Mongolian Nighmare, Miami Dream

On nights I have class, it's Ian's responsibility to cook dinner. So we went out to eat. Finding a coveted 2-hr parking spot in the busy 39th Street business and entertainment district, we set our sights on sushi. As we walked toward the restaraunt, I expressed my excitement to Ian, who voiced his concern: the last time he ate sushi was in Portland and it was the best of his life. I immediately vetoed sushi on the grounds that he would find any sushi inadequate and disappointing after his last experience, and that I didn't want to handle his bitching about perfectly decent but not life-changing sushi.

Ian demurred, and we found ourselves revisiting the Genghis Khan Mongolian Grill. We had visited once before, when I was pregnant, and found the experience pleasant enough. Despite a bad experience with a sort of green tea milkshake, we recall rather nice decor and service, and serviceable stir-fry. You see, Mongolian Grill really means you pick out meat, veggies, rice or noodles and spices and sauces and then the grillmeister fries it all up for you on a big grill. If you are the kind of person that finds your food being cooked in front of you while you stand makes the food taste better, you will love this place. If you find, like Ian and I do, that a chef's job is to create inventive and fresh flavor compositions for the restaraunt visitor, then you will find the job of creating and making your own food to be cooked, assembly-style, while you wait, to be tedious and contrary to the whole notion of eating out. If I wanted stir-fry I'd cook at home, except for the tedious chopping bit.

This time, we opted for the specials, which lured us with their sired chalk-board song on the street. Ian got the Siracha shrimp while I ordered the clay-pot simmered basil seafood curry, and we both tried a glass of reisling while we waited. The reisling was cloyingly sweet, resembling kool-aid with an adult edge. The Siracha shrimp, which Ian ordered in hopes of enjoying a smaller plate, came out as 7 lonely shrimp presented in a bowl of chopped green lettuce, all drowned in a disgustingly sweet and yet fatty mayonnaise pepper sauce that tasted somewhat like leftover General Tso's chicken sauce mixed with Hellman's. A side of white rice rounded out his meal.

When I ordered the seafood curry, I envisioned Lulu's curries--beautiful, balanced, unexpected flavors mixed with fresh, fresh, fresh veggies or meat. I was hoping for a red curry balanced with coconut milk as it was described as a Thai-style curry. In reality, the Chinese ceramic pot was the most attractive feature of this concoction. It was a seafood stew with mussels, tiny shrimps and wee scallops, unidentifiable white fish, rubbery calamari and mushy, slimy eggplant. All these ingredients, plus god knows what else, was presented in a thin gray gravy that tasted not at all of basil but overwhelmingly of fish.

As much as I detested the taste of the stew, I am not a "send things back to the kitchen" person. Even more difficult in a small restaraunt than a chain, because I always worry about hurting the feelings of the owner, the cook, or hurting the waitresses' bottom line. So I sucked it up and took Ian's advice about eating Chinese food in Shantou, where he says it's best "to just eat and keep eating," so you can't tell what's in there. Of course, after that I was pretty sick.

These culinary delights set us back $41. Ian was really disappointed in the quality and value of his meal, which was more like a glorified appetizer. I was just worried about my spiking mercury content of my breastmilk.

We both felt pretty unclean after dinner, what with the fish breath and all. We decided that a visit to Miami Ice was in order. The locally-owned Miami Ice is resplendent in its unironic Art Deco glory. We ordered the mint/cashew/chocolate combo mashed up on the ice block and enjoyed it at an outdoor table. With tip, we paid $6. The music from the farmer's market and the eclectic street crowd did much to alleviate the evening's trauma. Not to mention the mint in the ice cream.

After numerous tooth brushings, the bottom line is: Mongolian Grill--make your own damn stir fry. Miami Ice is a nice treat on a summer evening.

Record Bar--Early Bird Special

Now that we have Charlie, we're not up to our usual late-night, weekend shenanigans. We do, however, have a standing Tuesday night babysitting exchange with another Westport couple, so Tuesday night we were left looking for good food and live music--all before about 8:30 pm (the time at which our son turns into a cranky, hungry pumpkin).

Luckily, a friend tipped us off to The Record Bar's Tuesday night early show--Rex Hobart and the Misery Boys and the Record Bar's "Honky Tonk Supper Club." Basically, you get there, drink some beers (from their extensive list), eat some food, and listen to some straight-up, old-school country music.

Ian and I ordered Boulevard Wheat and a British ale respectively. We tasted the cider and ordered a Pacifico. Pretty bland. The menu is fun but not good for indecisive types. Basically a twist on general bar/grill food with pizza, salads or pasta bowls all with your own choice of toppings. Fun and creative, yes, but the sheer number of options can be a bit overwhelming. The food, when arrived, was passable bar fare. If ordering the alfredo pasta sauce, ask for 1/2 the amount typically dished out. I had trouble locating the pasta in the creamy, fatty sauce and felt it in my arteries for days. We split an iceberg wedge salad, which was great, and Ian had a pizza, which was a perfect portion for him.

The music was fun, with an eclectic and mellow crowd enjoying the mix of crying-in-your-beer ballads with uptempto numbers that made me want to teach Ian to 2-step. We don't know if anyone ever started dancing, though. We had to leave to pick up the little guy about 45 minutes into their set.

Overall, a good evening for about $40 (we tipped our grumpy waitress well, according to Ian's new Theory of Tipping which states that mad servers need to be tipped well to offset their discontent with humanity.) Good tunes, good brew, good food and an early evening for the old folks (or those with little beans).