Social Workout

love challenge recap: love belly

"Whatever you do, do something that differs from your normal routine, that takes you out of your comfort zone."

I would say that my first-ever experience with dim sum (really? how have I never done this before?) fulfilled both requirements. And then some.

After a long afternoon on Mott Street, standing among cheering crowds and endless rounds of exploding confetti canons as lions and dragons danced their way down the road to ring in the year of the tiger, I was positively famished . . . and was all to happy to follow my friends up an escalator and into a giant red-and-gold banquet hall full of servers wheeling silver carts of hot food to and fro.

The sheer array of dishes was at once exciting and overwhelming, and I was glad that my friend who happens to be Chinese was there with me to help navigate the sea of dumplings, noodles, rolls and things that defied description (a few of which ended up on our table, I might add).

For me, the food fell into three catgories: things I didn't recognize, things I recognized and wanted to eat, and things I recognized and might have fed to a dog, had there been one under our table.

If I'm being honest, I'd have to say that the plate of chicken feet that arrived shortly after we sat down fell into that third category for me—at least at first glance. There they were: fragrant and golden but unmistakable in their form, like strange, severed little claws sitting limp and helpless in front of me. I can't say I wanted to try them, but I knew that I had to. And all in all, I'm glad that I did . . . but I'm not sure if I'd ever order them of my own accord. They were surprisingly not awful, but the experience of sucking the gelatinous (fat? cartilage? what exactly IS a chicken foot made of anyway?), er, meat, off of the bone and then spitting the little bone fragments back onto my chopsticks & depositing them on the side of my plate did not top my list of most pleasant dining experiences. But I wouldn't run out of the room if I had to eat them again, so I consider the whole thing a success—if a marginal one.

I also tried tripe—a huge personal victory in adventurous eating, because that stuff looks so disgusting in a butcher shop window. It was the one food I was convinced I would never try because the sight of it makes me nauseous. But I was feeling sure of myself, having already conquered the hen appendage, and when my friend mentioned tripe I boldly told him to go ahead and order it. And it was . . . okay. Kind of like less chewy and less flavorful calamari with a VERY strange texture (it has all these tiny little spiky bumps all over it, which makes eating it...weird). There was a very nice spicy sauce with it, so it wasn't a complete loss. I have to say that if given the choice, I'd probably pick the tripe over a chicken foot. Probably. But I'll get back to you on that.

Anyway, by far my favorite new food of the day was this strange "cake" that was made with taro and bacon, of all things. It was a bit like a German potato dumpling in taste and texture (slightly gelatinous and pasty, but salty-sweetish and oh-so-delicious). I would go back down to Chinatown just for another piece of that. Also (surprisingly) delicious was a noodle dish made with dried scallops and the oolong-chrysanthemum tea we sipped throughout the meal.

Of course there were all sorts of other foods as well involving "normal" (and delicious) ingredients, but it was a lot of fun getting to experience some of the foods my friend grew up eating that aren't found on run-of-the-mill takeout menus. About two hours and countless tiny plates later, I left feeling very enriched and very full indeed (but . . . not too full to stop in for some taro & almond cookie ice cream at the Chinatown ice cream factory).