A Menu For People I Loved

By Ivy Lu

Tonight’s Tasting Menu:  

A Menu for the People I’ve Loved 

Curated by Vivienne Zhao 

- Amuse-Bouche: Pickled Plums with Chili and Mint 

- First Course: Charred Quail with Molasses and Bitter Brussel Sprouts 

- Intermezzo: Chilled Lychee Granita with Pink Peppercorn and Lime Zest 

- Second Course: Bone Broth with Corn, Shiitake mushroom, and a side of white rice. - Dessert: Poached Pears in Cardamom Cream 

- Closing Pairing: Jasmine Silver Needle White Tea 

Explanations: 

Amuse-Bouche: Pickled Plums with Chili and Mint 

For Daniel. Seventh grade. The first boy to ever kiss me, and the last to do it like it was a dare. They're tiny– no larger than a thumbprint. The plums are pickled in rice vinegar and childhood shame, wrinkled, pink skin. I slice them into small bits, then soak them in chili oil until they hiss. A shred of mint tries to balance the heat. I wondered what it was like for him to laugh with all his friends after that kiss. These are sour little bombs. Just a small bit of unfinished business. You’ll wince when you eat them. A perfect way to start off your meal. 

So sour, so much flavor – leaving you hoping for a smoother next course. 

First Course: Charred Quail with Molasses and Bitter Brussel Sprouts 

For Cass. My best friend. My proof that not all leaving is love and not all staying is romance. Quail is a bird for those who savor. Tiny, tender, easy to overcook. Cass always said it was ridiculous – “a whole bird the size of your fist? Whats the point?” But let me make it for her anyway. Every time I was heartbroken, she’d show up with good wine and let me bawl my eyes out. I marinate it in molasses and burnt orange zest. The sweetness is smokey. Like the late nights we ate on the floor because the table was covered in laundry and unpaid bills. I rest the bird on mashed celeriac and lemon butter. Garnished with crisped sage leaves – because she hated parsley. 

This dish is for the kind of love that doesn't ask for anything. The kind that will go out at 4 am to buy you chinese takeout and chocolate bars, and doesn't need a thank you after. Its small, but the flavors burst like fireworks. 

A whole bird, just enough for one– and still, she’d split it with me. 

Intermezzo: Chilled Lychee Granita with Pink Peppercorn and Lime Zest 

For Elias. My ex-husband. The man I mistook for shelter. 

Lychee is deceptive. It looks like an offering – pale, perfumed, peeled for you. But it’s slippery, and after two sweet bites its gone. I blitz it into a granite and freeze it till its sharp. The texture is between snow and slush. Like the space between our lash kiss and the 2nd time he forgot my birthday. The peppercorn bites back–small red specks that numb your tongue if you let them sit for too long. A hint of lime zest makes it feel bright, like something new. He always wanted to feel new. Even when we weren’t. I hope he felt that way with the other woman in his IMessage log. 

It’s sweet in the beginning, but once you eat more – it'll turn sour and make your mouth water.

This is a palate cleanser. That’s all. Something to forget the heaviness of what came before. 

Second Course: Bone Broth with Corn, Shaoxing wine, Shiitake mushroom, a side of white rice. For my Mom. My savior. 

The broth takes sixteen hours. Boiling beef bones down to marrow and memory, skimming off the fat like her slick attitudes rising to the surface. She’d tie my hair up with a thin jade pin, almost the size of the bones. I’ll cut the corn into biteable pieces, daisy yellow and bursting with a touch of sweetness.. The mushroom will be just as soft as her heart, and biting into it will spill the broth in your mouth. The Shaoxing wine has a sharp aftertaste, and some perceive it as similar to dry sherry, offering a noticeable sweetness, which helps to balance the bland flavor. Just like her personality, witty and hilarious, scooping a small bowl of rice beside every dish. Soft, and fluffy. 

Soothing, calm, a nostalgic flavor. A feeling that’ll make your heart feel warm like you're sitting in your moms kitchen again. 

Dessert: Poached Pears in Cardamom Cream 

For Isla. My daughter. My redemption, if she’ll have me 

The peaches are peeled soft and slow, soaked in Riesling with vanilla bean and a cinnamon stick split down the center. The’yre poached till translucent until they blush but never bruise. The cream is cardamom-spiced, just barely sweet. She always scrapes it to the side. Says it “tastes like old perfume.” I let her. I’ve burned birthday cakes. Forgotten pickups. Said wrong things at every right moment. But I made this dish the day she moved out. My heart sunk when I saw it laying on the table without a single bite in it. 

I still make it sometimes, in winter. Her favorite season, it holds its shape. So does she. So do I, now. 

Closing Pairing: Jasmine Silver Needle White Tea 

It’s the kind of tea you don’t boil. You steep it low and slow, with water just warm enough to coax the soul out of the leaves. The jasmine doesn’t taste like perfume–it's ghostlike. It lingers at the back of the tongue and disappears before you can hold it. I drink it in silence. No sugar, no milk. Some things are meant to be taken as they are–delicate, subtle, a bit sad. 

This is the tea I make when I want to be alone without being lonely. When the restaurant is closed. When I’m at home with the sun gliding on the tables in the evening. When no one is watching. It tastes like who I’m trying to become. My entire life served across six courses, ending with a cup of quiet. 

I am not the woman I planned to be. But I am someone who knows how to braise a duck until it falls apart gently. Someones who cried because a cherry wouldn't balance right on a dish. Someone who spent too long in a too-small kitchen trying to find the difference between season and apology. This is my menu. The only language I ever really spoke. 

A menu for the people I loved the best way I knew how: 

With too much garlic. 

And just enough wine.

By Ivy Lu