Food-filled weekend

The Boy was with us this weekend- it seemed like he had been away forever, but I checked, and it was just the usual schedule- and we had us some food adventures- foodventures?-.

On Friday, The Little Bruiser was over for a sleep-over, and I was gratified - as always - to note that his appetite for what he still calls "Dal-bhat and rice" (for those of you who are not Nepali, dal and bhat often get said together because the one is usually served with the other; but they are two words, and bhat means rice, in Nepali and in many Indian dialects) remains undiminished. A made a delicious raita to go with the dal and green-pea and cumin pilaf. The temperature was in the 90's and, altogether, a quintessential northern Indian down-home experience was had by all. A capped the evening in grand style by producing a blueberry pie that she had made earlier, which I could, Goodness Gracious Me-style, claim was also Indian (like a samosa except with berries. And sweet.) in origin, but I'll spare it.

Owing to a scheduling snafu, The Little Bruiser had to return to his mother's rather earlier on Saturday than we had planned, so we couldn't go to Ella's Deli, a ritual from ancient times that the boys love. Nevertheless, we got over our disappointment and went to the first movie of the weekend, Deep Sea 3-D. This was an excellent show that A had seen once before, in the company of L, M and N, in London last year, and had been talking about ever since. I thoroughly recommend taking your child to this show, but only if you have confidence in their sea-legs. Bring a sick-bag just to be sure. Also, be prepared for squealing children grasping at jelly-fish. Vaseline works.

After the movie, we made a second trip to Hilldale in less than a week, determined, this time, to do it right. Thus, a drink was enjoyed at the Bistro, this time in the company of the Boy, who had a lemonade. A and I had mojitos, which were remarkable for their lush minty foliage. Well-sweetened and flavored, they were a great accompaniment to the discussion, which revolved mainly around the question that remains after all the questions of life, the universe, and everything have been answered. Mainly, we were having a hard time deciding between Muramoto and the Flat Top Grill. A favored the former (as did I), whereas the Boy favored the latter. After much airing of pros and cons, we decided on the latter. A and I decided to come back to the Muramoto at another time.

The Flat Top operates on the conceit that you, the average pasty-faced mid-westerner, have a pretty good notion of what you like in your stir-fry. Just so no taste is left behind, your choices of what goes into your noodles/ rice/ beansprouts/other veggies range from Filipino sausage (longganisa) to prime rib. Your sauces cover the gamut from plum sauce to something called horse-radish water, touching on curry-sauce along the way. You then balance your bowl in one hand with your shit-eating grin in the other and proffer it to Imelda and Ferdinand, who stir-fry it with great aplomb in front of your child's wide eyes. Back at the table, you blanch and silently curse yourself for adding too much horse-radish water. And make a mental note to look it all up on-line, if a return trip has to be made. I will say this: the Boy had an excellent time, finishing all his food (which he rarely does) with every evidence of relish. Perhaps we did do it right. As The Polymath says,"Even a blind sow will stumble upon an acorn once in a while".

We had begun making plans to eat the brunch buffet on Sunday at the Concourse Hotel's Dayton Street Cafe while sitting at the Bistro. Accordingly, that's what we did. This buffet is one of the pricier ones in town, and compares favorably with the offerings at other places, such as the Great Dane in Fitchburg, where all three of us had eaten last year (and never returned), and the Orpheum Cafe (which has a much better setting but a slimmer display). Slim is certainly not the adjective I would use to describe anything to do with eating at the Concourse. The dessert table is the pick of the four stations (meats and eggs, more fried stuff, and omelets being the other three). A cocktail is included in the price of the meal; does that make it complimentary, as the waiter averred? A colleague from long ago used this phrase to describe the advantages of a meeting he had been to: "...and what's more, the pizza's free once you've paid for (the meeting)."

The last big event of this weekend was a movie; appropriately enough, it was Ratatouille, a movie about a rat who wants to cook. I join all the other reviewers who raved about it. Indeed, "anyone can cook". It just requires a special someone to eat it with good grace.