Gyu Tan Don

Dish: Gyu Tan Don (ox tongue rice)
Cost: AUD 10 or less
Venue: Menya


Let's leap halfway across the globe from Manhattan to Melbourne, a thriving city in west Australia.
Melbourne is very much like Manhattan because of its fusion of cultures, outrageous traffic, strategic grid roads and ample arrays of international cuisines.

When I was there in 2011, I was introduced to the infamous ox-tongue rice, known as the gyu tan don. It's a Japanese dish consisting of marinated ox tongue slices served over a bed of fresh white rice, garnished with sweet BBQ sauce and spring onions. (Gyu - ox, Tan - tongue, Don - rice)

Menya is supposedly the best restaurant in Melbourne for this exquisite dish.

Honestly, I had my doubts about the gyu tan don because the thought of tasting ox tongue just seemed, well, nasty. Despite my Asian background in appreciating what the public considers "weird animal parts (eg: liver, feet, etc.)" I was rather skeptical about the ox tongue.

But because my Melbourne friends made such a big deal about how delicious it was, and also because I noticed a lot of customers standing in line specifically for the gyu tan don, I decided to let my conservative guard down and give it a go.

It tasted like beef, but better.

It was juicy and marinated to perfection. The tenderness of the meat surprised me - I was expecting something a little rubbery or gross - but this was great! It was garnished with salt, pepper and special Japanese cooking sauces.

Soft, succulent and almost sweet... it was a tantalizing delight to my evening.

The best dishes are the ones that surprise you, rewarding you with a memorable taste for venturing out of your comfort zone.

Photographed and written by Carissa Gan.

Pho Real?

This entry is going to be about pho.

If you were curious about what pho is, it's a Vietnamese noodle broth that is usually served with meat (steak/chicken/tendons) and with a hint of lime juice. It is also garnished with cilantro, onion slices and basil.

I've always loved pho. The rice noodles and succulent steak, soaked in the sweet-salty broth (a boiled product of beef bones, ginger and other spices) makes it one of the best Asian must-try meals.

The above photo was taken at Pho-Bac in Elmhurst, New York over the summer - one of the most sought after Vietnamese restaurants in the Queens county. It was delicious. I'd definitely recommend that place if you're on a quest for pho.

Can you go wrong with a steaming bowl of pho?

Unfortunately, you can.

I'm sorry to defy the purpose of this blog and its title - it was called Tasty Temptationz for a reason, but since we're on the topic of pho, I'll share a story that happened a few months ago at Little Saigon in Conway, Arkansas. 

After a summer away from Arkansas in which I had good pho nearly each week, I was still craving it when I returned to Conway. There was only one place in Conway that served pho, and that was Little Saigon. So one night, my friends and I went there for dinner. 

Dana had fried rice and shrimps. Good choice. Doris and I both ordered beef pho with tendons. Tendons are not as gross as they sound, trust me. Their soft and chewy texture adds a great flavor to the pho. Tendons are optional, but I usually get them because they're probably the pho's best feature.

When our noodles arrived, we were disappointed to discover that we'd been ripped off. All the other restaurants I'd been to served their phos with generous helpings of lean, thick tendons. But Saigon served microscopic chunks of tendons that couldn't be found unless you actually bothered to dig around with your spoon. 

Doris even counted hers - she only had two minuscule pieces of tendons swimming in her large bowl of brown broth and noodles, among the rubbery beef slices. The broth was too salty. $8 for that miserable thing wasn't worth it. Annoyed, she called brought this to the waiter's attention. 

"I've had pho before, and they usually come with about 8 or 9 pieces of tendons, " Doris explained to him. "But this - look at this. There's only like, two super tiny pieces that barely count. Could you maybe add a few more tendons or something?"

He kept shrugging helplessly and pushing all responsibility to the cook. So he went back into the kitchen to talk to the cook, and several minutes later, emerged with the nonchalant response, "Oh, the cook said he'd actually put in 3 pieces in there, but the soup was too hot so maybe some of it melted."

Doris and I exchanged glasses. He had to be kidding. Tendons don't melt in hot soup.

We stared silently at him for a several long, awkward seconds. He was deadpan serious. 

Oh come on. Adding a few more pieces of tendons in there couldn't hurt. They didn't have to invent a lame story to back it up.

"Nevermind," Doris told him. "It's fine."

So, he left to attend to other customers. We just shook our heads and tried to finish the rest of the noodles, but it was hard because the broth was brimming with so much salt that I probably gained a big sodium rush that night.

As we paid, we reminded ourselves never to repeat the mistake of getting pho at this particular place. It was a waste of money.

We only wanted pho, but all we got instead was a phony attempt.

Journey to Levain

When I was in New York, a friend told me I had to visit Levain Bakery on 74th Street for the best cookies in the city.

So one afternoon, I traveled with another friend of mine across the city to the Upper Westside just for a taste. We had Google Maps as our navigator. And it brought us to our destination, but to our dismay, it was just a another street of suburban apartments. There was no cookie shop in sight. We walked the whole stretch, scouting for a cafe or deli that read "Levain Bakery" to no avail.

We even walked the next block and refreshed Google Maps several times to be sure. It led us back to that street. Still no sign of the bakery. 

Frustrated and tired, we were just about to visit the neighboring streets for cookies, when I spotted it. 

There it was, framed in blue, a tiny little shop sandwiched between other colorful apartments. It was easily mistaken for another house. If not for the sign painted in mustard yellow across the glass window, I wouldn't have noticed it. 

So we walked in and to our surprise, there were only four kinds of pastries on sale and all of them were cookies: chocolate chip walnut, oatmeal raisin, dark chocolate chip and dark chocolate peanut butter chip. I suppose the bakery sells a variety of other pastries but I must have gone right before it closed, so everything else was sold out apart from the cookies. It worked out well though, because I'd traveled a half hour from the other side of the city just to taste the famous cookies.

My friend I each bought a dark chocolate peanut butter chip cookie.

It cost no more than $5 per cookie. I guess we both underestimated it. We thought we could finish the cookie ourselves. 

But no. It wasn't an ordinary cookie. It was huge. I cradled it in its white paper bag as we left the shop, feeling its warmth in my palms. It actually weighed a lot heavier than most cookies.

It was a massive slab of dark chocolate, embedded with peanut butter chips. Biting into it, I realized I had never tasted anything quite as good. It was soft and chewy with a hint of saltiness from the peanut butter, but drenched in rich sweetness from the chocolate.

The warmth of the dark chocolate dough melted the peanut butter chips, a creamy brown filing that curled out of its cookie cage, luring me in for another bite.

This was supposed to be a pre-dinner snack. But the cookie stole our appetite. Halfway through my treat, my stomach told me to stop. I was getting full. Really, really full. 

"This thing itself can be a meal!" my friend joked.

But she was right. It could. And maybe some people actually made it a meal. A substitute for a sandwich, or a plate of rice. A sweet, delicious, chocolatey and peanut-buttery substitute.

Our journey to Levain Bakery was worth it.

Photographed and written by Carissa Gan.

The Sidekick

Dish: Sweet potato fries

Venue: Zaitzeff Burgers

Cost: $5

Located on the corner of Nassau and John St. in the Financial District, Zaitzeff Burgers is a burger joint launched in 2003. It serves "fresh, grass fed, hormone- and antibiotic-free beef that comes from small cooperatives in Washington and Oregon," as stated on its web page.

Zaitzeff was featured in the New York Magazine as one of the top 100 places to eat in the city. To receive such an honorable recognition among the thousands of eateries in the city, the place has to stand out. It has to be one of a kind. It has to be unique, fresh and memorable. And Zaitzeff is all of that.

Upon entering the shop, I noticed the large chalkboard behind the counter serving as the menu. Burgers. Sandwiches. Salads. Fries. Beverages. That was all they sold. The burgers were the customers' favorite, obviously. It was the cream of the shop.

But I wasn't in the mood for burgers. (Now I wish I'd ordered a burger anyway, even though I wasn't hungry for one.) Instead, I was interested in the sides. The burgers already received so much recognition. It was time for someone to turn the spotlight on the sides.

I ordered the sweet potato fries. They came in a little paper box, warm from the fryer. I wished they came in a smaller portion though, because I couldn't finish all of that by myself. The fries tasted fresh and sweet; not too salty, but not sickeningly sweet either. When dipped into ketchup, the level of tastiness increased. So if you're thinking about trying Zaitzeff Burgers, don't forget to get the sweet potato fries. They are the burgers' best friend.

They're not the main attraction, but they're quite necessary because they complement the burgers. The sidekick. That's what they really are. 

Photographed and written by Carissa Gan.

Luke's Lobster

If it weren't for my friends who suggested having lunch at Luke's Lobster, I wouldn't have thought of it. I wouldn't even have noticed it. On the outside, it looked like a small, ordinary place just thriving for business, like all the other eateries in New York.

On the inside, seating was limited to only several wooden high tables. The space was so narrow that there wasn't much room to walk. Nobody stayed long; so tables were usually vacant within 15 minutes, tops.

A large blackboard hung on one side of the wall, serving as the menu. I was surprised to see that the place only served five types of entree. Just five. For some reason, I'd expected a wide range of variety. But I noticed a pattern forming among New York restaurants; most of the really famous places only had few items on their menu. They weren't known for a variety - they were known for the few that they had. Those were the dishes that attracted large crowds. They were the niche restaurants.

Luke's Lobster specialized in fresh seafood rolls. The menu said: We make our rolls MAINE style! The seafood is served chilled atop a buttered and toasted New England-style, split-top bun with a swipe of mayo, a sprinkle of lemon butter and a dash of our secret spices. Tell us if you'd like your roll without mayo, butter or spices.

Mmm. Sounds delicious. Needless to mention, so did the prices. 

My friends and I decided to split the "Noah's Ark," ($38) which consisted of two half lobster rolls, two half crab rolls, two half shrimp rolls, two sodas, two small bags of chips and two pickles.

Shrimp roll

The chilled shrimps were wrapped in the warmth of the buttered toast. I took one bite and my eyes widened in surprise: "This is soooo good!" 

I meant it. I'd never tasted anything like that. The shrimps, peppered with the secret spices, screamed succulence. 

The crab and lobster rolls were equally delicious. But we were so eager to eat that I didn't get the chance to snap photos of them. When I realized that, it was too late.The little paper baskets were littered with nothing but mayo streaks and bread crumbs; so I apologize that I only managed to take closeup shots of the shrimp rolls.

A generously-peppered serving of shrimps.

Each roll contained a generous helping of seafood. So you could be sure you were going to get your money's worth out of this.

Definitely, definitely try Luke's Lobster if you're into seafood. And if you live in New York.

It wasn't until we'd finished eating that one of my friends admitted he was allergic to seafood.

"It's okay, I'll be fine if I don't eat too much seafood," he said.
"But you ate an entire lobster roll," I said.
"Well, it's Luke's Lobster. My allergies can wait."

Photographed and written by Carissa Gan.

Pinkberry

Dish: Mango froyo topped with chocolate sauce, dark chocolate crisps and strawberries.

Venue: Pinkberry, New York

When I was in New York this summer, I met up with two guys I hadn't seen in three years, AG and Rain. It was a hot summer afternoon and we were craving something cold and sweet. So, they took me to Pinkberry for frozen yogurt (froyo). 

Pinkberry originated in West Hollywood, California in 2005. It burgeoned across the country and the globe, with more than 200 stores worldwide. Prior to this, I'd only seen delicious photographs of Pinkberry yogurts on my Tumblr dashboard. So to be standing in line in an authentic Pinkberry store that afternoon was a moment to remember.

Clean photographs of the six yogurt flavors were pinned on the glassy wall: original, pomegranate, chocolate, peanut butter, strawberry and mango. AG said the mango yogurt was the best. While waiting our turn, we talked about eating and living healthy - he told me about his trips to the gym and his vegetable diets, which I really admired but secretly knew I couldn't do. But anyway, we agreed that for the sake of our bodies, we'd try to keep our yogurts as simple and fat-free as possible. 

At the counter, I asked for a small mango yogurt.

"And what toppings would you like?" the cashier asked. "You can pick two kinds."

I surveyed the array of toppings: dark chocolate crisps, fresh fruits, roasted hazelnut pieces, cheesecake chunks, fruity cheerios, toasted almonds, gummy bears, and a whole other bunch of treats. I went with dark chocolate crisps (because I love chocolate) and strawberries (just to be healthy).

"Would you like chocolate sauce?" she asked.

My mind lit up at the mention, and before I could stop myself, I said, "Yes, please." While I said that, AG blurted "No!" on my behalf. 

"Oh dang, too late to change my order now," I sighed with false disappointment.

AG looked pretty disappointed. He would've made a great personal trainer, but not today, because my lust for chocolate overpowered the urge to stay fit. You're hearing this from the girl who loves chocolate so much, she eats Nutella out of the jar sometimes.

The yogurt was creamy and rich. It was sweet to the tongue with a subtle hint of mango. The dark chocolate crisps were crunchy, and the fresh strawberry slices added a sour tang to the overall sweetness. And of course, the chocolate sauce made the whole experience richer and sweeter.

No regrets there!

Photographed and written by Carissa Gan.

Garlic Parmesan Pretzel Crisps

Image source here

Cost: $3.49

When I first took one of these pretzel crisps out of the bag, I was surprised. It wasn't the small round, twisted pretzels that I was used to, or even the straight pretzels that I devoured like candy if placed in front of me. These were flat. Yes, flat, as if someone had taken a rolling pin to the dough (or ran over it with a truck, minus the tire tracks). I don’t know how the dough was flattened, even though I’m willing to bet it wasn’t with a truck, but the outcome was certainly original.

Even though these pretzels smell like a pizza with garlic, there’s nothing pizza-y about them (besides maybe the parmesan seasoning, and that they’re so good I couldn’t stop eating them). There’s a nice balance between the garlic and parmesan smells, giving an inviting first impression that promises to be packed with flavor, and I wasn’t disappointed.

The package describes them as “thin, crunchy, pretzel crackers”—and that’s exactly what they are. This flattened pretzel retains the crunchiness we all love of the pretzel with the soft chewiness of a saltine cracker as it melts in your mouth, complete with powdered seasoning for a smooth texture. You recognize the saltiness of the seasoning from the second it touches your tongue, but then the subtle taste of garlic becomes evident. Unlike plain garlic, the taste doesn’t linger, so you’re ready for a fresh flare of garlic with every bite.

And if you’re anything like me, that fresh flare will keep you coming back again and again, and then maybe even back to the store to get another bag.

Written by Taylor Neal.

*This blog doesn't own the image above.