After currywurst, the second most memorable meal I had in Phuket was dinner at a Thai seafood restaurant called the Savoey. In and of itself, the neon sign looked rather inviting. Surely nowhere that served lobster could be that bad.

Though I still had my doubts after walking down a road that advertised tattoos and questionable hotels. I guess you could say the same thing about Times Square. Of course, come to think of it, I would not recommend eating at many tourist traps there. Then again, we were mere steps from Patong beach in Phuket and almost all of the food I had in Thailand to that point had been spectacular.

So Bill and I sat down with our friends Myong, Jeremy, and Dew. The waiters were fast, filling our glasses of water when we could barely notice. I also drank my first mai tai at the Savoey, but that is not what set this meal apart. What I remember most is selecting our own fish. At the restaurant. With no seafood market. And no middle man. The day’s catch was visible fresh on ice as we entered the restaurant.

I chose a colorful red snapper, yet this simple task was rather astonishing for someone from landlocked Pittsburgh. Sure, I had spent my youth fishing with my dad in North Carolina but we always brought home our own catch and cooked it ourselves. I had never been to a restaurant where I could pick the exact fish that someone else had caught just hours earlier. Americans, myself included, are too isolated from the actual foods we eat. We point to something on the menu and expect it to be more or less the same as what the last person ordered. If we’re lucky, we’ll get a picture and some people will complain if it doesn’t match precisely.

Things are different on the other side of the world. Why would you trust a photo when you can see exactly what you will eat instead? For some reason, this concept seems relegated to lobster in America. I never really saw the thrill in picking out live crustaceans, but I can appreciate choosing a particular fish to eat. There is certainly less of a need to translate from Thai when you can see the before and after.

Not to be outdone by the fisherman, the Thai chef equally amazed me by presenting the whole fish I had picked out minutes earlier but now cooked on my plate. I exchanged glances with my friends. Where’s the fillet, I thought to myself? I had never seen that kind of preparation growing up since my dad was a master filleter. I can remember picking out bones very rarely despite having fish perhaps a hundred times — to say nothing of scales. I tried to play it cool and did not take a picture of the final product. However I can attest it is possible, and indeed very delicious, to eat a whole fish cooked in this way.

I now know to look for whole Thai red snapper and the best I have had in NYC is undoubtedly at Sripraphai in Queens. Yet the ambiance is still not quite the same as having fish at the beach where it was caught, like back at the Savoey in Phuket.

I don’t have many regrets in life. One of them is not going to one of my now favorite restaurants soon enough when I lived in Midtown. I had known about it for a couple of years but never made it down 10th Avenue to 52nd Street until 2007, less than a year before I was about to move to Queens. What a mistake, as Taboon is surely one of the best middle eastern restaurants in Manhattan.

I’ve read some reviews that mention Taboon and Mamoun’s or Maoz in the same sentence. That is ridiculous. I appreciate a good falafel too but that comparison is the equivalent of insinuating that a steakhouse is simply a better McDonalds. Some people need to try more middle eastern food because they need more reference points if they claim to write authoritatively about it. That is one reason why I don’t trust every review on Yelp. Without reading everyone’s past history, there is no context. There is no way to filter to look for similar reviewers like on TripAdvisor.

But I digress. I am here to write about bread. The loaf that Taboon provides every table alone is worthy of praise. It is cooked in their own taboon, which happens to mean oven in Arabic.

The bread is really just a clever way to upsell some of their excellent hummus or schoog. Not that I’m complaining.

I find a good hearth baked bread to be like a work of art for all five senses. The fading crust provides a visual tapestry for its wondrous texture and aroma. The crackling from breaking bread is a reminder for me of our primordial past when food could be both simple and satisfying.

Yet if you stop there with appetizers at Taboon, you are doing yourself a great disservice. You owe it yourself to try the sambusak, which is basted lightly with olive oil and covered in herbs. Now readers may rightfully question why they should spend $12 on another bread when I just extolled the virtues of one you can get for free. My friend and I had the same hesitation at first but the waiter was adamant in his recommendation. Let me assuage your fears by saying we ended the night by ordering a second. Yes, I spent $24 on bread in one meal and maybe that is wrong, but don’t hold me back from something I love!

I found in my research that the word sambusak is related in its etymology to the more well-known Indian samosa. The above bread looks rather different than the fried curry triangles I also adore. They are similar in one regard, though. They both contain better surprises than a box of Cracker Jack.

Taboon’s sambusak is filled with feta, jalapenos, and onions that are cooked entirely within the dough. The first time I had it, I seem to remember the cheese being more melted than my more recent photo would indicate. (Maybe they used to use halloumi?) Now it has a consistency more like ricotta. Clearly it is done as intended, though, given the perfect color and texture of the bread.

Strangely, the pairing of an Arabic bread with a Greek cheese and a Mexican pepper reminds me most of a NYC tradition. I would venture to say Taboon’s sambusak is the best bagel and cream cheese you will ever have — especially considering it contains neither. And there is no doubt that the combination is a bit salty — especially after two. Don’t let that stop you. Choose from their extensive wine list or an exotic beer you’ve likely never tried to wash it down. That might be enough of a meal for me.

I thought I would attempt to settle an ongoing patriotic debate in honor of Memorial Day. New York and Chicago always bicker about two of their most popular foods, pizza and hot dogs. Yet if you have had both, then there is simply no contest. Almost any New York pizzeria has far better slices than the doughy messes made in the Windy City. And any Chicago style dog tops even the best of Gray’s Papaya or Crif Dogs in NYC. I can say this with conviction because the first hot dog I had to represent Chicago was at O’Hare. Airports the world over notoriously have some of the worst food anywhere, but it was surprisingly palatable.

If you have time to explore Chicagoland for an even better frank, look for the drive in oasis called Superdawg. I’ve been there twice, and even though I ordered the same thing, it was even better the second time (probably because I was not recovering from food poisoning as I was in March).

What makes a Chicago hot dog superior aside from the neon amusement park atmosphere? Sure, the meat is marginally better and the addictive fries certainly help.

But it is the toppings make this box into a meal. Chicago style drags it in the garden, practically making a hot dog into a salad, while Gray’s Papaya patrons suggest lathering on “onion sauce” that is more like chili than onions to be even more unhealthy.

For me, Chicago style is entirely counter-intuitive. I never would have asked for tomatoes with a hot dog. A pickle, also rarely my favorite, looks rather daunting. It works, though. Always at least try to eat like the locals before going your own way.

What makes Chicago style hot dogs truly great is actually hidden underneath: relish and mustard. Neon green relish, I might add. I liked sweet pickles growing up but never liked them on my hamburgers or hot dogs. Why? Simple. I grew up in Pittsburgh, where we put ketchup on everything. And neither sweet pickles nor relish go with ketchup. It is too overpowering.

However, the most overpowering part of a hot dog should be your own inner argument on whether or not you can finish two. You probably want to, but you might regret the decision… for a while. Go ahead, relish it.

One of the reasons I have not written as much lately is frankly because there have been more important things going on in the world. Disaster in Japan. Revolution throughout the Middle East. A milestone in Afghanistan. Weddings for an outdated, imperial system dominating the news. What is on my plate does not seem justified to be on the same menu.

However, I did experience a revolution in food last month. And since it comes from one of the nations currently fighting for their freedom, I thought it would be an appropriate abode.

The revolution was one for the senses. Smell, in fact. Fragrance was once one the hallmarks of the culinary arts. When spices not only flavored foods but gave them a longer shelf life, scent was a delicate balance between overpowering and underpreserved. Yet today’s frozen fare needs far fewer additives. That may be good for our health, but I have a feeling our evolved noses are missing out on occasion.

That is how I felt when I was suddenly reminded that good smells can indeed be found in NYC. It came from a fragrant food cart called Al-Shamy in Little Egypt, north of 28th Avenue on Steinway Street next to Naseem Market.

Even as a foodie, I was always somewhat hesitant to try any of the Egyptian restaurants in my neighborhood. Walk past the hookah bars and you will see very few outsiders who make the trek. Indeed many friends to whom I’ve mentioned the area do not even know it exists, so I decided to start with possibly the most authentic street food in Astoria. If you feel overwhelmed by a new cuisine, do not be afraid to ask for suggestions from the chef. This has been an immediate ice breaker based on my limited experience with Middle Eastern food. Whereas many waiters at American restaurants seem uninterested or simply recommend the most expensive thing on the menu, every Egyptian I have spoken to takes pride in their cuisine and are anxious to point you in the right direction.

You can usually get halal chicken and rice for $4 or $5 at most carts in NYC. Al-Shamy charges $10 on their yellow lit sign but I’ve gotten it twice for $8 without having to haggle. Yet this chicken is no precooked fare, staying lukewarm on low heat or a gyro spit.

This chicken is double breasted, spiced, and cooked slowly over charcoal in front of your eyes on a pristine grill. Al-Shamy also keeps most of its food within the Astoria market itself, so I would wager that the cart actually scores higher in cleanliness than a large number of restaurants. It would make a great introduction for anyone uneasy about eating on the street.

Also rare at this cart is the choice of rice. The descriptions of fragrant white or brown basmati does not do the scents justice. I opted for brown. Yet the first time I had it, the actual color was almost pink from the mix of saffron, harissa, and tahini.

The fragrant rice and smoky chicken combine to form one of the best smelling concoctions I can remember eating. The texture is also amazing, because the chicken manages to stay juicy even though I thought for sure it would dry out. I guess there is something to those cast iron grilling baskets that I had only ever seen used for fish before. Everyone should take part in this food revolution, because this is how people used to eat before everything was commercialized and produced on a massive scale. Smell is what triggers memories, after all.

Today I would like to recount, for the first time, a meal that has changed my life since I started this blog. It seems like only yesterday — because it was! I just finished a marathon 80 hour work week and went to Flushing to relax with Howard and his friends, Janice and Caitlin.

We walked past the crowds of Main Street to find the curious Flushing Mall, which is like few other malls in America. I don’t think there is a single large chain anywhere to be found. Mandarin dominates. There are plenty of fancier restaurants in Queens but he quite seriously recommended the food court. The whole atmosphere certainly reminded me of being back in China. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing yet because the authentic cuisine left me largely underwhelmed during my trip.

For many of the stalls, you pay the cashier and then retrieve your food. One establishment that doesn’t work that way is far in the back. Howard was intrigued even though it didn’t look that popular. I didn’t even see the name at the time (Xi’an Famous Foods), but it was the only place to have a TV showing how they made their food (in this case, hand pulled noodles). I was introduced to the concept two years ago in Chinatown by my old coworker, Chuck. They were good, but not life changing. Now hold on, taped to the wall are some high brow press clippings including Time Out and this guy’s mug.

What is Anthony Bourdain doing in a cheap Chinese food court? Clearly this must be good. And is it ever.

Not everyone likes lamb, but maybe that is because they haven’t it Shaanxi style with spicy cumin. Cumin is not a spice that hits you over the head. You keep eating because it’s deliciously addictive and, about midway through the meal, you notice that your lips are on fire. Thank goodness for my taro bubble tea from their neighbors in the food court.

This is the food I had hoped to find in China but never did. I am still a bit miffed that my friends convinced me not to go to Xi’an when I went to the mainland. They said it was boring. At the time, I didn’t realize Xi’an was the former capital and certainly didn’t know that it could have had cuisine like this. It starts with satisfying, doughy noodles that marinate in chili oil. Savory lamb that would be finger licking good if you didn’t use chopsticks. And one of the few times that cilantro actually complements the spices and doesn’t overpower the whole dish. I realized that I had a lot stuck in my teeth when I got home. Hey bud, that’s the sign of a good time.

I already know I will be back. I haven’t even had the lamb burger yet, which is what got Bourdain’s blessing. That dish looks like a mess and it is made of styrofoam which I detest. (How about using some terracotta plates in honor of those famous warriors from Xi’an?) But I have no doubt it is one of the best ways you can spend $6 in the five boroughs.