Asakusa

129 – Kai on King – Our first casualty leads to food that flees and the thrill of the hunt

May 23, 2013 by andysomething 3 Comments

The first disappointment was Star Trek – a big, big mistake. I tried to defend it from Strop’s scathing assessments but came up with nothing – she even hated the continuity. I have totally blown any action film goodwill I may have been able to generate over the years, in the two and a half hours that travesty took to unfold. It’s going to be payback time from now on – lots of meaningful subtitles and issues-based capital C Cinema. Oh well, I’ll just get on with watching Game of Thrones on my own – no change there.

The second disappointment came in the form of our first quest casualty. We arrived on-site at 127 King Street only to find Jester Seeds a darkened husk. We had only been there the Friday before, when we had a very enjoyable end to our evening at Asakusa, getting merry with exotic cocktails. Now, only a brief week later, it has gone. Our first real-time example of the infamous King Street Churn. We cursed, we ummed, then we turned left and went next door to Kai on King. The quest’s first sushi train. Toot toot – insert link to train whistle mp3 file here.

Now we'll never know what that stupid name meant — Now we’ll never know what that stupid name meant

Sushi train – there is so much to like about the concept. Yum Cha meets industrial revolution? Yum Cha for robots? I don’t know why but I am inordinately fond of a dining experience that involves moving food. It adds a whole other layer of excitement and tension, and it often leads to the deposition of new layers of body fat as well. As the food comes towards you there is lots of anticipatory salivation as you try to work out what it is, then there is the moment of query as it reaches the apex of its trajectory relative to your orbit, “Sushi with green things and black sprinkles on the outside. Do we want that?” While you are trying to decide, it starts to move away from you and panic sets in. Quick get it, you think, before it goes, before someone else takes it. (Just wondering, has anyone ever been tempted to pick up someone else’s bag at an airport luggage carousel? Just to see what happens? No, me either.)

Following our poor choices last week at Asakusa, Strop informs me that she has made a new temporary rule: no more deep fried anything. I regretfully agree as I watch the soft-shell crab sushi trundle quietly past.

As we had anticipated, the Kai on King sushi train contains a lot of sushi, but there is also a smattering of sashimi and little signs advertising hot soupy and noodle-y foods as well. Wasabi, ginger and a very cute mayonnaise bottle go past, and there is a tense moment when Strop decants their contents into little bowls then manages to get the containers back into their original spaces on the conveyor belt as they go past on the return journey, by leaning precariously over the tracks. The ginger is the good not-pink kind, but the bulk wasabi turns out to be disappointingly mild and we resort to the little sachet stuff, which happily produces the correct level of nasal conflagration. Mayonnaise drizzling is very evident in the sushi (a trend I personally deplore), but we still manage to fill ourselves up without too much effort, leaving quite a stack of plates for the cashier person to count.

It's ok, I can do it — It’s ok, I can do it

There is nothing fancy here – it is an adequate, comfy local eatery. They even have a pile of magazines for you to read if you are so inclined or a bit lonely. I imagine it is reasonably popular with local students but I can’t imagine going out of our way to eat here again.

Next up is the highly anticipated Atom – lots of good reports have been word-of-mouthed to us – and the return of Number 37. Can’t wait.

Where's a man supposed to get a cocktail around here? — Where’s a man supposed to get a cocktail around here?

119 – Asakusa – It ain’t no Fuji Tempura Bar

May 11, 2013 by andysomething 4 Comments

It’s catch up time. For those of you who were busy talking up the back, we had to skip Asakusa as it was inexplicably closed on Anzac Day. So Strop and I are back-tracking in the interest of no-rivet-unpainted. It’s been a busy week, starting with slapstick and farce on Monday at One Man Two Guvnors, then pizza with the gals on Tuesday (more on that down the road at 126), sleeping on the couch through Shaun Micallef on Wednesday (fast becoming an unattractive habit), and a late-night-feminist-comedy-fundraiser show on Thursday. So I’m really looking forward to nothing much happening on the weekend, but first we need to clear up the untidiness that is the absence of Asakusa. It is also the first time for just the two of us since the infamous visit to Newtown Thai 2 back in March and I am quite looking forward to a quiet and intimate Japanese tête-à-tête. So after my newly established ritual of a quick ale and a glimpse of televised sports at the Marly (Dogbolter and ice hockey tonight), I arrive at Asakusa to find Strop ensconced in a window seat busily Facebooking away.

Asakusa is a large double-fronted restaurant and has been around for as long as I have been paying attention, so presumably they are doing something right. We have been here before, a long time ago, but I can’t remember anything about the experience although we obviously did not feel the need to rush back. It is sparsely populated when I arrive – things don’t start early in Newtown. Strop and I have a quick discussion about what Asakusa actually means – I think it has something to do with cherry blossoms or maybe crayons, having mixed it up with sakura – but we get immediately sidetracked by an argument about the relative merits of “asking someone” (Strop’s inclination) and googling it (mine, of course). We are interrupted by the waitress before anything is resolved. She is wearing an attractively calligraphed label that says Trainee. Hmmm.

By this stage we haven’t made any decisions other than, as winter is still coming, we won’t be have sushi, but we will be having sake. We stall Trainee (telling the waitress to come back later is never a good move in my experience, I think they start to make assumptions about what kind of table you are) while we quickly read the menu, decide to have a bunch of entrees, make selections, then wait for Trainee to come back again. It takes a little while as we are in the far corner and the place is starting to fill up with noisy young people, but eventually we place the order and get on with nattering. The sashimi arrives first quickly followed by the sake. The good thing about sake is that you can feel it doing you good right up to the point when you fall over. Strop always likens it to tripping but this is an analogy too far for me. The sashimi is only salmon but it is good and turns out to be the highlight in a relatively lacklustre collection of flavours. We are partly to blame for this, in deciding to go for a kind of japanese / tapas fusion we have ordered an awful lot of deep fried things. The tempura veges are crispy and not bad but the fish cakes are bland, the octopus is chewy and the soft-shell crab is two halves of one very large beast – it is hard to handle with chopsticks and lacking anything much in the way of flavour. Strop reckons Asakusa isn’t a patch on the Fuji Tempura Bar, which was the first Japanese restaurant we went to, back in the seventies (that’s right, young people, the seventies) where the flavours were new and bright and generally amazing (Hello Don).

Where's my yakitori? — Where’s my yakitori?

By this time I was wishing I had ordered something soupy and noodley instead of entrees. That was when the yakitori confusion started. A previously un-sighted waiter appears at the table saying something about grilled chicken on skewers. I nodded and agreed with him, yes that’s what yakitori is, and yes we are waiting for some. He goes away seemingly happy with my clarification of the matter. We wait a bit longer, drink more sake, and feel better and better. Then another previously unsighted staff member turns up and starts talking about chicken on skewers. Yes, I say, we ordered some. She goes away muttering. I am confused so we have some more sake. Strop goes “Where the fuck is our yakitori?” at the same time as there is a lull in the general hubbub, and everyone looks at her. Well, everyone except the staff. After more sake Strop manages to collar Trainee and put the question to her directly (with the expletive deleted). Looks of surprise abound, luke warm chicken skewers appear. Apparently my answer to the repeated approaches by staff should have been “No, we have not yet received out skewered chicken”. The only lesson I can glean from this fiasco is that I should never be allowed to talk to waiters without an adult present (in my defence I will just say that none of the waiters actually brought the yakitori to the table to ask if it was ours).

I had been going to have dessert – something called Golden Banana – which I assume is code for banana fritter but I will never know now – it was not available. As we finished off the rest of the sake I convinced Strop that cocktails-in-lieu-of-dessert was called for to cheer us up. We decanted ourselves next door to Jester Seeds where we sat right at the front, and spent the remainder of the evening sipping exotically flavoured alcohol while disparaging the passing parade and generally amusing each other. We also managed to scare off quite a few of the younger clientele.

Next up is Basil, which we actually did last Tuesday, but it’s been a confusing week.

121 Asian King – What Happened to Asakusa?

April 26, 2013 by andysomething Leave a Comment

Was it cultural sensitivity with regards to Anzac Day or just sensitivity to holiday penalty rates that caused the Japanese restaurant Asakusa to be closed? Whatever the reason, our intended target for the night’s outing with daughters and granddaughter in tow, was blacked out and closed when Strop and I arrived. No worries, we’ll just go to the next place. So we stepped next door to number 121 and sat down at a newly re-modelled, re-managed, and absolutely empty Asian King, where we were soon joined by Stropette, Pancetta, and The Stropolina.

This place will do... — This place will do…

We have our choice of tables, and a high chair for the Pancetta is found, followed soon after by a large plate of prawn crackers. Pancetta thinks these are a very good idea and proceeds to eat some and spread the others around the restaurant. She is also fairly taken with the chopsticks and proceeds to conduct the music in her head, give a presentation, and make a few notes on the white paper table covering. The wait staff think she is very cute, so they’re definitely getting a tip.

The menu is large and colourful, and takes a bit of time to get our head around. Asian King is basically a Chinese restaurant and it’s menu has a number of overlaps with last weeks subject the Green Gourmet. We decide to exploit this duplication and order some of the same dishes but with actual dead animals in them this time. Just to see. So the order includes Peking Duck Pancakes, Sang Choy Bow, and Shandong Chicken for comparison. To this we add Szechuan Style Shredded Pork with Golden Buns, Peking Style Shredded Beef, Seasonal Stir Fried vegetables, and Shanghai Steamed Mini Pork Buns for Pancetta. With the ordering done we get down to drinking our Madfish Classic White wine and entertaining the youngster. The only other customers in the restaurant are two single Asian men – presumably students – one of whom impresses with both his dexterity and his manners by eating his prawn crackers with his chopsticks. I hope Pancetta took note. There are a couple of take away orders while we are there, both walk-ins and on-line orders, but mostly the place is empty. Meanwhile Pancetta has been offered some fruit which she proceeds to convert into a grapey slip-and-slide beneath her chair. Distraction is needed so The Stropolina takes Pancetta for a walk on the footpath. This is a new trick, actual bipedal walking, and she is keen to engage anyone and everyone on the strip in conversation on the thrills and spills involved. Pancetta returns from her walk just in time for the entrees, with lots of giggling at the idea that we are still there in the restaurant, right where she left us.

I’m just going to say this once, ok, meat is better than gluten – or any other analogue for that matter. There are large chunks of roasty toasty duck in the pancakes and yummy pork in the Sang Choy Bow. Then it’s on to the Shandong Chicken which is a revelation and the winning dish for the night. The Szechuan style pork is disappointing but the Peking style beef is yummy despite being very sweet. Kind of like beefy lollies.

We had a great time at Asian King and didn’t feel as if our antics were inconveniencing anyone else, except for the two Asian guys – and they didn’t seem to notice. It would be worth getting to know the menu better, because I suspect there are a few gems hidden away there. I would certainly go back for some more Shandong Chicken. But unfortunately we can’t, that is the cross we bear, always eating somewhere new. We have to cross the road to Cheeky Czech next, a place I have been looking forward to for a while – both because of it’s name and because it’s not Asian – I really feel like a change of cuisine. In the interest of completeness – which is the only thing Painting the Bridge has going for it after all – we will go back to Asakusa sometime when they can be bothered to be open.