Nan gyi thoke, and the milky dessert, shwe yin aye.Photograph by Andrew Thomas Lee In a social setting, I never tell people what I do for a living. “I am a writer,” I say vaguely, or, at most, “I am a food writer.” I know from experience that if I tell the truth—I am the dining critic for Atlanta magazine—people will interrogate me (“What’s your favorite restaurant?”) and immediately contradict me in an effort to show me that their opinion is as good as mine. One line of inquiry I don’t mind is the one about my favorite cuisine. French, of course, but only in France. Ditto Italian. But the food I could eat every day in Atlanta is Asian: Korean, Vietnamese, Japanese, and all forms of Chinese. Of all Asian cuisine, the culinary tradition that fascinates and delights me always has barely made an appearance here. I have loved Burmese food since I first encountered it at the famous Burma Superstar in Oakland, California. Burma is now officially called Myanmar, a name given to it by the ruling military group while suppressing a pro-democracy uprising in 1989. Still, many people, within and outside Myanmar, continue to use the term Burmese to describe the traditions and foodways. My passion for a culture that uses fermented tea leaves in its salads and makes tofu out of yellow split peas knows no bounds. In Atlanta, we have had a few obscure, mostly short-lived Burmese places in eastern DeKalb County. After the closing of the terrific Royal Myanmar Cuisine in an especially desolate strip mall, we had quite the dry spell. Luckily for the few who made the trek to Clarkston and looked for a small house abutting the expressway, two Burmese refugees who came to Atlanta via Malaysia started cooking and serving brilliant meals out of their home in 2020. I became a devotee of Two Fish Myanmar and started going at least once a week to sit at the kitchen counter or the lone picnic table in the shadow of a big oak tree. Yapar Shel; his wife, Roi San; and their two daughters finally have the brick-and-mortar restaurant they have been dreaming of. Clarkston Market, a new development whose tenants are mostly refugee businesses and refugee services, is as unusual as it is attractively designed. A church is the anchor tenant, a setup that means a lot to Christian convert Shel, whose family resettlement was sponsored by the International Rescue Committee. The very name of the restaurant is a biblical reference to Jesus Christ feeding multitudes with “five loaves and two fish.” I can’t say that I love the contemporary Christian music playing nonstop in Two Fish Myanmar’s minuscule modern dining room, but I am charmed by details such as flowered Kleenex boxes used as napkin holders, and baskets on the wall that still have their price stickers. As in the past, everything comes plated on Styrofoam, and you’d better get used to it, especially as your meal will be dirt cheap. On a recent trip to Portland, I was lucky enough to score an Uber driver from North Myanmar. I learned a lot from our conversation about the more than 100 ethnic groups there (he was Kachin), most with their own language and culture. At Two Fish Myanmar, San, a Northerner, specializes in noodles and meat salads flavored with ginger. Shel—who grew up near Naypyidaw, the capital city, closer to the center of the country—is more of a grill man, in charge of items such as the street-style pork skewers. Chinese, Indian, Thai, and Malay influences are obvious on a menu where dishes feature hidden slivers of bird’s-eye chiles, pungent dried fish, and much more that is crunchy, sweet, and sour. Mohinga, a catfish soup with crispy split-chickpea fritters, hard-boiled eggs, and fresh cilantro, which is the national dish of Myanmar, is an excellent introduction to the textural and visual wonders of this unique food culture. Burmese marionettes (yoke thé)Photograph by Andrew Thomas Lee Nan gyi thoke, assertively seasoned tubular rice noodles tossed with ground chicken, chili powder, and fish sauce and garnished with hard-boiled eggs and cilantro—a Burmese spaghetti, if you will—is a big favorite of mine. The salads are revelatory. Their tea leaf salad uses fermented tea leaves mixed with cabbage, tomato, roasted peanuts, sesame seeds, fried yellow split peas, fried garlic, and dried shrimp. If you are allergic to peanuts, better stay away, for they are everywhere. With the exception of the steamed fish with lime and the whole spicy ma la fish, the dishes are cheap, $7 to $10 for a generous portion, often with a clear chicken broth on the side. Go ahead and order the chicken biryani, the shrimp sauteed with broad wheat noodles, and any of the curries. I guarantee that you will be impressed. You get to retrieve your colorful milk-based desserts from the upright cooler displaying some to-go meals (in Styrofoam, of course). All are ravishing, with bright green pandan “noodles,” various jellies, grated coconut, sago pearls, etc., vying for your attention. Best of all, Shel prepares the falooda (iced sweetened milk, rose syrup, tapioca pearls, basil seeds, grass jelly, egg pudding, peanuts, raisins, sliced almonds, and a scoop of vanilla ice cream) behind the counter. I have seen huge pots coming out of the kitchen, evidence that the couple still caters birthdays, weddings, and funerals at their beloved church. They could do the same for your backyard party! Once you taste Burmese food, you may become as obsessed as I am with its mysteries and seductive notes. This article appears in our October 2024 issue. 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