Re: A Pearl Among Millions of Small, Insignificant Pebbles: Malabar.

Last night I took Mr. Peterson to a fancy dinner at this place we'd read about called Malabar. Malabar! Malabar! Malabar is located near my work, insignificantly lodged on a block that contains my favorite store name of all time ("Cigarettes Cheaper!") and a pretty nifty bike shop. Malabar is a small, elegant, fancy restaurant that serves a sort of pan-asian mix of food, or Sri Lankan, or Indian, or maybe all three. Actually maybe that's what "pan-asian" means.

We began with a hibiscus cooler that was red, cool, refreshing, quenching and delicious. Malabar is an all-vegetarian restaurant, and they can make any menu item vegan on request. Overwhelmed by the multitude of tiny, fancy dishes that all sounded amazing, I decided to order three appetizers instead of an entree, while Mr. Peterson chose the "baked ravioli," which contained such seemingly-disparate items as "truffle oil," "black mission figs," and "parmesan." Andrew pledged to order it without the parmesan so that I could have "bites," i.e. "half of the entire plate of food."

Woe!! Our waitress informed us sorrowfully that the restaurant was out of the baked ravioli.

"I'm getting out of here," I said angrily, pushing my chair back and throwing my napkin down on the table. The restaurant grew quiet, as all eyes were turned uneasily on my visage to see what I would do next. Filled with rage, my hands began to curl into fists when suddenly--

"honey? honey! what do you want instead of the ravioli?" Mr. Peterson asked.

"I think you should get this coconut thing," I said forcefully.

"I'll have the spinach dahl," he said to the waitress, heedless of my instructions.

We spoke of this and that, sipping the hibiscus cooler, which was red as wine (red wine). We spoke of the laundry that must needs be done in our home. We spoke of my job and the multitude of hi-larious things that happen there on a daily basis. We spoke of Mr. Peterson's family. The ambience of Malabar is extraordinarily well suited to the task of pleasantly chatting. The light is low, your table lit primarily by candles. The window into the kitchen is right there, so a lively bustle of noise--clanking pans, people shouting, bells ringing--fills the space. The couple next to you contains a quiet woman and one of those men who likes to chat with the waiter and ask you what you're eating. Malabar was filled with young couples on fancy dates, just like us. There was also a lovely hippie family with those hippie children whose beauty can not be adequately described.

Soon the food began to arrive. Our first item was the spinach dahl. It was a yellow dahl, perfectly cooked. The lentils were slightly hard, which made the overall texture of the soupy dahl quite interesting. The spinach was just barely steamed, so we knew we were getting lots of iron out of it. Sometimes dahl can be bland, or over-spiced, but Malabar did it perfectly. It was an excellent first course.

Our next course was the coconut roti bread. These were small pancakes made of flour, anaheim peppers, and coconut. They were fried so that they were crispy on the outside and really soft and doughy on the inside. They were served with green onions, which I promptly scraped off and quarantined on a "green onions only" section of the plate, never to be seen or heard from again by any man.

I should pause here to note that Malabar has taken great care when it comes to aesthetics. I appreciate this very much, as I am someone who will search through someone's cupboard until I find a coffee cup that is pleasing to my eye and to my touch. Malabar exists for people like me, who wish to admire a tall, stately limeade glass or marvel over the wonderful contours of a rectangular, concave serving dish. All of the many sauces and dips and chutneys were also served on banana leaves, which I enjoyed.

The coconut roti was divine. Light yet rich, delicate yet filling, and served with a creamy, savory dipping sauce, they were the highpoint of my personal meal.

After the roti, we received our pakoras. The pakoras were tiny bits of vegetables deep batter fried in a coconut-flour batter. They were pretty good, but a little bit bland. Still, a nice complement to the rich food that had come before.

Our last dish was this amazing plate of super crispy lentil patties. They were so good, but at this point it was just too much. I couldn't deal with them. I just kept going, "oh, oh, oh." We brought them home for my lunch today, and then I forgot to bring them. So all I have for lunch is this old tangerine. Which I already ate, and it's only 9:30 a.m.

We were beginning to think they had forgotten our avocado dish, which was two avocado halves stuffed with vegetables and tofu and served with a rosette vinaigrette sauce or some such. And in fact, they had. They had forgotten it. This would later turn out to be a blessing, as we were both extremely full.

When the check came, we were shocked. Somehow, we were expecting to pay 30 dollars, because each dish was fancy and we thought it was all expensive. But instead, for the delightful cornucopia which I just described, we paid the positively MEASLY price of sixteen American dollars.

In short: MALABAR! When I do a google image search for "malabar," this is what I find. So this is what I shall leave you with: