Überprüfung: Yo Rita

Seeing that this is my first review of a restaurant since arriving from Singapore, I hope that you can forgive me for acting a bit rusty when it comes to formal reviews. I will say right now that I forgot to bring a camera to the restaurant and well, whatever. Deal with it.

One criticism I will have with Pittsburgh is that it lacks a good source of Latino food. Probably a result of the fact that the city does not have a predominant Latino community as other cities, I really cannot think of any decent eateries beyond Mad Mex that I would be willing to go out and shell out money for a chicken with mole sauce. Consequently, I have found myself driving to and ordering from Chipotle, a quality fast food chain for sure, but not a proper replacement for my weekly urge for quality Mexican food.

So, using the help of the internet, I stumbled across Yo Rita, a year-old restaurant on Carson St. in the South Side. But to call Yo Rita a Mexican restaurant is to describe Kanye West as a rapper. Sure he can rap, but he does so much more than that. Ditto Yo Rita. Do they technically serve tacos? Absolutely. But I'm pretty sure I didn't see a Banh Mi (chicken liver pate, pork belly) taco in Tijuana the last time I visited.

(Truer words have never been printed.)

The restaurant itself sort of epitomizes the South Side in my mind. The interior is small, secluded, and with the lights dimmed to it's lowest setting, a bit creepy as well. But as I quickly acclimated to the simple decor, I began to choose my options. I began with the soup of the day, which happened to be a curry and cocoanut soup. The soup was a bit straightforward, but it was a nice and spicy start to the meal. From there my parents and I split an order of the other special of the day, tuna ceviche. With a decent idea of what a ceviche entails, I was surprised to be presented with a dish of sliced tuna that resembled sashimi more than ceviche. The dish was surprisingly good and could easily pass for something from a sushi bar. But the tuna, along with the soup left me perplexed. First Indian, then Japanese. Where was the unifying theme in all of this?

But before I could answer it, our order of tacos arrived. The first was the duck confit taco, which tasted more like peking duck more than anything, except without the soy. On the other hand, the red snapper taco (the special of the day) was the dish I expected to eat at Yo Rita. The snapper was spicy, topped with cabbage to mitigate some of the heat from the peppers.

In any event, the food we ate was so surprising that none of us could talk about anything else other than the food. Did some of the dishes misfire? Perhaps. But then again, I'd rather have a dish that I dislike that makes me think than a dish that I enjoyed but quickly forgot for being uncreative. I certainly won't forget about Yo Rita, nor will it be my last time there.

A Meal at a Hawker Center.

Now that you have a better idea of what a Hawker Center really is, it's worth mentioning and describing one particular meal at the Adams Street Hawker Center.

I will admit that this was not a meal that I stumbled upon. Prior to leaving, I had read up on several suggestions on specific meals to eat. Anthony Bourdain, whose love affair with Singapore is well known, made mention of a specific dish known as Sup Tulang. Literally translated as "bone soup" the name of the dish is quite descriptive of what it actually is: mutton bones roasted and stewed in a hot-and-sour chile sauce. And by mutton bones, I do not mean mutton chops, or rack of mutton, etc. Once I was served the dish, the first impression I had was, "where the hell is the meat?" For in front of me looked like scraps from a previous meal: bones and pieces of fat.

But my concern quickly vanished as I began to eat what I can honestly describe as the first experience I've ever had with food porn. For those who think food porn is a cross between Whole Foods and an Adult Video store, food porn is a modern-ish phrase that refers to the sensual experiences that we feel when we eat really good food. It's an uncontrollable rush of flavors and smells. And to be honest, I really hate the phrase. I think it's cliche, unnecessary, and simply stupid. But I will say that sup tulang made me feel something on the same plane as food porn.

To eat sup tulang, one must do one of two things. First, you have to spend a good 15-20 minutes gnawing on the outside of the bone, chewing and savoring the roasted connective tissues and fat that usually is ignored and discarded in favor for the meat itself. Once that's complete, I had to start digging into the bones themselves, to dig out the roasted marrow. To get all the marrow out is a true test of one's patience. In addition to using my silverware, I had to use my drink's straw to suck out the remaining bits from the bones. It's certainly one of those things in life that requires one to earn their keep.

(Digging for the morsels.)

And was it worth it? Absolutely. Here I was, an American completely covered and stained with chile sauce, probably a complete visual mockery in the eyes of the locals sitting around me. And yet for an hour, I may have been the happiest person on Earth. I cannot explain to you how good this dish was. This was me as my brother was every time he got a copy of the new Harry Potter book from Amazon (which in fact, looked something like this). This was on the verge of being June 12, 2009 happy.

In the end, what is truly endearing about the dish is the idea that we can take something with little obvious value (mutton bones) and through practice, ingenuity, and patience, we can turn it into something freaking delicious. Sup tu lang is one of those dishes that is a product of generations. It's a lasting testament of cultural identity. And we are the beneficiaries. C'est la vie.

Singapore Reloaded.

Before I begin, I just wanted to clarify the subject matter of these posts. I don't have nearly the patience nor the attention-span to write half a dozen posts giving a comprehensive summary of my time in Singapore. If you're really that interested in it, I would be happy to oblige to describe it to you, but I'll probably just end up telling you to "just go already" and be done with it. Two or three days into the trip, I was finally acclimated to the time change and climate of Singapore. Being 13 hours ahead of EST is not something you can sleep off in one night. Or two. Or three. Nevertheless, by that time, Daryl and I were spending our days using the same formula: I would suggest some highly-touristy site. Daryl would grudgingly agree to go and map out the best places to eat. More often than not, we were eating at hawker centers.

The best way to describe a hawker center is that it's a food court. It is a public complex (usually vulnerable to the elements, as are most buildings in Singapore), that allows people to rent out ridiculously small storefronts to sell their food. But beyond that, hawker centers are nothing compared to the cafeterias we are accustomed to.

(My weak attempt at trying to make a panorama view of a hawker center.)

The most obvious reason is that the food is absolutely divine. Instead of having chains or restaurants renting space that try to specialize in everything (sometime go to McDonald's and count the amount of different options they have available. Or even just the number of hamburgers offered. I bet the number is unnecessarily high), each store in the hawker center specializes in just one type of food. Walking around, you notice a store that only serves pork, or abalone, or noodles, etc. Nothing else. Even the drink stands are separate from each store. As a result, each of these stores has spent generation upon generation perfecting their niche food, rather than trying to be good at many things.

But mind you, just because they specialize doesn't mean your options are limited. Hawker centers, depending on size, can have dozens of storefronts. I'd estimate that a decently sized hawker center has 20 stores. Each store specializes in something relatively different. As you can imagine, the options are endless.

So it begs the question: Why don't we have this in America? Sure we have strip malls with multiple restaurants, but that doesn't have the same centralized feel as a hawker center. Each stand is right up against each other. And sure Pittsburgh has Market Square and Station Square, but those (especially Station Square) have largely been redeveloped with chain restaurants being the main attraction. Have you seen Station Square? Its an absolute gentrification joke.

As Americans, we're obsessed with convenience. That's why we have so many FAST food stores. We're not like the French. We don't spend 2.5 hours eating lunch. We place more value on work than on eating. Hawker centers are quintessentially convenient. One stop for food. Endless options. And yet we're stuck with Burger King. Who was it that said America is the greatest nation in the world?

Welcome to Singapore.

After about 25 hours of flight time, I arrived in the city of Singapore.

From immediately walking around I noticed two important details:

1) The weather here is Calvary-esque...all year. In other words, for the entire year, Singapore consistently has weather above 80 degrees and over 70% humidity. Only 200km north of the equator, Singapore is, by every measure, a tropical locale.

2) This city is obsessed with food. I know I gave the impression to many that this trip would devote a considerable amount of time experiencing the food. I read the books. I saw Anthony Bourdain profess it. But I had no idea how big a part of the culture it actually is. I'd guess that 50-60% of the stores you see in Singapore are related to food. It is unlike anything I have ever seen in my life. Walking along the streets through the city center in itself is a sensual treat; the city constantly wafts of curries, soy, and spices I could neither pronounce nor correctly spell.

Suffice to say, I had extremely high expectations. Ridiculously high expectations. Star Wars Episode 1-like expectations. But unlike George Lucas' visual piece of suckitude, Singapore met and exceeded them.

Arriving at my hotel at 2 am, I was quickly awaken by Daryl and an offer to get a decent breakfast. While walking, it dawned on to me...what the hell does breakfast look outside the West? Sure, I've been to Asia and all, but I never really thought about it. I just ate what was in front of me. Well, in Singapore, a classic breakfast is pratas.

What is a prata, you ask? Simply put, its an Indian crepe. Its a thinly cooked piece of breading with different fillings and served with a bowl of curry to dip in. I happen to get two, one plain and one with cheese. Its an amazingly good dish. Beautifully simple.

But what is really stunning from the meal isn't the dish itself. Eating with Daryl and his sister, I asked them to order me what was good. Not only did they not hesitate, they didn't even have to check the menu. Daryl and his sister are ethnically Chinese. Personally, as an American, I take pride in the fact that I have a good understanding of ethnic foods. I love Indian food. I love Mexican, etc. In fact, as like most Americans, I am probably overconfident in my understanding of ethnic food. For example, I had no idea what a prata was. All I knew was that India Garden certainly has not served it for their lunch buffet. Sure, I would expect Daryl to know Chinese. Its the same way Jeff Reed knows the winds at Heinz Field (or bar specials on the South Side). They're both accustomed to it because they interact with it every day. In reality, in Singapore, the locals rarely reside exclusively in their ethnic communities. Rather, its S.O.P to see the Malays, Indians, and Chinese eating whatever others have to offer. Multiculturalism at its finest.