Canoodling

I ask you: Is there anything that can induce gasps, tingle the spine, or bump the goose more than when a plate of vermicelli lets its angel hair down?
Prepare to be dazzled:

 
Char Mee Hoon, as librarian (left) and libertine (right)
The satay tofu ugly stepsister had tried to appeal to me about 15 minutes earlier, but as you can see, she just doesn’t have that certain elusive je ne sais quoi:


She’s not bad-lookin’, I suppose, but hardly a vixen. Or so I thought. Until she did this:


Saucy, isn’t she. Lifting up her skirts, flashin’ a li’l garter, a li’l lace. I do so enjoy when tofu tarts it up a bit.
All in all, though, Friday’s dinner at Penang left me wanting more — of something else. Sure, she promised good things, but in the end she just didn’t deliver.
She wasn’t my first choice for dinner, though. I was in the general area and was actually looking for a place whose name I couldn’t remember but which I had been meaning to go back to after enjoying it quite a bit a few years ago. When I got home and searched for it online, I realized I was only half a mile north of where I’d wanted to be. So I went back to the neighborhood the next day, and had this, at the marvelous Cafe Mingala:


Vegetarian Let-Thoke (left) and Shan Tofu Kyaw (right)
The dish of let-thoke from which this plateful was taken was so enormous that neither my camera nor my table could not accommodate it. I asked if it would like to go back to my place, and after a few coy moments of indecision, it looked me straight in the eye and said yes. Less than an hour and a half later, I had my way with it at home — thus disqualifying it from genuinely being leftovers* and qualifying me as an unequivocal Burmese food slut.
I won’t go back to Penang, but Cafe Mingala? I’ll be back for a foodie** call, ‘K?
* Go here for a lesson on leftovers.
** Yes, I hate the word “foodie”.