off by a quick dip in whipped creme fraiche.  The quintessential early winter sweet ending.

Monday Supper features a three-course meal for just $15, and brunch features breakfast pizzas and eggs benedict with fennel pollen hollandaise.  Right next door is Little Dom's deli, for sandwich creations and the like.

A very special thank you to Brandon and Isabelle for what was by far my favorite meal ever in California.  Huge hugs.

Falling for Flushing

Corner of 40th Road & Main Street in Flushing, Queens

Standing at the platform for the 7 train to Flushing, layers upon layers below Grand Central Station, it occurs to me that for as bustling and sardine-can-crammed as Manhattan seems at street level, at any given moment there are just as many scrambling people teeming several levels below me in the subways and pancaked layers above me in the skyscrapers, like some gigantic cosmopolitan multi-decker club sandwich of humanity.  It's simultaneously fascinating and humbling.

The subterranean 7 train platform, however, must surely be one of the lowest points of public access in Manhattan, as I lost both count and frame of reference after the fifth staircase and ramp descent towards the earth's core.  In the concrete tunnel of dense air, as I wait for a subway car to whiz me off to Queens, sweat drips down the domed ceilings in tiny zero-gravity streams of soot canyons above me.  Old hazard stripes painted along the tracks that were once crimson and white now resemble antique candy canes dredged through an ash tray.  Enormous jet plane turbo fans on the ceiling regurgitate the hot breath of stale subway air, while ziz-zagging fluorescent light tubes flicker like a Scrambler ride at some abandoned county fair.

Not a solitary smile penetrates the monotony.  The vacuous visage of each stranger glows jaundiced in the yellowish lights.  The handful of men and women lucky--or brave--enough to claim a seat on the single wooden bench sit in drained, wilted postures, too weary to even crack a book or unfold a newspaper for the afternoon trek home.  You weigh more at lower elevations, and we all can feel the extra burden.

The red-headed stepchild of the MTA, the 7 line is full of hand-me-down subway trains.  The one that achingly crawls into the station is no exception, like the Little Engine that Could... with a walker.  I immediately recognize it as a retired N or Q train, which have now been replaced with more pristine, contemporary models.  Despite soaring fares, the 7 train will wait years for refurbishing.  I step into the seasoned car, and grab a seat on one of the several benches of various hues of faded orange against scratched aluminum walls.

Once on the train, I notice that several passengers are now reading papers covered with Asian characters unfamiliar to me.  I recognize the script across from me as Kanji, and its reader is a frail, elderly Japanese man who makes me smile.  Easily eighty, he wears brown Doc Marten lace up boots, gray dress slacks, a plaid shirt, a black windbreaker with mudflap trucker girls stitched on the lapel in gold embroidery, and a navy blue ball cap advertising C.K. Pharmacy in yellow stitching.  His face folds in layers down over itself like little waterfalls of wisdom, and silver eye brows grown at least two inches long are combed away from his face, drooping like weeping willow branches.  Although I am now blatantly staring in curiosity of his story, he doesn't seem to take notice.  Is he reading or sleeping?  I cannot tell.  I want to ask him about his life, his family, was he born here?  What should I know about the neighborhood, and what are his favorite hidden gems?  Is he my Japanese guardian angel in a stripper jacket?

At the Vernon-Jackson stop, the last of the young professionals exit the train, most likely bound for one of those shiny new condo megaplexes in Long Island City that just somehow don't quite seem to fit New York City to me.

Finally, the train gasps for air as it emerges beyond the East River and speeds towards Queensboro Plaza, and like the train, every passenger seems revived by the fresh wash of sunshine.  The faded orange seats now somehow glow in the daylight like tikka masala, mango, and then juicy mandarin oranges as we speed past the graffiti-painted rooftops of Indian and Jamaican neighborhoods towards the circus of Asian wonders that is Flushing, Queens.  The penultimate stop is Citi Field, were a few tennis enthusiasts bounce out the door to the U.S. Open, now leaving me the only caucasian on the train, clearly the minority in both skin tone and knowledge of the neighborhood, the latter of which I am here to work on.

As the train again dips below ground and pulls into the last station on the line, my fairy-god-sensei folds his newspaper and takes a gingerly sip from a Poland Spring bottle, gathers the plastic bags at his feet, and leans back and sighs before balancing his wire-rimmed glasses on his nose.  I chuckle to myself and wonder why he removed his glasses to read, but now finds need for them.

I am about to find out.

Stepping through the subway doors, I am instantly whisked onto the streets of Hong Kong.  Motorola Droid ads appear in only Chinese characters, and the MTA snack bodega also sells bamboo plants.  Like being sucked into some enormously strong Pacific rip current, I try my best to blend with the crowd and follow where they lead me.  Briskly running up the stairs toward street level, I am hit with breezes of garlic, soy, and spices I cannot even remotely identify.  As the current flows me past a fruit market, we all giggle and hopscotch over a spilled crate of gigantic, ruby cherries dumped by a young boy, meanwhile the shopkeeper franticly scurries to gather them before being pureed in the melee. Middle-aged women tug at my sleeves offering massages, and when I ignore, the men tug at my sleeves.  I pass an entire block of butchers with whole ducks glistening in the windows, noodle shops, bakeries, and grocery stores before I finally find my feet and leap from the rapid stream of people swirling along the sidewalk.

I find myself standing under elevated railroad tracks on a row of what appears to be all street carts and tiny storefront windows selling scallion pancakes, noodles, pork buns, and skewers of every variety of meat and seafood imaginable.

I have no idea how I can possibly sample even a fraction of what is triggering embarrassingly primal growls from my stomach, but I quickly decide exactly where to start.  One window at the corner of 40th Road and Main Street advertises Peking duck buns for $1.  I duck down into the tiny opening to order one, passing my dollar bill.

In exchange, I receive a delicately fluffy mantou (steamed bun) folded with warm, slow-roasted duck with crispy glazed skin, slivers of cold and crunchy cucumber and scallion, drizzled generously with hoisin sauce.  The textures and flavors are all familiar to me, but have never quite harmonized in this perfect combination.  It's the ideal snack to start off with, and my palate is now whet for some serious tasting.  Mustering a surprising amount of self-restraint, I blind myself to the remaining beckoning food stalls, and shuffle purposefully down Main Street.  I may not be an expert, but this is certainly not my first time time in Flushing.

* * * * *

It's my second time, actually.  My introductory visit was two days ago for the Asian Feastival, a culinary event produced by Wendy Chan (founder and president of Definity Marketing), celebrating the local and authentic Asian cuisines of Queens.  From panel discussions to cooking demonstrations, a farmer's market, food tables from over 20 restaurants, and a walking tour of Flushing, it was a brilliant, vibrant, and gorgeously organized forum to explore Asian culinary arts in a way you otherwise simply could not in just one day.

While it inarguably offered a colorful sampling, it ultimately achieved a greater purpose, as I walked away amused, baffled, haunted, and hypnotized by some of the most interesting and delicious dishes I have tasted, and simply cannot find anywhere else.  The following is a sampling of just a few of the highlights from the Feastival that served as catalyst for what was surely the first of many explorations in Flushing to come.

Qingdao cold noodles from M&T restaurant were maybe the most unique and flavorful dish I tried.  Cold noodles made from gelatin extracted from seaweed, chilled, and served with shredded carrots and cilantro in a tangy vinegar and garlic sauce.  I've never tasted anything like this before, and it was absolutely delicious.

Egg yolk glazed baked buns with sweet bean paste filling from Deluge Restaurant were surprising baked bonbons of sweetness.

Traditional to the Zhongqiu festival, Moon cakes were filled with both red bean and lotus seed paste, and stamped with various Chinese characters, another sweet treat I experienced for the first time.

Banana langka toron from the only filipino restaurant featured, Payag, were phyllo-wrapped banana and jackfruit pastries drizzled with caramel sauce, a delectable Asian bananas foster that was a huge hit.

From the Indonesian restaurant Java Village, I enjoyed Mie Ayam with Baso Telur, tender and savory chicken noodles with quail-egg stuffed meatballs.

Tibetan yak momos from Himalayan yak, extraordinary dumplings stuffed with tender and delicious grass fed yak meat.

Lentil doughnuts (medu vada) and curried potato dosas were served up by Dosa Place on the outdoor patio.

One of the most graceful and captivating stations was presented by Nan Xiang Xao Long Bao, the Shanghainese Dumpling house.  Masterful cooks hand-stretched and cut the dough, then filled each soup dumpling to order, before steaming them on giant burners.

       

Each juicy pocket of steamed dough is filled with a tender pork and chive meatball, along with savory broth.  You carefully nibble at the pocket, sip the soup, and then devour the meatball. So beautiful.  So much tradition.  And so delicious.

Green Papaya grilled up wonderfully tender skewers of chicken and beef satay, accompanied by a Thai Peanut sauce for dipping.

The Asian Farmer's Market was loaded with fruits and vegetables I've never seen before.  I sampled Asian radishes and the notoriously stinky durian for the first time.

Believe it or not, dragonfruit is an actual, delicious, juicy, tangy fruit, not just a flavor made up for Power-C Vitamin Water.  It was absolutely refreshing and wonderful.

Inside, panel discussions were offered throughout the afternoon on a variety of topics.  Above, Top Chef contestant Lee Anne Wong moderates a panel discussion with Eddie Huang (Baohaus) and Akira Back (Yellowtail) about the new generation of Asian American chefs who are currently redefining the culinary landscape.

For those lucky enough to secure a spot (along with a few extra tagalongs) the afternoon ended with a Taste Hunting Tour of Flushing headed by Joe DiStefano of Edible Queens.  Our first stop was the Flushing Mall Food Court.

The braised tofu at Temple Snacks was firm and delicious, topped with cilantro and a chili jam.

I have to confess that certain offal remain my weakness.  I am sure these pork intestines with chili sauce were exquisitely prepared, but the funky odor quite frankly reminds me of a wet barn, which paired with the unctuous texture makes me altogether squeamish.  But I did try it... and will probably try it again.  It's an acquired taste I have simply yet to even remotely snag.

The Taiwanese sticky rice cakes are something to which I have almost no frame of reference for comparison.  Almost like savory, giant mochi, these sticky rice pockets are filled with endless combinations of toppings.  The green tea cake was stuffed with a blend of pork and seafood, while the red cake was stuffed with a smooth and mildly sweet red bean paste, and stamped with a Chinese character.

From Xi'An Famous Foods (of Anthony Bourdain fame) we sampled their A1 dish, the Liang Pi Cold Skin Noodles.  These playfully stretchy and chewy noodles are made entirely of wheat flour, hand-stretched and cut daily, served with cubes of spongy gluten, tossed in a peppery chili oil with slices of cucumber and fresh cilantro.

The next stop on our taste hunt led us to Tian Jin Chinese Restaurant (135-02 Roosevelt), which in actuality is more of a walk-up poultry counter with a few tables along the wall.  The owner, Ma Gennian, graciously setup a makeshift tasting table on the sidewalk for us, where we were presented with a generous array of meats for our culinary exploration.  Along with goose neck (shown above), we sampled tofu, chicken breast, rabbit, pig's feet, gizzards, liver, and pork tongue... all infused with a magnificently fragrant and tangy five-spice from a technique known as flavorpotting, which involves stewing the meats in a blend of soy sauce, rice wine, sugar, salt, and the five-spice powder.  As the brine ferments, it intensifies in flavor, and the brew at Tian Jin has been replenished over the course of years and years, resulting in a boisterous seasoning you will not find elsewhere.

Taking a brief intermission from the edible delicacies of Flushing, the gang next stopped at New York Tong Ren Tang, where we sampled therapeutic and bold cups of ginseng tea, while perusing the herbs and dried fish for sale.  

Our final destination, The Golden Shopping Mall, was undeniably the one that most captivated me, and has me almost obsessively craving to return again and again until I have sampled everything this magical cavern has to offer.  Hidden below street level, a labyrinth of hallways are packed with numbered makeshift stalls of Chinese street food.  Menus are duct-taped to support beams.  The tiled floor is slick with evaporated juices that have condensed and fallen again.  The air is thick with ginger, garlic, and even cumin, and the aromas are almost visible on the walls and tiny little stools lining the corridors.  Customers order steaming bowls of hand-pulled noodles, piping hot chive dumplings, and refresh themselves with bubble teas.

When we only sampled pieces of the gelatinous head cheese at Xie's Home Cooking (which was actually quite delicious), Eric Ripert's favorite, I knew that I would have to return soon to indulge in the other culinary offerings.  But after the tour, as our gluttonous mob dissipated, I found that I had not much room left for anything.

Not quite ready for this incredible field trip to end, my dear friend, Hayley, and I decided to set out on our own walking tour of some of the areas we had not been able to explore earlier.  Vendors offered curious morsels from every direction.  Crock pots were bubbling with skewers of spicy fish balls, bobbing up and down like tiny speared apples in a tub.

At Chang Jiang Supermarket (41-41 Kissena Blvd.) there was an entire aisle of every type of noodle imaginable.

The next row was strewn with a kaleidoscope of Asian sweets, as if some divine confectioner sprinkled technicolor candied confetti down a mile of shelves.  Though I wanted to buy boxes of each of the ten varieties of Pocky, we finally settled on an assortment of gummies, ranging in flavors from mangosteen to kiwi (with actual seeds inside the candy), muscat, and strawberry.

Unlike any grocery store I have seen, an entire section is devoted to rows and rows of glass canisters of exotic spices, herbs, and dried seafood.

Rows and rows of fish on ice are displayed above murky aquariums of even more fish of every size, shape, and color.  But this little girl isn't contemplating fish.  She is staring a tub of turtles sold for $6 each, and wondering which one would be perfect for soup.

A full staff of expert butchers filet whole fish to order with a few swift whacks of a cleaver.

The unpurchased bits return to the ice, hopefully to be snagged by another customer, perhaps for a fish stock or other exotic creation.

A great wall of aquariums line one corner of the vast supermarket, bubbling with every scale of seafood imaginable.  Live shrimp are rushed to local kitchens for immediate steaming, and whole eels are brought home to grill.

After paying for our sweets, we stood on the sidewalk in awe, collecting our thoughts.  What a vibrant, unique, and colorful pocket of such rich culture.  I knew we would both be returning soon.

Having meandered around the neighborhood and after gliding up and down rows of fresh produce, meats, and candies at the supermarket, a tiny new bit of appetite had made itself room in my stomach.  Of course I had to try a skewer of fish balls for $1.  What's not to love about these crispy and golden globes filled with sweet and salty fish cake?

For just $1.25 for four steamed pork buns, it seemed almost a crime to not at least taste these juicy pillows of Chinese barbecue.  And now that there was absolutely no room left whatsoever, we finally raised our white flags and returned home to Astoria, vowing to visit again very soon.

* * * * *

So today I am back.  It's only two days later, and I haven't been able to think about much else besides the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes that were introduced to me like a sensory explosion of fireworks just forty-eight hours ago.  Again today, scallion-speckled batter is smoothed into large discs on griddles to make pancakes, fish balls marinate in spicy broth, and noodles in every sauce imaginable are ladled into styrofoam containers to the point of bursting.  Though aromas from the street venders and the people crowding around them for afternoon snacks beckon me to join in, after I finish the Peking duck bun, I make a beeline straight for the Golden Shopping Mall, this time to sample more than merely a few slices of head cheese. 

This afternoon, the hallways are less crowded.  It's almost 4:30, shift change, and it seems to be the perfect time to explore with less hustle and bustle.  I walk to counter 36, Xi'An Famous Foods (also in the Flushing Food Court), and begin to attempt to place my order.  The words fall from my lips like a foreign language, because, well, English is the foreign language here.  After a bit of pantomiming, the cashier and I both laugh, and she finally motions to the wall.

I know it only serves to help bring them business, but to me, it's such a kind gesture to those of us unlucky enough not to speak a dialect of Chinese.  Framed neatly and covering the entire wall are pictures and names of all of the dishes.  This is something that not all of the booths do, but I am grateful Xi'An does.

I begin with the savory cumin lamb burger, and am simply flabbergasted.  The bun is toasted crispy on the outside, and soft inside, packed full of lamb meat that has been stewed for what must have been hours in a thick brown sauce almost like a peppery molasses of cumin, jalapenos, scallions, and onions... for only $2.50.  And though I want to pace myself and leave plenty of room, these flavors keep seducing the sandwich back to my lips.  It's addictive.

While I savor the sandwich, I actually have time to peruse the rest of the menu photos.  The dishes are fascinating.  Spicy pig's blood salad with garlic, the chilled blood pudding sliced over mixed greens.  Spicy and tingly lamb face salad.  Though I'm feeling adventurous, I'm not altogether quite sure just how adventurous.  Wiping my hands, I approach the counter again.  This time she understands me.  "You choose," I say... and point in a sweeping gesture toward the photo menu. I point to the sandwich and give a big thumbs up, and then point generally again at the whole wall.  "Anything...  you choose..."  She smiles and says, "okay... you sit down... I bring to you..."

From the table, I see her stretching noodles, steaming them, and then pouring a sauce, finally tossing them with some mystery ingredients.  I'm nervous, excited, and then ultimately... disappointed.  Misunderstanding my degree of enthusiasm for the lamb sandwich, she has prepared me the savory cumin lamb noodles.  That will teach me to moderate my dramatics, and make my own brave decisions.  Now, instead of on a bun, I behold the same toppings tossed with noodles.  But they are delicious noodles, and each one must be a yard long.  By the time I finish one noodle, nearly a third of the plate has disappeared.  Oh no... this stuff really is addictive.  Although I am slightly bummed not to have tried something new, I decide to move on to the next booth.

For $1, I enjoy a beef pie, golden crispy pastry filled with shredded beef, onions, and a sweet barbecue sauce, almost like a pork pun smashed in a panini press. It's good.  Really good.

Down another tunnel of this food maze, the hallway spills into a large open room, where a middle-aged man in a blue gingham apron grins to himself as he cuts dough for dumplings, which a woman behind the counter stuffs with a pork and scallion mixture and seals with a plastic fork, placing them on wax-paper lined cafeteria trays.  I can't resist, and so I place an order for dumplings and steamed pork buns, $6 total.

When the woman delivers three plates to me, she is giggling.  "You very hungry," she laughs.  $6 bought twelve pork buns divided onto two plates...

...as well as a giant plate of twelve piping hot dumplings.  How on earth can they sell such massive portions of food for what breaks down to 25 cents a dumpling?  Though I pack the majority of these treats to go, the few I sample are unlike any dumpling I've ever had.  Never frozen, completely fresh, savory juice explodes from each scrumptious parcel with every bite.  I don't even use the condiments provided (various pepper sauces and vinegars) because the natural flavors are so perfect just as they are.

Since I've made a personal goal for the day of dining in at least one restaurant that I sampled at the Feastival two days ago, I pack my goods, and before exiting swing by the tea stand at the main entrance, with handwritten signs that boast every combination of tea fathomable.

Though I do love milk tea with tapioca pearls, my day has been full of some rather filling and rich dishes, so I settle on a green tea with bits of fruit jelly.  I ascend the staircase to street level as tiny jello orbs of citrus tickle the roof of my mouth.  I sip from the oversized pink straw, and then chew as I smile to myself walking down the street.  I know exactly which restaurant I want to try.

M & T restaurant (44-09 Kissena Blvd) is about a ten minute walk from Main Street.  It's the restaurant that served the curiously delicious seaweed jelly noodles, and they are known for serving traditional Qingdao dishes, a specific Chinese cuisine rarely prepared anywhere in America.  I quickly choose a few interesting dishes, as a pot of steaming tea is delivered.  Though the tea looks like green tea, it's brewed from bamboo from the Qingdao mountains.  The earthy, smoky blend instantly relaxes me to every extremity, and my toes tingle as the warmth reaches them.

While I wait for my order to arrive, the owner presents me with a small dish of salted peanuts and dried fish.  The fish are crunchy, becoming somewhat chewy, and surprisingly delicious.  I find myself picking around the peanuts for more bits of the tiny seafood snack.

Though I placed an order for the crab with egg, it is clam with egg that arrives at the table.  Another lesson driven home: always order by numbers if available.  I decide to withhold complaint, because this dish looks and smells divine.  Almost like a seafood omelette rockefeller, the eggs are beautifully scrambled with plump whole shucked clams and scallions.  They are simple flavors, really, but executed to perfection.  The eggs are light and fluffy, the clams juicy and tender, the scallions adding just enough bite to compliment the other two.

My main dish is enormous, still steaming, and other than broccoli, full of exotic morsels I have never tried.  Sea cucumber has been boiled, cooled, and rehydrated for two days.  Reminding me very much of the Qingdao noodles, these tiny slices of sea green are like tender, jellied, salty cucumbers.  They slide through my teeth, tickle my tongue, and instantly give way under my bite.  The sea cucumbers are generously blanketed over an enormous portion of pork elbow, which has been brined and slow roasted to the point of incomparable tenderness, with almost no fat.  The owner seems pleased by my facial reaction, and comes over to the table with a knife and fork.  "Let me cut that for you to make it easier," she offers, and then does just that, sweetly cutting my entire plate like a loving matriarch.  "There you go, enjoy..." and she disappears into the kitchen.

With a full stomach, and now a full bag of groceries, I slowly make my way back down Kissena Blvd to the 7 train, my fascination and awe only stirred all the more.  As I wait at Queensboro Plaza to transfer to  the Q back to Astoria, I gaze in wonder at the Manhattan skyline.  What an absolutely incredible city I live in.

I know... the grass is always greener.  And don't get me wrong, I absolutely adore and cherish the avenue on which I live, lined with Greek cafes busy with both old and young olive-skinned men and women of Astoria sipping frappes and nibbling pita, gyros, and baklava.  For that matter, the inhabitants of Flushing would probably marvel at the old-fashioned country feast my grandmother prepares each Sunday in Indiana.  But after an excursion in Flushing, I smile to myself and cannot imagine living anywhere else on earth besides New York City, an authentic melting pot of every culture imaginable.  And I cannot wait for my next return visit.  I haven't even tried any of the dim sum palaces.  Do you have any recommendations?  Better yet, want to join me?