Cold Fusion

Franklin's lemon-rum chicken was a pretty, crispy version of any standard-issue Chinese restaurant's lemon chicken. My pan-fried noodles were heaped with beef, chicken and shrimp — though I'd requested only chicken — and were doused in a more garlicky version of the cornstarch-based gravy that most Chinese joints call "brown sauce." Carrie was pleased with her miso-glazed tilapia and a mound of white rice, but Judy gave thumbs down to Café Zen's chicken adobo, which was made with chopped chicken and looked more like a Chinese stir-fry dish. "I've made adobo many times," she said, "and although there are several ways to prepare it, the secret is vinegar, soy sauce, ginger and, ideally, coconut milk."

This adobo was more of the Chinese buffet variety than the Filipino national dish, an unhappy consequence of Café Zen's effort to fuse cuisines together.

When our whirling waitress made a stop at our table, we requested dessert. "We only have the Chocolate Wall tonight," she said. I asked for a piece, and she brought out the wedge pie that Julie Basa had called French Silk only a few nights earlier. I was too intimidated by Miss Frizz to start an argument about the dessert, but the last straw for me was her response to my plea for coffee.

"The owner has shut the coffee machine off," she snorted. Then, realizing that I would be paying my bill soon, she suddenly took a saccharine tone. "But if you really want some, I guess I could brew some."

I told her to forget it as she twirled back into the kitchen, returning with a check and a pallid excuse. "I'm sorry. We're so understaffed tonight."

Giving her my most illuminating Zen smile, I answered, "Really, I didn't notice a thing."