Saturday afternoon, after Reece’s eggs took the edge off a slow morning-after and post museum trip, we went to the Abbey Burger Bistro in Federal Hill.  Abbey patrons can build their own burgers around meats such as alligator, kangaroo, and elk.  I don’t eat that shit.

I didn't eat this. But this kinda captures a lot of what they do. And we were too excited to remember to take our own pictures.

I do, however, eat fried green tomatoes, which the Abbey has turned into a burger, and it will knock you out.  I mean, Knock.  You.  Out.

The batter on the tomato wasn’t too thick, wasn’t too thin (“Juuuust right,” said Goldilocks), and was fried to a golden crisp with the tomato hot and juicy inside.  I topped it with cucumbers, herbed yogurt, and probably a quarter-cup of goat cheese and ordered it on a whole wheat bun.

It was amazing.

I mean shockingly good.

I know this is a bit anathema to say of a place that serves elk on a bun, but this place makes the best fake “burgers” I’ve ever had.  On previous visits I’ve tried the shroom and homemade veggie burgers, and they’re fantastic as well.

Part of the success is based on the mix-&-match component of the build-your-own arrangement, but the greater part of the success stems from the superiority of those build-your-own ingredients and the expertise with which the tomato is cooked.  That’s not to say that this is healthy food, per se.  The burgers come with homemade chips that will fulfill your fat intake for the weekend, and for $2 more Rae subbed about a pound of delicious sweet potato fries for those chips.  And the sheer number of  possible ingredients (meat & “meat” – 13, bread – 7, cheese – 13, toppings – 37) can be overwhelming.   But goddamn if this wasn’t the best lunch I’d had in recent memory.

After The Abbey, our bodies directed most of their blood to our stomachs.  Food comas ensued, which was perfect since we were still feeling the previous evening.  When we finally shook ourselves into full mobility, it was almost 9:00.  Baltimore is not New York.  We were not going to find good delivery at that time of night, at least not in the Costello neighborhood.

This cost five bucks

Enter Hunan Manor, which stays open until 11:00 and which we closed down.  Hunan Manor is huge.  There were at least three massive dining rooms and an eerie, blue-lit aquarium with ample room for dozens of fish, many of whom were the size of softballs.

The portions are the same—beautifully, beautifully huge.  For nine bucks Shannon got a plate of Bean Curd Szechuan Style that probably used four big blocks of tofu.  It towered in the plate, green pepper chunks, slices of chillis, and other veggies nestled inside.  It was delicious.  Even Tim, whose non-meat intake is pretty much limited to cheese and V8, went to town.  “You have to get to the heat,” he said, stirring up the mount, grabbing a chilli.

For the same price, I got an equally mountainous serving of Meatless Kung Pao Chicken.

It's fair to call this punch-you-in-the-face yummy

As you might have deduced, I’ve eaten a lot of analog meats.  I have never ever ever had any Chinese food quite as good as this dish.  I don’t know what the fake-o chicken was made of (I’m guessing seitan), but its texture stirred in my memory the recollection of flesh.  It broke against my teeth like I was tearing into Beast, not Seasoned Pressed Veggie Compound.  And the sauce, my Lord, who knew I could dig celery and peanuts so much.  Two days after we got back to Brooklyn, I would order Kung Pao Bean Curd from our favorite take-out and be sorely disappointed.  No comparison.

What better food can you have for the final evening of a rather boozy birthday weekend, really, than top-notch Chinese food whose sheer amount of leftovers automatically elevates it to Comfort Food status?   None.  And this afternoon, after emailing Tim to confirm that our after-dinner drink at Ten Ten was, in fact, port, I stood at the window and pined for a fried green tomato burger to replace the leftovers I carted to work in a plastic sack.

Hunan Manor photos by Rae