Ethel was eager to bring Alta to Kari, a Malaysian restaurant that she is fond of. So off they went, dreaming of tofu sambal and deep bowls of curried noodle soup.

The restaurant looked the same from the outside. Inside, the huge bamboo musical instrument still quietly divided the room. But the menu was different. A few Malaysian dishes remained, but most of the menu had been taken over by standard Thai dishes. None of the Malaysian soups remained; there was no tofu sambal. Ethel knit her eyebrows and wondered what had happened.

New management, apparently. No liquor license yet. Ethel asked about the tofu sambal, forgetting its name but describing from vivid memory the crispy tofu heaped with crunchy bean sprouts and julienne cucumber, covered in a rich peanut sauce. The very kind, broadly smiling waitress went to ask the kitchen. Yes, they could make it, but probably not in the future.

Ethel and Alta also ordered bowls of pan-fried noodles, two of the few familiar Malaysian dishes.

That was ok. The tofu sambal arrived, crispy on the outside and stuffed with sprouts and cucumber, with a decent if not decadent amount of peanut sauce. It was lovely and delicious, and yet not as transcendent as before. The bowls of sliver-thin noodles were delightful: Ethel’s came with crisp tofu, tasty egg, and fresh, colorful broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots. Alta’s arrived with chicken and vegetables. Both were accompanied by a tiny wedge of lime to brighten the flavor and a juicy slice of orange.

It was lovely, but it wasn’t the same Kari.

But we discovered something even better.

After we savored the last of our noodles, we headed over to the farmers’ market. We drank in the deep purple of eggplants, the reds of tomatoes and apples peppers and raspberries, the deep-hued blueberries, the yellow of melons and summer squash and heirloom tomatoes, and the fresh greens of leeks, collards, parsley, basil, beans, tarragon, acorn squash, and kale.

And then there was pastry. Flaky, buttery pastry. I warned the kind gentleman that I might drool. His only stipulation was that I buy anything I drooled on. We settled on an apricot-pistachio tart, asked him to cut it in half, and walked away with our treasure. Gorgeous, decadent, and delightful.