I hearted fries.

I don't know if it's all the pro-organic, pro-vegetarian, sustainability books I've been reading recently ("The Food Revolution" by John Robbins and "The Omnivore's Dilemma" by Michael Pollan), but it may be affecting the way I taste (food, not me personally).

For the past year, I've generally tried to avoid fast food as much as possible. No temptatious nuggets, no pungent hamburgers, well, the occasional grilled chicken sandwich because it must be healthier than the other stuff on the combo menu! But there's no way around the fries. I crave fries every day. I love Burger King fries, they always seem to be fresh.

But today, I got Wendy's. It honestly tasted like there was a slimy coating of melted plastic wrapped around each fry. The more I chewed, the more it "crunched" between my teeth, but not in a good way. No fry has ever tasted like this to me before. . . . I imagined my stomach being assaulted by carcinogenic seasoning and butane-laced grease. In disgust, I slowly and regretfully stopped eating, and ended up throwing the majority of it out. And I had made it a medium! $1.55.

I hope this change is for the good cause I thought fries and I had a beautiful relationship. . . .

Gonna go watch Fast Food Nation now. What a coincidence it came in the mail.

OM Restaurant, Harvard Square, II

Promptly at 6, we were led up to the second floor, the second "level of enlightenment," according to the restaurant's website. A quieter, more private setting.

[Continued from previous post, OM Restaurant, Harvard Square.]

We were led up the rich wooden stairs and emerged on the second floor. It had a very earthy, but sparse decor, with small clay and stone sculptures in nooks and crannies in the walls on, and a nicely lit centerpiece painting on the ceiling.

As we were seated at a clean, clothed table for two, the service started immediately. A bowl of herb-and-cheese seasoned popcorn, and warm bread were placed between us. It was refreshing to be attended to by a respectful, mature, well-dressed, and alert group of servers, some with the role of simply clearing the table when we had finished a course. A very smooth operation.

After ordering, we were given a complimentary amuse bouche, a bite-sized hors d'oeuvre to whet the appetite in anticipation of the main courses. Now, I had never had an amuse bouche, but had learned about them in a Top Chef episode, the cooking competition show on Bravo. I was excited to try one and see what the glamorous fuss was all about. I was expecting an amuse bouche to be a single bite of tasty solid food (as they were in Top Chef), but it came as a frothy light-green liquid in a shot glass. Described to us as a puree of cucumbers, Thai curry, basil, and other things I can't remember, we hesitantly sniffed, sipped, and smacked... the cucumbers made it oddly refreshing and light, the Thai Curry introduced a playful and sensual aroma into the back of the mouth and nose, and overall, the extreme saltiness curled the stomach and prickled the salivatory glands into second gear. I admit that it was beyond anything I had ever experienced because it was such a daring combination of completely separate ingredients (drinking a cucumber and curry shake, who wudda thunk??). A+ for originality.

After the majority of the amuse bouche was cleared away, without reproach from the staff I might add gratefully, the two starter courses came. The young greens salad with shallots and herbal "Banyuls" dressing, and fried cucumbers (notice a theme?) were delectable in their own unique way. I'm a fan of fried foods, although I am advised to stay away from them due to a particularly sensitive digestive system, and I can say that I am a huge fan of the fried cucumbers -- the batter was crispy on the outside, light on the inside, and the cucumber was juicy and soft. To top it off, the mayonnaise sauce was a stimulating compliment to the subtle flavors of the cucumber. I would go back again just for that!

The young greens salad was a bit more challenging in that the dressing was, again, infused with exotic herbal flavors that I had not experienced before. Had I been a little more fearless, I may have enjoyed it for its uniqueness and divergence from the standard "balsamic vinaigrette," but honestly, it left me feeling like I was eating from an aromatherapy garden. Soothing at first, but feeling drugged towards the halfway point. I gave it up for my sister to devour, while I finished off the fried cucumbers. Good deal.

Then the main course. Elephant Trunk Sea Scallops was presented in an artistic flourish of sweet English pea puree with basil and mint, luxuriating in a bed of smoked bacon, red onion, and mushrooms. What an unexpected combination of flavors, you say! Yes indeed. This was a thrilling plate because scallops are one of my comfort foods, and dipping the soft body into the thickness of the puree was grand. The contrast of seared scallop and sweet pea/sweet basil/refreshing mint was not so intimidating as one would expect. In contrast, there was balance and everything seemed to melt in your mouth. The aggressive flavors of bacon, onion, and mushroom served well to refresh the palate between bites of scallop, just to keep the party going, so to speak.

And indeed, it was a party. Stuffed and no room for dessert. I'll let my sister talk about that!

Overall, a positive dinner experience with many firsts. The next time I feel exploratory, I'll be sure to come back for new eats, and to meditate on the Buddha god.

For more information:
OM Restaurant
92 Winthrop Street
Cambridge, MA

OM Restaurant, Harvard Square

My sister and I tried "OM," a restaurant offering modern American cuisine by Chef Rachel F. Klein. Located on the inner skirts of Harvard Square, it is a regal and exotic treasure amidst the flurry of Hahvad students, crazies, homeless, and the rest of academic civilization.

I had known of its existence since the beginning of my stint in Cambridge two years ago, but had always assumed that it was an overfluffed Indian restaurant judging from the name and symbol of "OM" emblazoned on the large sign lit brightly enough for all to see.

I suppose I should have been more interested in/open about it before last week when I actually went in and tried it for the first time. I was missing a bonding place.

Immediately upon entering, I was attracted by the cleanliness of the interior. We were greeted by a running wall-fountain that spanned the entire entrance, wrapping me in a blanket of comfort and protection. Until the dining floor opened at 6pm, we were directed to enjoy the lounge whose windowed walls were was open (unfortunately) to the ground-level mini-quad that is also shared by Pete's Coffee, ex-Tower Records, and Grendel's Patio outdoor diners. Sounds quaint until you realize that the green grass is littered with trash, and the air smells faintly of dumpster trash, littered cigarette butts, and unwashed wandering bodies. And if you enjoy your privacy, the loads of people walking by isn't particularly helpful. Such is the current situation in good ol' Harvard Square.

The waitresses/hostesses were beautifully made-up and smiling. The cocktails were beautiful and appetizing. The lounge was beautiful, the sofas were sleek and I wanted to lean all the way back and fall asleep on them.

The most dominant and impressive feature of the lounge is the wall to wall Thangka painting of Kali, perhaps; the goddess of creation and destruction. Ironically, it was a truly enlightening experience to observe the looming image and see the hope pervading the surface amidst the chaos and existence of death and suffering. It was an experience true to the vision of the locale for sure.

Promptly at 6, we were led up to the second floor, the second "level of enlightenment," according to the restaurant's website. A quieter, more private setting.

[to be continued when it's not past my bedtime]

Coolio cups!

Thanks to the positive review and pretty pictures in Wired Magazine, I gave in to the consumer temptation to purchase the new Bodum Canteen cups: the double glass wall thermo cup with handle.

It's after 10pm and I'm sitting here drinking a steamy cup of decaf green tea, enchanted by the hovering inner sanctum. I can't help but smile spontaneously every time I glance at the shiny liquid encased in a layer of air. I don't usually drink tea at night ever. Or during the day. Except at Asian restaurants. What a cool cup.

How ingenious. How magnificent. It makes me really wish I could drink lattes. Creamy, rich lattes would look really good in those glasses. I might have to bust out my rice milk now.

Try your mouth at soup

*slurp*

Ah...

*slurp*

Ah... Mm-hmm!

*slurp*

Ah... This soup is so good, so warm...

I look up in the deserted room. No wait, it's not deserted, I recall, after seeing that the tables around me are filled with my fellow employees on their lunch break. It's amazing how quiet people can eat. As I look down to savor another delightful spoonful of Au Bon Pain chicken soup:

*slurp*

I look up again, just quickly enough to catch a number of pairs of eyes dart back to their own meals. They were looking at me because... huh? I scan my memory of how I dressed this morning, of how I was seated at the table. I happen to glance at my soup on my way down.

Ohhhh... oops.

The culture conundrum strikes again!

After learning how to fully savor the flavor of hot soup, while cooling it off by vacuuming it full speed into my mouth, thanks to Japanese tradition, I have remained faithful to that technique -- and it has served me well while eating hot ramen noodles, steaming nabeyaki udon, and yes, the occasional store-made reheated chicken soup. While previously unconscious of using this delectable skill, having only used it in Asian restaurants or at home with my culturally-educated ("imposed" may be a closer word) significant other, I had a sudden reverse culture shock after now almost three years back in the States. We don't slurp hot liquids in America. Duh. That goes for hot coffee and green tea as well, I remind myself now. Such a sad, sad thing. Americans are missing out on the fun, I must say.

Not only do you risk burning your tongue by directly pouring fundamentally undisturbed hot substances into your mouth, all the flavor is left undisturbed, still nestled within the liquid itself. Plus all the trouble of trying not to make any sounds -- that's a toughie. So how do you get to savor the aroma of the food?

OK, take wine tasting. Hear the sounds that experts and the gargles that amateurs make? Each one of those sounds has a purpose, which is to direct the scent molecules -- the essence of the food -- into the nasal cavity to make it a fuller, more enriching and distinguishing experience. That's the purpose, and it's not strange in that situation. In fact, it's weird if you don't make the slurping noises. (As chewing is a parallel for solid food.)

With practice, hot liquids also become aerated enough during the process to drop in temperature, adding another layer of satisfaction -- one of not having your tongue turned into rubber the next day.

A challenge: I recommend that this week, you try a bit of soup or tea "the Asian way" and see what you think. I've had the occasional splash-in-the-eye from a delinquent noodle, yes, but those of you who persevere will be richly rewarded. I was a doubter too, but here I am!