Bubba Gump’s, @ the Peak

Let me set the scene. It was a bloody boiling Saturday night and Susan and I were famished and in want of a nice normal night after having had a relatively large Friday night (i.e. religiously consumed white wine in 40 degree heat).

So we decided to head up to the Peak, to take a few touristy shots and grab a quick, simple, no fuss dinner. Yet what we got in return for our nerdlinger wishes was one of the strangest meal experiences either one of us has ever encountered.

After seeing a super daggy billboard that boasted the ‘Best Views, Best Hamburgers and Best Fun’ at the Peak, we both got a bit of an inkling for a good old-fashioned burger, so decided to dine (I use the term loosely) at “Bubba Gump's”.

Yes people, that is right. There is an ultra odd franchise named after the very fictional franchise in Forrest Gump, and it is . . . how does one put this succinctly? . . . ridiculously lamo.

Now those who know me well, know I’m usually not one to be harsh, and also know I am not adverse to oddities, however this place was just altogether wrong.

Think the Hard Rock Café on acid, if it was run by Willy Wonka's stranger and hickish cousin. Then you have Bubba Gump's.

The place is littered with shite Forrest Gump memorabilia. Photos of Tom Hanks and Robin Wright adorn the wooden walls, between random quotes about Alabama and ye olde Yanky Pepsi signs.

Yet what makes Bubba Gump’s even more bizarre is how much the staff genuinely seem to think it’s cool. What a bunch of nerrrrrds! I was afraid I would catch an almost lethal dose of nerd, for just being in there. Walk in with sniffles, walk out with an addiction to Dungeons & Dragons.

Anyhoo, we were met at the door by a chatty maitre de, and soon shuffled us to a booth (with no ‘Best Views’) where we were delivered ‘the rules of the restaurant’.

It seems every table has two little signs on it. One says ‘Run Forrest Run’ (RFR), and one says ‘Stop Forrest, Stop’ (SFS). You with me so far?

So, when you want your waiter to stop at your table, you must (I repeat must!) have your sign set to ‘Stop Forrest, Stop’ – and in turn, if you do not require assistance it must be set at ‘Run Forrest, Run’ to ensure you are not disturbed. We all clear on the rules then?

After we’ve been ‘briefed’, we were momentarily left alone to check out the menu (and the drinks menu, which is listed on a ping-pong bat by the way). Still pretty set on the hamburger, but slightly drawn to the Cajun chicken burger, we decide to get both and split them. And I figure, when in Rome, and also decide to get a bucket-o-garlic shrimps. Bring it on I say defiantly, with one fist raised in the air!

Suddenly a head bobs into our booth with gusto "Ready to order gals?" . . . we dutifully smile and nod. . . "Then flip the sign to SFS," says our toothy American waiter.

We giggle then start to order and he interrupts us in a manner which can only be described as vile and odious: “Flip. The. Sign.”

Ok, so about forty different things are going thru my head at this point (main one being ‘k'off you loser’) and I sneak a quick glance at Susan who is looking equally bemused and brusque.

Yet not being one to cause a scene, I obediently start to flip the sign to SFS and turn back to the waiter who is still staring hatefully into the depths of my soul. However as the sign is put to its correct status, the big toothy grin appears back on his face, and he says patronisingly, “Alrighty then, noooow we are ready to order.”

And order we do . . . bucket-o-shrimp, hamburger, Cajun chicken burger, two Pepsis please (ya weirdo).

I guess I should talk about the food briefly for you, although I shan’t keep you for long. The prawns (right), I mean the shrimp, were ok. Nice n garlicky which I love, yet not shelled, which meant after removing the shells you lost most of the garlic. And they were bloody tiny. These don't make ‘em like they do in Stray-ya.

The burger was crap. Dry and boring. It came with a nice thousand island sauce, which was a bonus . . . however the chips were crap too, so it was no fun dipping them in there.

The really only saving grace was the Cajun chicken burger, which was reasonable. Not great, but reasonable and it brings my overall score up somewhat.

Any more weird shite happen? Yes. Plenty. Though I don’t have three days to type it all out so I will just give you a sampling. Half way through our meal, another waiter came to our booth and did this peculiar thumbs-up style of dance for us, while saying ‘OOOOOKKKKAAAAYY’ over and over again in a heavily accented voice (think he learnt his English from a Jackie Chan film).

Did this dance happen in Forrest Gump, the movie? Was I asleep in that part!?

Another highlight was when our original waiter obtrusively bobbed his head back into our booth to ask if we wanted a Pepsi refill. All while the sign was clearly marked to ‘Run Forrest Run’ (aka no service please). At this point Susan loses her patience with this whole thing.

“Mate, what does the sign say?” (He pauses, blinks and tilts his head to one side). “It says bugger off.”

hA! Go Sus! High fives sister.

Anyway, let me wrap up this intolerable blog with my score . . .

Décor?
Was crappy, but it’s meant to be that way, so therefore I can't really comment.

Service?
Same as above, though I am still somewhat weirded out by it all. In fact it left me with the same feeling I get when I watch Return to Oz, or the barf-a-rama scene in Stand By Me (i.e. freaked out).

Food?
Crappy. Wouldn't give it more than 3 out of 10.

Is this an accurate assessment of Bubba Gump’s?
I think not, as I know a fair few people in this country that enjoy it as a good family restaurant. Perhaps Sus and I were just the wrong girls to mess with that day.

Do I think I would love the place if I was an eight-year old boy?
Hell yes.

Frog Face Fish, Wyndham Street (next door to Tivos)

Wednesday May 23

Onto the next chapter in the epic saga of what is pertinently known as named Jo Hamilton’s eternal hunger . . .

Twas a girls’ night out, and six of us met at 8:30pm at the very swanky Frog Face Fish, a modern seafood restaurant with all the trimmings.

We were all feeling swish and were keen for a goodie, as the next day was a public holiday (have I mentioned there are like 15 of them in Honkers? Bitchin’!).

Anyway, Frog Face Fish had great furniture, great lighting (exceptionally great for end of 12 hour day eye-liner) and most importantly *rubs tummy* a great sounding menu!

Contemporary, classy and comfortable, I felt right at home (snorts at own joke) and very soon found myself incredibly excited by the menu and specials board. Oh and I guess the company was alright too.

The carte du jour was filled with Western-style seafood, which was scrupulously and dramatically depicted by our smiley waiter (think ‘Charades’ in Cantonese). This was greatly appreciated by Giant Lady, however as we couldn’t understand a word he was saying, we all just nodded and smiled back at him.

As we supped on Oyster Bay wine, I was suddenly fraught with fear and confusion. Too many options on this blessed menu!

What if I can never decide what to order? Will we all just sit here until the end of eternity? Will time cease to exist? Will panda bears die in the woods? Would my blog digressions get longer and longer? And longer still?

I mean, how does one choose between the risotto of roasted red pepper and crab - with spicy avocado semi-freddo; and the ravioli of scallop - asparagus, cherry tomatoes, shellfish oil and basil lemon butter?

And what about the absinthe flamed seafood broth - toasted ciabatta and garlic saffron aioli?!

Morosely perplexed, yet at the same time agreeably excited, I decide not to tempt fate with the absinthe dish.

(Read between the lines: I had instant flash forward images of myself singing Liza Minelli's show tunes, on the table, with someone else's hat and scarf, after one slurp)

Instead, I decided to go with the spiced prawn, avocado and red onion salad - with mango and toasted cumin coriander dressing (above right) for my entrée. Much, much safer.

And it was f’ing outstanding – reuniting the ageless love affair between prawns, avos and mango! I mmm-ed through the whole thing and swore a few times, from pure rapture. My fellow diners were equally as impressed with their entrees, with a few swear words escape their pie-holes too (dat’s my girls!).

For my main I went with one of the specials, which was grilled tuna served on a spicy risotto with a yummy creamy sauce (below). It. Was. Heavenly!

Again, I annoyed random patrons with my excitement over this meal *lady at next table looks away in disgust*, but I couldn’t help it. It was just too bloody good! It was truly melt in your mouth stuff, and I was as excited as a kid in a China shop. Or a bull in a candy store, or something. Pretty excited, either way.

I even got to finish my matey, Lil Jo’s, tuna too (thanks Joey Jo Jo – you’re a star!).

Conclusion?

The food was celestial. You could taste every single fresh ingredient, yet the whole thing was subtle and understated. It really was a bloody good meal.

If you are ever in Honkers, Frog Face Fish is a must do restaurant. I want to order everything on the menu and then some! And then do it again.

Giant Lady gives it 9 out of 10!

Outtie yo!

xoxo

Tivo Wine Bar, Yu Yuet Lai Building 43-55 Wyndham St

Ok, I have been a little slack in the foodie blog department of late, though I assure you there’s been plenty of good old-fashioned nose-bagging* going on with Giant Lady. So let’s cut right to it then, shall we?

It was a beautiful hot night, May 15, and the destination was Tivo’s, a very chic little bar slash restaurant on Wyndham Street, up from all the boozehounds down in Lan Kwai Fong.

I arrived straight from work and felt sophisticated, grown-up. An ambitious career-woman in need of some fine dining. Shari was a little late, so I sat down, clicked my fingers and was promptly handed a wine list . . . the NZ sauv blanc please (“Very good Missy,” says my friendly bowing waiter) . . . a curtsey, cartwheel and a corkscrew later, and I am sipping on vino, pretending to be distinguished.

I assure you the illusion did not last . . .

Soon enough Shari arrived and it was ordering time . . . we decided again to share an entrée (awww, aren’t we sweet), and got this fantastic little tapas plate. It had three or four different amazing dips, which were all delectably fresh, which we scooped up with joy using the freshly baked pita bread. Consensus? Delightful . . . more wine please *taps glass*.

Next on to the mains . . . Shari got a crispy prawn salad, which she ate with an impressive amount of gusto leaving nothing on her plate. Her thoughts on it? "Bloody good!" *wipes forehead from eating so quickly*

And I had the salad nicoise with freshly caught tuna, which was served with a delightful wasabi-flavoured mayo, giving this old dog some new tricks. It was cooked to perfection (rare to medium rare) and simply flaked off your fork with its tender loving ways. My thoughts? "Bloo'y goo' 'oo Shar!" *says with mouth full, also wiping forehead*

As I said, the night started in a refined manner . . . and (much to your surprise I am sure) continued to do so as we decided it was a good idea to head to Feather Boa.

Feather Boa is this incredibly mode bar in SoHo, which is ridiculously hard to find, and therefore all the more elusive. Luckily the lovely Shari had been there before, so we found it with minimal fuss.

Suddenly I find myself sipping an incredibly strong gin martini in what appears to be my Nan’s sitting room (I know you hear me, Hamilton’s!).

Trouble?

Well, actually no . . . not at this point.

It wasn’t the fantastic white wine at Tivos, that did it . . . nor was it the impertinently strong martini at Feather Boas . . . could it have been the ‘night cap’ red wine at the weird bar with wasabi peas down the road that did it?

Yes. It is possible.

Cue two giggly Australians, exchanging stories, forgetting what they ordered at dinner and therefore worrying about said blog, stumbling into cabs, shrieking with laughter and then loudly over-pronouncing their destinations to their drivers.

Good food? Hell yeah. 7 out of 10.

Good wine? Even better. 8 out of 10.

Good night? Bloody oath. 10 outta 10!


*nose-bagging is not some form of illicit drug . . . it is apt description of the way I eat, which is similar to that of a horse with their feedbags tied to their faces. Thank you for that one Paul Sutton.

The Press Room, 108 Hollywood Rd, Central, HK

http://www.thepressroom.com.hk/

Twas a beautiful night in downtown HK . . . cars were honking, birds were dying, and two Australian gals (me and my lovely friend, Shari) were hungry.

We’d both been told about a funky modern European restaurant, called The Press Room, which is quite the Honky Tonk town rage with consistent good reviews in the media. So we rang, we booked, we high-fived, and we jumped in a cab.

As you enter The Press Room you can’t help but feel pretty damn superior at being in such chic, yet laid-back surroundings (hence our nod to each other to confirm our own exceptional coolness).

Next up . . . *garcon!* . . . we ordered the very yummy 2005 Wairu River Sauvignon Blanc – a damn fine Kiwi wine, which confirms New Zealand is actually good for something.

On to the grub! After much debate, deliberation and discussion (Shari’s a lawyer after all), we decided to share an entrée and each get a main . . .

For our entrée we chose the lobster risotto and it was KICK ASS!! It was a significantly large serving for an entrée (golf clap), and the super-sacred chefs were unbelievably generous with the lobster (standing ovation).

Not only did it boast colossal chunks of lobster meat throughout the actual risotto, it also had a delightfully hefty claw and body plonked on top (which we first thought might just be decorative, yet quickly discovered was packed with ample goods!).

Lobster truly is the food of the Gods . . . and my new name is Lobstodite.

On to the mains . . . the lovely Shari ordered the Arctic Black Cod Bouillabaisse, served with prawns and scallops in a savoury tomato saffron broth:

She loved it (as did I when I snuck a little taste) and found it to be light, simple, and incredibly tasty.

Fatso ‘Lobstodite’ Jo ordered the poached Atlantic Salmon, which came with a dill-champagne sauce (mmm!), roasted vegetables, and was served on a bed of lobster and corn potatoes:

It. Was. Hot. Loved it! Could have smashed thirteen more servings of it, and kissed the chef seventeen times . . .

Outta ten?

Ambience: 7/10
The overall feel of the place was hip n happening, and I guess the only minor problem was the high ceilings, which caused a slight echo and made the place pretty loud.

However high ceilings are no match for two talkative Sydney broads, so all was good (we were, however, a little baffled by the weird ‘ornamental’ cages hanging from the ceiling . . . kinda left us wondering when they were going to “bring out the gimp” from Pulp Fiction??).

Service: 8/10
The waiters were fantastic – open, obliging and unobtrusive. They were the icing on the cake . . . the crack in your cocaine. Too far? Possibly (sorry Mum).

Food: 7½/10
The fish loved me tender, the vegies were al dente, and the risotto was suitably mooshy! I’d definitely buy the chef a beer.

Overall rating: 7½/10.
Worth the visit – be prepared to pay thru the nose (what the hell does that saying mean!?) when it comes to the vino, yet apparently that’s Hong Kong for you . . . coz I know everything about this place after 11 days *touches side of nose and winks* (again with the noses!).

Essentially, The Press Room was bitchin’, and we had a rad evening! Why am I speaking like Bill and Ted? I am not sure . . . perhaps coz we had an "excellent adventure"? Let's hope next time isn't a "bogus journey" . . .

Later!
xoxo

My biggest dilemma to date: soup or dumplings?

Just so you know, I like to start my blogs like we’re in the middle of a conversation . . . kinda like when they have a nutty dinner party scene in a shitty sitcom (insert the canned laughter, and *crazy* catchphrase here).

So as I was saying (or was I?) . . . I jumped onto the incredibly efficient Honkers train system tonight, and headed to Taikoo for dim sum with a lovely Cantonese lady with whom I work.

And yes, as “I am local now”, I’m able to be the try-hard Westerner who thinks it’s all together urbane and worldly to call it ‘dim sum’, and not ‘yum cha’, and will insist on speaking in loud and denigrating English when ordering all forms of Chinese food.

Anyhoo, so we arrived at the restaurant and were immediately faced with one of life’s most delicious dilemmas – the menu!

“I kinda feel like dumplings,” I declared, as I ran my fingers down the menu (which was all in Cantonese by the way – this didn’t stop me).

“But I could kinda do with some dumplings too (*shoves prawn crackers in mouth*) . . . wot ‘bout choo (*spits piece of prawn cracker onto table*)?”

My dining companion then very kindly explained to me that she thinks she has the perfect solution . . . my ears prick up, I do my best lemur impersonation, and I nod earnestly like an r-tard.

Sooo bloggers . . . what did she order for us?

Hands up who’s ever had Xiao Long Bao? Any of you white devils? No? . . . Infidels.

Xiao Long Bao are these tasty little pretenders which – to the untrained eye – look like smooshable dumplings, which are served in your average bamboo basket steamer (see pic top right).

Also known as ‘soup dumplings’, they contain a delightful pork meatball, which (here’s the catch) floats in a sea of tasty meat broth! Who would have thunk it?! I love a scandalous and surprising snack.

The ruse is getting the pliable little buggers from basket to plate, without breaking their delicate skin, and therefore releasing their soupy goodness . . . something I’d mastered by my seventh one (sorry work-matey – I think she got one??).

The Xiao Long Bao we had were average dumpling size, yet apparently you can get them big enough to fit a large noodle-soup bowl (this size is served with a straw). That’s some awesome crazy Asian shite – I love it!

So, my conclusion for Xiao Long Bao?

‘Kin YUM!!

And my score outta ten?

I’m going to go with a 6 ½ . . . I’d really like to go higher, but as this is my first foodie blog, I don’t want to over play things too early and leave myself in a tizz later (coz the world would clearly cease as we know it, if I did this).

So go get ‘em people . . . seize a straw and slurp your way to dumpling dreamland!

Peace out.

xoxo