Naahahahaice!

We're having our windows replaced and the house has been a veritable maelstrom of sawhorses and utility belts, rendering the preparation of nutritious -but delicious- meals a non-starter. In addition, A has a whole new Plan For Budgetary Victory, which involves eating out 6 times a month (as opposed to 6 times a week).
Which is how we found ourselves headed to the Inka Heritage last Friday. This is a place of Peruvian delights that A and I had visited once before with Wonder Boy and Attorney Adorable, following a fundraiser at the High Noon Saloon, early this spring. Being that it's located within a 10 minute walk and given that we loved the food, how come we hadn't gone back again and again? The reason was the slow service; on our last visit, it was close to an hour before we got our food, although it's a testament to how good it was that we ate it in great good humor and loved it all. I don't remember what I ate all those months ago, but I do remember the grilled beef-heart appetizer, which was good. I also remember being struck by what should have been obvious, which was the heavy accent on sea-food, potatoes, and corn, the latter of sizes and varieties that I had not seen nor imagined existed before I saw them here.
A and I tried going back once again, in the early summer with The Boy, but it was too crowded, so we decided then to come back at a later date, early in the evening.
Which is what we did on Friday. The Boy had a chicha morada to drink, which is made from fruits and purple corn; A and I had the house cabernet. All three of us were pleasantly surprised at how good our drinks were.
We asked our waitress to spice up the ceviche that we had ordered as an appetizer, and did she ever. In my opinion, to its advantage. The Boy could not eat very much of it because it "spiced his tongue", but he did profess to like what he did eat. A joined the consensus in agreeing that the ceviche was quite delicious; in my humble opinion, if all the Inka Heritage served was the spicy ceviche, I would still rate it among the top 5 Madison restaurants. This is a dish that deserves to be eaten sitting outside, preferably on a balcony overlooking the sea, with a cold brewed beverage as an accompaniment. The Seagulls restaurant in Pondicherry springs to mind; the Seagulls of two decades ago, that is... on a recent visit to that wild and heedless city, I was warned that it was hang-out for the "local rowdies".
The Boy ordered the arroz con pollo (my memory for Spanish names is weak; I might be making some of this up), which was coriander flavored rice, green in color, with chicken in it. he declared it the best thing he had ever eaten, but he often says that when he eats something that he likes for the first time. Still, he had what he couldn't finish packed up and ate it for two more meals over the weekend. A ate the Cai Cau de mariscos, which was a seafood stew with potatoes in it. She said it was very good, and seemed to be flavored with some spice that had elements of curry powder in it. I had the pescado a lo macho, another sea-food dish with clams, calamari, mussels, crab-legs and fish in it, that was made in a lighter, milder sauce than A's dish, but which went quite well with the steamed white rice that accompanied it.
Later that night, I went out with Sailor Man and Mr Red-Headed League, and learnt a new word... "Naahahahaice!"

Domo Arigato, Wasabi-san!

Last Thursday, after the Inka Heritage was voted out of contention by a coalition comprising of A and The Boy, we visited one of our favorite Madison eateries, the Wasabi on State Street. This campaign was celebrated by the victorious parties by chanting, first, “Wa-sa-bi! Wa-sa-bi!” in the car, and then, as the venue approached, “U-don! U-don!”, leaving the reason for the visit in no doubt.

The Wasabi is my favorite place in Madison for Japanese food. We’ve also eaten at the Edo, which leaves pretty much everything to be desired; and we haven’t yet managed the trip to the Muramoto.

Past visits to the Wasabi with the Boy have usually occurred on weekends and have often involved pre-medication at the Blue Velvet. The latter is, of course, an old haunt of mine and A’s, since the days she lived right behind it on State Street, and I on Morrison Street in the Wil-Mar neighborhood. The thing about the BV is that it has almost nothing going for it except that it’s a quiet place with no TV and friendly service, at least at those times of the evening that A and I went to it and settled ourselves at the end of the bar with our drinks, me with a martini (Bombay Sapphire, not too dry, with olives), and A alternating between a mojito, a margarita, or a side-car. In those early days, when we first met, the BV sessions could feature more than the planned-for single aperitif; on one occasion, we ended up going back to her place after rendering ourselves unfit to drive and eating ice-cream and cashews for dinner.

Needless to say, we could not wait to introduce The Boy to this romantic haunt. I’m not sure if the other customers look at us funny when we order up our usual and a Shirley Temple for him, but we don’t care. We behave ourselves, stick to the single drink plan, and proceed to the Wasabi in reasonably orderly fashion.

I’m glad to report that his chopstick skills are nearly as good as mine, although his palate will still not admit raw fish. But no matter; it’s nothing time won’t cure.