Had my eye on a bite of wild Pacific salmon. Served only from sustainable runs, and not farm-raised, the restaurants promise. A Columbia King or Alaskan Sockeye. I've a right to choose the sort of food to put in the stomach regardless, because ultimately, no one bitching about my eating habits will pay my medical bills. In short, why the fuck should it bother you what I eat? I only sit down at meal tables with people I like, dear friends who never raise an eye at anyone's eating habits.
I'm not a fan of cooked salmon at all. I like them raw. It's just a matter of flavors I suppose. But I haven't eaten a good cooked fillet in such a long while that it was lovely munching on one that's grilled simply and garnished with seasonal vegetables.
Chose the applewood grilled NW King Salmon with lemon, vermouth, butter, Yukon Gold mash, haricot verts almondine. It was done perfectly. Grilled with crisp edges, it was moist on the inside. The flavors were unbeatable, nothing like what it would taste like after frozen delivery to other cities and much less Singapore.
I was kinda hungry. Starving, really. While I had dainty bites of the table's appetizers and sharing plates, I was saving stomach space for a second main course, which would predictably do me in till tea the next day. Lobster mac and cheese. How could I reject that? Maine lobster, onion cream sauce, crispy asiago-cheddar topping and a gigantic slab of Délice de Bourgogne. Yes, portions are big, but manageable today. The man took a few spoonfuls of mac and cheese. But I ate it all. Carbs, yo. Why not. Hurhurhur.
|Now that's a mac and CHEESE all right!|