Secret, Secret, I've got a secret!

On Tuesday, I ate at two restaurants, and uncovered two secrets. Well, maybe three. Yu-U's secret is its own continued existence. Flower Drum's secret is the not-on-the-menu menu (and I don't mean the written-in-Chinese-on-the-walls menu either - this menu isn't written anywhere but the memories of the waiters and chefs). The third secret? You'll have to read to the end of the post to find out.

Sadly, I only have two photos of food at these two restaurants. I was just too embarrassed by the idea of snapping photos during a meal. Luckily, I managed to overcome this photo-shame after some wine at Flower Drum. This convinces me that in the future, I must get slightly drunk before I go to restaurants alone or with respectable non-photo taking folk, so that I will have the courage to whip out my camera, despite the stares of my fellow patrons.

Yes, I am neurotic and full of shame. But you already knew that.



Only Yu-U

This is the only sign that marks the entrance to Yu-U. It is about the size of a greeting card. This is in fact the only outward sign that Yu-U even exists. The sign is in a shaded doorway off a tiny alley, which in turn connects only to a minor street. Graffiti covers the door, whose red paint is faded. The handle of the door looks worn.

When I arrived at 11:45 and tried to open the door, it was locked tight. I knocked. There was no response. The place gave all indication of having closed up shop.



I waited anyway.

Exactly at noon, I heard someone coming towards the door from the other side - footsteps ascending stairs. The door opened to reveal two women, who silently and nonchalantly mounted the following sign on the door:



Barely glancing at me, they turned around and the door started to close.

"Can I come in?" I asked, perhaps too loudly.

One of the women stopped, turned to stare at me, and hesitantly asked, "How many?" The other woman retreated down the stairs into the restaurant.

I was the only one in the alley except for two older white women who were obviously not with me (and seemed surprised to see the door open at all - I think they might have been going to Mini, whose entrance shares the alley with Yu-U's. I'll post about Mini next time)

"Just one," I said.

She frowned, as if thinking it over. I smiled what I hoped was a winning smile (in fact, I wasn't going so much for "winning" as "I'm so embarrassed to be imposing on your hospitality, but I really really REALLY want to eat here because I've heard so much about your food, and I know you often fill up quickly, but I got here early, and I'll eat fast and leave, and I'll be SUPER nice to my servers" - I'm sure there's an onomatopeia word for the sound your mouth makes when in that expression)

She stepped aside and motioned for me to come in. I saw her cast a somewhat suspicious glance at the two women who were still waiting in the alley, and then she followed me down the stairs, shutting the door behind her.

And... that's all I'm going to say about Yu-U. Some things a lady ain't s'posed to talk about. You'll just have to find it and eat there yourself when you're in Melbourne. Or hang out with me and ask me all about it.

Flower Drum

I went back to the office feeling quite refreshed by my lunch at Yu-U. A good thing too, as that night I went to Flower Drum.

You might be thinking to yourself: not another restaurant! You just had lunch in Yu-U and now you're having dinner at another fancy place? God, how often do you eat out, Ming?

To which I'd reply, you can eat out Ming whenever you want! Ho ho ho.

No? Too racy?

Anyway. Flower Drum.

Flower Drum is the subject of much controversy in the Melbourne foodie scene. Many who have eaten there say it's all hype, just your standard whiteyfied Chinese food but 3 times the price. Others who consider themselves "in the know" call it the best Chinese food in Melbourne, fine dining at its best.

To borrow an American metaphor, it's like the high school's most popular cheerleader. Is she an energetic, witty, sensitive, loyal, all-round great person? Or is she a mean, shallow, I-don't-know-what-he-sees-in-her, I-wish-she-was-my-friend, willing tool of the establishment? The answer is: both.

Luckily we went to Flower Drum as friends of the head cheerleader. A former food columnist, long time Flower Drum patron, and truly a bon vivant (bonne vivante?), SL is my uncle's friend from college, and I wish I'd met her earlier. She was on a first name basis with the waiter and apparently has had a standing reservation there at Chinese New Year for the past ten years or so. She's been a regular for 20 years.

We didn't order off the menu (really just a decoy for non-regulars, to ensure they never return - In my imagination, whenever some NOOB orders a dish on the menu, the chef just pulls something out of the freezer and tosses it in the microwave, then returns to the real work of making dishes for the regulars, while waitstaff in the kitchen snicker knowingly).

Instead, SL and the waiter (Barney, I think) figured out what we should eat that evening in a conversation far too rapid and far too Cantonese for me to understand. I heard "kai lan" and that was about it. My cousin Justin asked if there was going to be any duck. There wasn't, but it quickly got added. A good thing too - that duck was tasty!

There's really little point in telling you what we had*, since it's likely that they change the recommended food as stuff comes in. However, I feel I must mention two dishes. This is mainly because they were the two I photographed, but also because they were especially memorable, for different reasons.

*For my own edification and to allow your imagination free reign, however, I will list minimal titles of the dishes here:
XO sauce (Dried scallops, chilli, chilli oil)
Crab Xiao Long Bao
Stir fried conch with steamed asparagus and oyster and shrimp sauce
Peking duck
Barbecued Squab with five spice salt and lime juice
Wagyu beef with kailan
Fried egg white rice
fruit platter (watermelon, mangosteen, starfruit, strange variety of persimmon)
Durian sago pudding


I Wagyu. You Wagme. We all Wag-eachother for WAGYU!

The Wagyu with Kai Lan was memorable because it was awesome. You know how seared foie gras is like meat butter? This Wagyu was like beef brie. Caramely on the outside, meltingly soft on the inside. Not an ounce of gristle to be tasted (not even a picogram of gristle, since Australia is metric). Creamy without being greasy, beefy without being gamey, rare without tasting raw. If Aristotle could have tasted this meat, he would have made it one of his virtues.

Yeah, that's right. I paid some attention in Greek Phil after all.

The other dish was a dessert:


Dessert fit for a King (of fruits)

The Durian Sago Pudding was memorable for a quite different reason.

Durian is sometimes called the "king of fruits". I've often thought that if this were true, it attained its position through bloody, vengeful drawn-out wars followed by brutal suppression of dissent.

This is because of durian's (in)famous smell. In the hot and humid weather of Singapore and Malaysia, the durian's scent makes its oppressive presence known. Like the KGB, it invades every room of the house and infiltrates every cavity of your body.

This is fine if you like the smell. As a small child, I loved it. The scent of durians on the car ride home from the stall was sweet promise of custardy delights to come. The lingering durianstickiness in the air after we'd had our fill was a reminder of its rich, honeyed, unctuous pale yellow flesh.

Then, at some point that I don't remember (before the age of 8), I developed a strong aversion to durians, and hence their smell. The merest hint of it in the living room became occasion for prompt sequestering in my room, followed by dramatic gagging noises for the benefit of anyone in my family who cared to listen. I would scream in disgust if someone breathed in my direction after eating it. I'd insist on rolling down the car windows for days after a single durian had been in the trunk (double or triple wrapped). After a durian-eating episode, I'd smell it on everything - ice, vegetables, stationery, and complain loudly whenever I did (or imagined I did). Even durian products, like durian candy or durian cake (much milder than the fruit itself) occasioned anguished howls of protest if discovered in the fridge. I was quite the durian-hating terror.

Upon leaving Singapore for the UK and then the U.S., I was relieved to find I wouldn't have to encounter durians or durian products unless I sought them out. I never did, of course.

When the dessert arrived, I could smell that familiar smell. Not wanting to be rude, I tried some. So that's why this bowl of sago was memorable - it was the first time I'd tasted anything with durian in it for at least 17 years.

And you want to know a secret?

It was okay.