Please, no photos. You didn’t see me here.

The road trip thru Hoboken to Baltimore to see Amy’s family, and for me to have an awesome run+CrossFit morning with friends, was all pretty cool. But from that base camp we (third-person dragging-Amy-along tense) had big plans to attend my 25th high school reunion in Reston and, oh by the way, cheat on over to Wu’s Garden Restaurant, which I ate at with my family about 300 times growing up and was recently praised by Mr. Momofuku himself as being the best joint in the DC area. While it may be technically possible to stay straight at Wu’s, that would mean no Kung Pao Chicken (or Kung Pao any other mammal that happens to get into the kitchen, according to unnamed critics), and really, what would be the point of that?

From top left: Kung Pao Chicken, Moo Shi Pork, chow foon, and General Tso’s chix

My ever-accommodating classmate Sarita agreed to accommodate my perverse request. We had two of my core dishes from growing up, the Kung Pao Chicken and Moo Shi Pork, plus a chow foon and a General Tso’s that someone not down with the Wu ordered. It was not quite the exhilarating/heart-congealing experience that I remembered from days of yore, but boy was it good. And what better way to make a good impression at Reunion than loading up Wu-style beforehand?

Reunion itself was basically good. Down from 200+ (out of 600) classmates five years ago to about 70 this year–one of the organizers put this down to the economy, plus Facebook letting people know what’s up with enough people that you just don’t need to turn up at reunions. There were at least a couple of people who I wasn’t already in touch with that were great to see in their evolved but not much changed middle-aged selves. The statement someone made from the 10th reunion basically held true: for those who had been so much cooler/jockier/hotter than me in high school, it was hard to recognize people because they were being so nice. And because it just doesn’t matter now.

Ishmael surveys the basket of biscuits and muffins with a proprietary gaze

This morning we freshened up with my man Ishmael and family at the Florida Avenue Grill, an amazing old-time Southern-style diner in DC. If I were true to the spirit of the place I would have had the fried pork chop with heavenly grits and two eggs like my buddy. Or the “half-smoke” (pork and beef sausage) like his lovely wife. But the biscuits are the real highlight for me–best I’ve had since a coma-inducing meal outside Roanoke 18 years ago. You can probably tell from the photo that they’ve been through the butter-misting station a few times and have an amazing crispness on the outside, remaining tender and buttery on the inside, or perhaps floury is a better description since it is mostly butter. Don’t mess with the original.