Since the pandemic year of 2020, we really haven’t done much dining out in Manhattan at multiple dollar sign places. And a number of times when we have, it’s always been a bit of a disappointment: the food is priced higher than you’d be comfortable with, “suggested” tips start at 25-30%, service really misses its mark, and the whole experience just feels rushed and underwhelming. Even for mid-priced food when dining out, it’s almost impossible to have a meal with multiple dishes and a drink for less than $50 per person in Manhattan unless you’re going to a total hole-in-the-wall. I especially get frustrated at the declining service levels in restaurants. Servers have not known what dishes are when we ask for a clearer description, they have specials, but they don’t know what the specials are before they come to our table, or they just seem clueless in general and are clearly there just to pick up a paycheck and leave. Then, there are the servers who constantly hover over your table when you’re clearly in a deep conversation and keep interrupting to see if you need anything else. I read that as a cue that no, they don’t want to actually see if we need anything else, but they want us to rush through our meal so that they can turn over the table and get another party seated (who can, in the end, increase revenue for the restaurant and increase their own tips). It doesn’t make me feel welcome to sit down and eat, and it certainly should not merit an “industry standard” of a 20-percent tip. That feels like a sense of entitlement when they haven’t even done the work to merit that tip.

So, I was pleasantly surprised when my friend and I went to eat at Frena tonight before our Lincoln Center show. Frena replaced Taboon after had to close due to a fire, and the owner completely gut-renovated the place, complete with a big open oven at the front. We each ordered a drink, had three appetizers, a salad, and two mains, and I am shocked to say that literally every single dish and drink we ordered was spectacular, full of flavor and even surprises. This is almost *never* the case at fancier, more expensive restaurants like Frena. There’s always at least one dish that kind of makes you think, really? That was fine, but not great. But luckily for us, that was not the case here. The bread, which came with the three dips we ordered, was made fresh in the open oven, and it was mouth wateringly good. Plus, the service felt warm and welcoming. The server clearly knew the menu and the specials inside and out, and not for a minute did I ever feel like he was hovering over us and just wanting to turn over our table for the next party of 2.

Most of the good restaurants we go to now are outside of Manhattan, where for whatever reason, the service seems to be warmer and more genuine, and where the food is less pretentious and stands on its own. But Frena was not part of the Manhattan dining stereotype I’ve developed in my head over the last couple of years: it actually was worth every penny we spent based on food quality, service, and ambiance. And it’s so close to home, too!

From March through July of each year, our household is loyal to Ataulfo mangoes, also known as champagne mangoes. They are relatively small, yellow, and have a sweet, honey-like flavor. The flavor is a bit one-noted, but it’s always deeply satisfying. The flesh is also a deep yellow/orange color and never fibrous at all. Very occasionally, I will buy Kent mangoes, which I always refer to as the Mexican mangoes available in the U.S. that are much larger than Ataulfo, but far less flavorful. They are also a bit hit or miss: you can easily get one that may smell fragrant, but once you cut into it, it’s stringy and fibrous. And as we all know, texture can be just as important as flavor in a piece of fruit. Who wants a stringy mango?

It’s been clear since we returned from our South America trip that the Ataulfo mango season is coming to its end. So while we haven’t bought any of these, while in Elmhurst this past Saturday, I came across a fruit cart that sold these huge, fat Kent mangoes, three for $5. I also remember a few people saying in my social media feed that this year’s harvest of Kents were at their very best. So I figured that $5 is a good price to try these out.

After I peeled and cut my Kent mango, I noticed a few things: this large Kent mango yielded about 2-3 times as much flesh as a single Ataulfo mango. The flesh was not fibrous at all, but on the paler yellow side when you compare it to the Ataulfo mango’s deep yellow/orange hue. This is not relevant to taste at all, but the Kent mango skin was much thicker than an Ataulfo’s, making it a bit more resistant to peeling (and a tiny bit more challenging as a result). And when I had a few chunks after cutting it up, I noticed that the flavor was more citrusy than an Ataulfo’s. An Ataulfo is more honey-like, almost creamy and rich. The Kent flesh is more juicy than it is creamy… if that makes any sense. I enjoyed both of them, but I think the flavor is much stronger in an Ataulfo than in a Kent.

And so, our love and preference for Ataulfo mangoes continues while we are in the U.S. Though, I will still buy Kent mangoes once Ataulfos are harder and more expensive now that we’re entering the month of August, assuming I find them at a decent price. I can’t say no to a mango (unless it’s flavorless and/or stringy!).

I’ve been listening to Pailin (of Hot Thai Kitchen)’s new podcast, Sabai, like it’s my new best friend. I’ve been following her for years now. For the longest time, I thought that Thai food was too difficult or required too many ingredients to make at home. After watching just a few of her videos, I’ve realized that it’s actually quite approachable, easy to execute (well, most dishes…), and has quite the overlap with Chinese and Vietnamese ingredients I normally buy. Thai food is exactly what she says: if something is different than what you are used to, then you think it’s strange or too difficult. Pai does an amazing job demystifying Thai food and making it seem like easy home-cooking for anyone.

Pai recently had an episode where she and her cohost, Hong Thaimee, discussed rice. I had no idea what a commodity real Thai jasmine rice was. Unless we buy white or brown basmati or Japanese medium grain rice, we normally buy white/brown jasmine rice that is always imported from Thailand. But Pai and Hong specified in their rice episode that because Thai jasmine rice has become so popular, many “fakes” have come out in the market from Cambodia, Vietnam, and Laos, and the quality and fragrance just are not the same. So they insisted for true authenticity, we had to look for the green circle logo for Thai government certification, which has some grains of rice in the image. And if we got this, we would know for sure that we were getting premium Thai jasmine rice of the highest quality. Of course, I’d take any recommendation Pai gave me, so I took a screen shot of the government certification image and saved it on my phone for future reference.

Yesterday, I went down to Manhattan Chinatown and visited my favorite Vietnamese market to pick up some more white jasmine rice. And I realized that the rice I had previously been buying actually *was* Thai government certified, and it wasn’t too expensive (five pounds for $7). Well, this was an exciting discovery: I had already been buying the “in the know” rice before I actually knew! I also picked up a bag of purple rice since I still had some space in my backpack. I ended up walking eight pounds of rice, a bottle of light soy sauce, and a small bag of Chinese bakery goodies, all the way from Chinatown and eventually up to Koreatown. I think that’s my rucking for the day.

When I lived in Elmhurst, Queens, from 2008-2012, I felt like Elmhurst was always this under-the-radar type neighborhood in Queens that never really got its due. Then, the rents were cheap, the area was safe for families and kids (it still is, in both regards, relatively speaking). And what was top of mind to me was that the food was so, so eclectic. Before I lived in Elmhurst, I had zero idea what Indonesian food was. So to think that I finally lived in a neighborhood where, on a single block, I could pick up Colombian pastries, eat Indian-Chinese fusion, have authentic Taiwanese breakfast, grab some fresh tomatillos for homemade salsa verde, and then have a full Indonesian lunch spread, was just mind-boggling.

We came back to Elmhurst yesterday and stumbled across a coffee shop that turns into a fun wine bar at night called Elm Roastery, right on Broadway, which is the main artery of Elmhurst. We ordered an ube latte and a jasmine lemonade, both of which tasted strongly of what they are made of (you’d be shocked how often this is not the case). The service was very warm and friendly. The decor was modern, sleek, and chic. There are ample tables where you can meet up with friends one on one or in small groups. And they have a large open counter that is designated a laptop-free zone (which I LOVE) where it’s meant for socializing and meeting new people. One of the walls was lined with handmade items for purchase, all made by local Queens-based artists so that locals can buy local. The bathroom was huge, well designed, and even had a European-style changing table (very similar to the ones I used when in Germany), complete with a cushion for your little one and thoughtful little shelves for you to temporarily place things like diapers, wipes, and diaper cream. We used this, and I was so grateful to have a cushion for Kaia and to not change her on the floor. I was stunned; 12 years ago, I would have loved for a spot to be like this in my ‘hood! It’s the time for the rest of New York City to finally embrace Elmhurst now that fun spots like these are popping up!

We revisited one Indonesian spot that I’d eaten at with a friend about ten years ago. Then, it was called Sky Cafe, but it has since been renamed to Sumatera. The owner retired, but the staff, chef, and menu remained the same. When I’d visited here before, I had never been to Indonesia. So coming here now, I actually had something solid to reference. And this meal was just like a meal I’d get in Jakarta or Yogyakarta: we ordered nasi padang bungkus, which is basically a big stuffed banana leaf with a variety of delicious things, like seasoned rice, a boiled egg, beef rendang, savory jackfruit curry, spiced shredded kale, and sambal; mie complit, which is a big bowl of chewy wheat-based noodles topped with ground chicken, bouncy beef and fish balls, a soy-sauce marinated egg, bok choy, deep-fried wontons (fried to order!), with a side bowl of deeply flavored chicken soup; an avocado shake (topped with Milo!!); and while all the above was beyond delicious and flavorful, the biggest highlight for me was the homemade cendol, made to order. The first time I’d ever had gula melaka, this nutty, toasty palm sugar that comes from a specific type of coconut palm found in Southeast Asia, it was in Yogyakarta in a cendol. The flavor was so deep, nutty, toasty, and distinct that no regular granulated sugar could have replicated the same flavor. Here, when we ordered it, the server warned it it would take some time to make. They were literally churning out the cendol jellies to order, which were green from pandan. They added the jellies to a tall glass of ice, coconut milk, and thick, brown gula melaka. And after I had just one sip, I was taken back to Indonesia. The flavor was exactly the same. It was as though I was brought to Indonesian dessert heaven.

Indonesian food is a rare find in the U.S., but I’m grateful to have semi-easy access to it here in New York City, in my original neighborhood of Elmhurst, in my original New York borough of Queens.

For the last two weeks, while we’ve enjoyed the food in South America, one thing that was blatantly missing in every single meal was… spice. There wasn’t much spice in almost anything we ate. Sure, there might have been cinnamon in some of the desserts we ate. But there wasn’t anything even remotely hot spicy. There were times we thought we might get it, like when we had a ceviche in Santiago or even ordered a lamb curry at a tapas restaurant in Montevideo, but there was literally no heat in any food we ate whatsoever. Towards the second half of our trip, Chris started making comments about this.

“This could be spicy… but it isn’t,” he’d comment. “If this just had a little heat, this dish would be even better!”

There were a few times I thought something would be spicy, and it wasn’t even a smidgen. The two times we had chimichurri sauce (a delicious oil based sauce made with blended parsley, coriander, and garlic, oftentimes served with steak) in Argentina, the chimichurri was not green as I anticipated, but red. I later read that these were red because the restaurants added smoked paprika and likely some red bell pepper. Unfortunately, neither of those ingredients are spicy-hot. They are tasty… just not spicy. Oh well.

Chris loves the food almost anywhere and everywhere we have visited in the world. But he definitely likes his spice. And he is generally a bit disappointed when he doesn’t get it for too long. So when we got back, I knew he’d be craving spicy food. And I had a big, big hunch that he’d choose a Thai spot for our Saturday afternoon outing. And if it wasn’t Thai, it would be Indian, but I was doubting that. I was almost certain it would be Thai.

And Thai it was. We went to Bushwick and ended up at Chiangmai Diner and Bar. It was a beautiful corner restaurant, with lots of beautiful green tiling, fun decor, glowing lanterns in the back of the restaurant with full floor to ceiling murals. Even the bathroom matched the restaurant’s chic decor and smelled heavenly (I even noted the candle that was fragrantly lit in the bathroom for futur reference). We had spicy papaya salad with a fermented fish sauce that we’d never had before, which made the salad far more pungent than usual; a fried fish fritter appetizer known to be popular street food in Bangkok, sai oua spaghetti, and boat noodles. Everything was delicious with lots of complex flavors dancing in your mouth all at once, and other than the fish fritters, everything was spicy. Chris’s favorite thing (and Pookster’s) was the sai oua spaghetti, which had a really addictive umami spiciness along with nice al dente noodles for a fun fusion Thai dish; the sai oua was most definitely house made with fresh galangal and makrut lime leaf, with a nice soft texture. But for me, it was a pretty close tie between the boat noodles and the sai oua sausage noodles. I’ve been listening to Hot Thai Kitchen’s Sabai podcast on Thai food and culture, and in one of her episodes, Pailin says that if she could have just one noodle soup for the rest of her entire life, boat noodles would be it. But when she said it, I doubted I’d ever had a really good or authentic bowl of boat noodles (no, I definitely have not. And I knew I hadn’t as soon as she said that authentic boat noodles are enriched with pig’s blood, which makes for a more intense and rich soup). But this boat noodle soup… I could definitely have this again and again.

So yes, this is one of many signs that I absolutely know my husband. He always loves to say that he knows me better than anyone else… At the same time, I would also like to say that I know him better than anyone else… regardless of whether he wants to admit that or not (out loud).