Restaurant review: The music of food Hanan Radwan indulges in a meal fit for an emperor -- a Chinese one, that is There were five of them: round, plump queens with off-white skins that shrivelled as they basked in their cosy sauna. Each wore an orange hat of minced prawns that covered a short, stumpy figure of minced marinated chicken. At first, my companion cringed at the sight of the wrinkled beauties. Her typical Egyptian mind could not fathom the concept of steamed dough. But when she finally plucked one of the Chicken Shui Mai with her chopsticks and thrust it in her mouth, she became a noisy convert, humming a raucous melody of appreciation. By ordering that appetiser, we were not only pleasing our palates but proving a point: don't knock dim-sum (steamed dumplings) till you try it at Chop Chop. You are greeted at the door by a petite waitress clad in a satin Chinese outfit who guides you to your table and folds your napkin. Your table is at one of the many roomy corners, shimmering with glazed decorative plates that are gently removed by the waiter as he then eases forth a basket laden with prawn crackers that look like corrugated sea shells, crunch noisily, and tantalise your taste buds as you dip them in the accompanying array of sauces: sweet chili, green chili with vinegar, soy, and prawn cracker sauce made with minced fried shrimp. Chop Chop is a sunny kaleidoscope of green and orange. The two hues greet each other and blend smoothly as orange leather couches hug wooden tables strewn with green dinnerware and Chinese umbrella chandeliers spew orange tinted rays onto the green fold-up curtains. With the soothing backdrop of chill-out records humming from the wall speakers, my companion and I were playing our own music as we moved from the crunch and crackle of the prawn crackers to the mellow smoothness of the dim-sum to another series of crunch sounds. This time, they came from our vegetable tempura appetiser: a ribbon of red pepper, onion and creamy eggplant pieces, all fried in a crispy batter and dusted with a mild spice mix. Even when plunged in their accompanying puddle of smoky tempura sauce, the vegetables still retained their delightful crunch. Our munching rhapsody was barely over before we heard more crackling sounds approaching. Our entrees floated towards us on the waiter's hand, steaming hot and bursting with colour and aroma. My friend launched another cacophony of delight as she chewed chunks of fried chicken marinated in Kung Pao sauce. Muffled percussion sounds emanated from her jaws as they pulverised the plentiful cashew nuts that gave the entree its namesake. Suddenly, she switched to a frenzied, jungle-beat tone, moving wildly in her chair and fanning her mouth. Unable to speak, she pointed at one of many red chili peppers camouflaged wickedly in the mahogany sauce. My own vocal sounds were no less rambunctious as I expressed astonishment and then child-like joy when, in between bits of chewy sweet and sour chicken, I came upon chunks of pineapple, kiwi, mango and -- was I dreaming? -- the exotic citrusy taste of litchi fruit. Huge bowls of nutty fried rice subtly tinged with soy sauce and flecked with chopped mushrooms, carrots and baby corn added perfect texture to our meal and tempered our tones of emotion. Soon after, however, our tempo of reaction picked up again as we unashamedly released a loud string of "oohs" and "aahs" over dessert: two thin tubes of spring rolls stuffed with banana, mango and jackfruit, drizzled with honey and resting on a cup of home-made luscious vanilla ice cream. As I sank my spoon in the soft bed of litchi panacotta draped with crimson berry sauce, I came upon a realisation: you don't need an instructor to make your own music. Chop Chop Giza
