Leisurely breakfast in bed? Always a turn on.
Pretzels at a hockey game? Hot and heavy. The salted tendons of Super Pretzel are kindling for a fiery afternoon.
Dinner at Mi Lah? Not a first choice on an overdrawn evening, but not a last resort, either. The $45 prix-fixe menu came with champagne and one of two selections for each course.
While intent on devouring each other, we couldn't help but dissect what was served to us. Just because it's Valentine's Day and he's mostly concentrated on what's underneath my napkin doesn't mean you can send out your mediocre specials. After excessive dabbling in the realm of hi-veg cuisine, you start to realize that most of what you pay for in restaurants is utter nonsense. Especially on notable evenings. After an empowering week of homemade vegan truffles (better than the chocolaterie-bought ones), cashew butter made from leftover nuts (fun with cashews), and coconut custard pie from the Veganomicon cookbook, we were ready to start tipping ourselves. We were almost afraid to venture out of the trusty kitchen.
I was a fan of the team at Mi Lah. I'd had promising meals there, with minor wrinkles that I imagined they'd smooth out. The parsnip soup was nice to start, the endive salad pleasant to follow. Both were refreshing, if slightly safe. If you were trying to ease an overextended palate, your mouth would have coasted into nap territory.
For entrees, we split up. I took the chickpea panelle over yet another puree of parnsips and a torrent of unevenly cooked mushrooms. The panelle was pure mush shaped into a mound, an incredibly bland construction that would only be fun if you'd just had your wisdom teeth removed. File away for future reference.
The other dish featured portabellas, kale, and tomatoes, and was so acidic that the manface sent it back and requested my choice instead. He didn't hate it, but I still felt extremely bad that I'd suggested Mi Lah when our first inclination had been to swap out intimacy for the racy unknowns of Jose Garces' Peruvian joint, Chifa.
Dessert came out, and Mi Lah's trio of truffles were another step down, cake-like balls that had the richness zapped out of them, that were nowhere near the caliber of truffle that I fuck with.
The red velvet souffle was a little more intriguing, finally something I could get into, cream cheese ice cream soaked up by the dark red sponge. It was the only course worth finishing.
Mi Lah Vegetarian, 218 S. 16th St.
1 comments:
that's really too bad to hear. i've had some decent food at mi lah, especially an entree of roasted brussel sprouts with lemon beurre blanc and a pistachio potato gratin. i think it's kind of a true cliche that restaurants hardly shine in prix fixe situations, and it's sad that little mi lah was also not up to the challenge.
Post a Comment