Fortunately I lost neither and instead found myself in a palatable paradise. Upon entry, the downstairs décor conjures a twisting hedge maze in a quiet wooded garden in my mind’s eye. The lighting is dim but mysteriously enchanting, the stairs spiral upward like a winding tower, and the short ascent feels like climbing silvery strands of long blond hair. The upstairs finds a buzz of consistent contentment amongst the sweet stillness of a fairy tale’s happily ever.
I rarely order alcohol, but the Twisted and Bitter was candy in a cup, too good to pass up. The candy comes from the Johnny Walker, and the giant ice cube in the center melts slowly to maintain a calming cool serving temperature without watering down the drink. This smooth concoction makes for small silky sips with a hint of wake-me-up-from-this-beautiful-dream bitterness.
The Grilled Tiger Prawns are sweeter than the drink. The olive oil browns the innocent pink shrimp like a welcome bruise in a not-so-innocent white-flesh apple. The tom yum spice is wake-up kiss, abrupt and welcome, from a dashing prince.
My Tasmanian Salmon Gravlax is anchored by the espresso mustard emulsion and tempered by tangy fresh capers. The salmon tastes of purity and innocence, the pink of true bliss, sweet as Sleeping Beauty’s flitting fairies. The salmon is lighter-than-air, and the bitter emulsion brings it back to earth.
The Barramundi has skin seared to a crisp and the clean crunch stays despite the cradle of creamy coconut broth. Barramundi is a local Thai fish, making this dish a rarity in Western cuisine, a crying shame as tragic as finger-stick on a spindle. This flaky fish is my pauper-turned-prince, showing me a whole new world with a flying carpet and the rub of a lamp.
The Risotto is ripe with black truffle, as charming as an enchanted castle, illuminated by a talking candlestick of pecorino with none of the parmesean bitterness of the cynical clock. When Lumiere told Belle to try the gray stuff, it’s delicious, I think this was it.
The sheer volume of jokes spawned by this restaurant’s most commanding name is matched only by the depth and breadth of choices offered by its menu. I’m told that Eat Me will receive its first Michelin Star this year, and something tells me that much like this review, it’s long overdue. The food commands your attention, and the name gives you your marching orders. The infinite attention to detail is as refreshing as the minted water, the creativity is as ingenious as an idyllic ice cube, and the expansive menu carries a contradictory contrast to the unusual unity within each dish.
After a month-long journey, my travel blog concludes thus. Eat me allows me to exit with a bang and on a high note at that. After this, it will be back to critiquing instead of describing, back to the clean conciseness of Yelp and the sarcastic cynicism that defines my fascination with the fantastic and disdain for the down-and-out. I gladly return to my role, but if it’s the vacation blog you prefer, stay tuned for the next installment of Foodie Houser’s fantastic foreign feast. It may come when you least expect it.
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