in the fiber optic valley

It was my second snowfall here. I woke to see the soft, white flakes of symmetrically organized water crystals sailing down from the sky. The early ones disappeared into puddles on the ground but slowly, they amassed and the grey world became bright. It's a noiseless transformation. If you don't notice the snow with your eyes, you can be pleasantly surprised. But I watched it fall. I monitored the gradual disappearance of blades of grass, staring out the window like a grandmother waiting for her family.

Last night, I met My Molly at Pearl Oyster Bar for an early dinner. My boots don't have any traction so I walked steadily through the Village to get to her, my redheaded friend who knows her way around and had both sturdy boots on and a glass of wine by the time I arrived.

We sat along a wall in the cream colored side dining room decorated with various marine accouterments. By order of Paul Getto and Eric Lane, we were to have oysters to start, six friend and six raw; the lobster roll and the blueberry crumble (if served - Eric insisted and would reimburse us.) Happily, we obliged.

Molly cooed after her first fried oyster and I slurped the raw. We compliment each other's eating styles because somehow, we always end up loving the same restaurants but the opposite things within them. The lobster roll was fantastic. Perfectly poached lobster chunks tossed with a gentle mayonnaise from Maine and served on a Sara Lee roll (I believe) with shoestring fries. I veered slightly from the plan of attack by having skate which was soft but with a crisp exterior having been dredged in flour and fried. It arrived with Brussels sprouts sauteed with carrots and bacon which were exquisite, the hint of bitterness of the sprouts countered with the sweetness of the carrots and salty smoke of the bacon. I also had an extra side of grilled vegetables - eggplant, zucchini, tomatoes, red peppers, asparagus and fennel. The vegetables were charred a little too dark but were seasoned well and fresh. They didn't offer the reimbursable blueberry crumble so Molly accommodated my devotion to Callebaut and let me order the mousse with which it is made. The dessert disappointed us as it didn't taste of enough chocolate nor did it melt properly. I suspected that they used a stabilizer so that it stood up and could be presented in a large quenelle without any logistical difficulty but the flavor, texture and melt-resistant behavior left us wanting more.

Molly resorted happily to a cigarette. I just stewed. I described to her the luck of living with a pastry chef who brings home leftover desserts which would be otherwise discarded from one of the best restaurants in New York. Some people have an Oreo for a midnight snack. I get to have what the roommates and I call "the chocolate tube." A cylinder made of thin, expertly tempered Valrhona chocolate and then filled with layers of milk chocolate mousse, praline crumble, chocolate cake, chocolate cremeux and more milk chocolate mousse. The seams of my jeans cower at the sight of it in the fridge.

We said goodnight and when Karen returned home after work, I tattled on the Callebaut abomination I had encountered. She had just the remedy: a fresh chocolate tube in a shiny black take-out box. I knew just the person who needed this more than I.

The next day, I used Molly's inexperience with the chocolate tube as a reason to leave my cozy, sunshine-filled apartment where I read and relax most of the day away, I marched into the MTV office with its exposed piping and unfinished ceiling. I handed Molly the triathlete the mystical Daniel dessert. She ate it standing next to her desk and stared at me in disbelief. Could something be that delicious? Yes, my friend, yes.

It was the end of the day so Molly left with me to take the train downtown. I was headed to Yeah Shanghai to have soup dumplings. MTV (the 'M' is for Molly) is located in the heart of Times Square. No matter how crowded it gets with slack jawed Midwesterners wearing sweatshirts with collegiate lettering, I still love it. Every time. It's impossible to navigate but I secretly like getting stuck behind the family with the turtlenecks and the plastic bags from the ESPN Zone store. It is a fiber optic valley with stock updates and music videos marching along the walls. Millions of tiny lights wink. And every time for a fleeting, glorious moment I feel famous.

I had two orders of soup dumplings one pork and and one pea shoots with shiitake mushrooms. Both were delicious although the dough in L.A. is made with more dexterity and is thinner and with better elasticity. However, these dumplings hit the spot. I also ordered a very Shanghainese dish of salted pork belly slices served with knots made of what is known as yuba skin which is translated from the Japanese. I'm not sure of the Chinese translation. Thin soy bean curd is pressed through a screen to produce a pale yellow sheet that sort of has the texture of rubbery eggs. The sheets are then bunched into ropes which are tied into knots and each knot cut off individually. There is a bit of a fermented stink to the dish due to the soy but it was fantastic and who can deny a slice of salted pork belly on a rainy night?

After dinner, I walked across the street to Mei Wah Coffeehouse for pork buns, steamed and baked. The old men behind the counter spoke "country" Cantonese and admonished me when I only ordered one bun. I ended up getting one of each kind and two egg tarts. The buns were fantastic. I had the steamed, Karen the baked. Soft dough with a fatty and not too sugary BBQ pork filling. The tarts had a crisp, flaky shell with a lightly sweetened egg custard. I'll eat anything. Out of respect for my elders obviously.