as i said to john tonight, as he was shucking oysters, the chefs in no-name make me happy more regularly than the prospect of world peace. tonight, for the third day running, they were ploughing through what must have been a monster shipment of some sort of canadian oyster with a large, lumpy shell; they tasted like the sea -- salt, with damp limestone and the smell of cold iron. they were so good they were better without the persillade of chopped onions and jalapenos.
these, with sam's green onion rice cakes, made dinner superlative: discs of cooked brown rice, garlic, and scallions toasted on the flat-top then brushed with mae ploy (brilliant!) and topped with ruby-red micro-greens. dessert tonight was better in the vegan bar, since they had sliced bananas and almond butter, and a salad of strawberries, navel and blood oranges*, and spearmint.
* i don't understand the continued appeal of these apart from the striking visual and the high levels of antioxidant anthocyanin pigmentation. blood oranges almost always taste vaguely like small animals, say, rabbits and they make everything they're mixed with taste like rabbits too.
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