I spent a lot of time staring at an empty text box where this caption is now, trying to think of what to say about my meal at @jatakcph . It’s not enough to say that the food was delicious, that the service was as warm and attentive as one could ask for, that it was inspiring to see what all these people who I respected and admired so much were able to create. Clichés like those (as true as they are) tend to write themselves with experiences like that, so it feels almost cheap to use them. ⁣ ⁣ I came to the realization that all of my thoughts towards my meal could be epitomized by how I felt about one of the courses. The main course at Ja Tak arrives with a side car of house-made lap cheong. Never mind that the rest of the main course involves juicy, char siu-glazed Hindsholm pork, or that the rest of the menu eats like a dream; this understated plate of dry-cured Chinese pork sausage played on childhood strings that had long collected dust, abandoned for, shall we say, whiter pastures. ⁣ ⁣ So how does this tie in to a bit of cured meat served at a hot new restaurant on Rantzausgade? I grew up eating lap cheong, but the lap cheong of my youth was sad, generic, pumped full of nitrates, MSG and god-knows-what-else. To put it simply, I moved on to better things, regarding lap cheong as having exhausted it’s potential. To come full circle as an adult, and to be served a lap cheong treated with the same respect an Italian would treat the highest quality salumi, was a reckoning that I’m still struggling to put into words a day later. It’s a declaration to presumed lost causes; a movement to explore the potential in all ingredients, whether luxurious or humble, celebrated or denigrated. ⁣ ⁣ Buy stock in @jatakcph ; I know I am. Buy stock, because there’s something special happening here, and I don’t want to be the one to say “I told you so” at some juncture down the line.