That Goldilocks portion hard to find

There is no right way to complain that portions are too big in America, even though, nine times out of 10, the portions are too big. A comment that begins “when I was in France” and then goes on to extol the concept of portion in French restaurants only digs the hole deeper. Big portions for most diners are, unimpeachably, desirable portions.

I don’t think people go to restaurants expecting to eat to excess, but they do want to get their money’s worth. If that means a doggie bag to take home for lunch the next day (or perhaps to leave moldering in the back seat of the car for two days, which is what I often do), then so be it.

The problem, of course, is that we learn to expect larger portions in restaurants than we would serve at home, we adjust to them, and we push the needle on the meaning of “full.”

Lately, I’ve grown fond of two restaurants that manage to push back on runaway portions in a completely nonobnoxious way. The first, Ah-Ma’s Taiwanese Kitchen, received a favorable review from our Jon Watson in The Atlanta Journal-Constitution several months ago. My wife and I decided to try it out after a matinee at the Landmark Midtown Art Cinema in the same shopping center, Midtown Promenade. We have been obsessed ever since.

The Chen family, who run this jewelbox restaurant, have wisely decided to give most of the real estate on the menu to small plates and handmade bao (steamed buns) with varied fillings. You can get a big bowl of beef noodle soup that I hear is great. But I’ve never tried it because I have to order lu rou fan every time.

Think of this classic Taiwanese comfort food as the island nation’s answer to spaghetti bolognese if you were to substitute the beef for pork, the tomatoes for soy sauce and the pasta for steamed white rice. OK, maybe lu rou fan is nothing like spaghetti bolognese, but it sure scratches that same itch.

It’s really just a sensible portion of rice (I’m guessing about three-quarters of a cup) topped with a flavorful mince of pork, black mushroom and fried shallot bound in a thick, soy-dark gravy. A sliver of pickled radish and a sprinkle of chopped cilantro add tang and brightness, while half a soy-cooked egg is there because everything tastes better, richer and more satisfying with an egg. It costs $5.50.

I’m not opposed to ordering a second small plate — maybe some fried pig ears or salt-and-pepper chicken nuggets. Still, I really relish this small, cheap, wholly satisfying meal that probably will leave me hungry two hours later. But so what? That’s what snacks are for. Lu rou fan is the perfect lunch.

The signature sandwiches at Arepa Mia, a new Venezuelan restaurant in Decatur, seem more like dinner.

Owner Lis Hernandez, who opened her first Arepa Mia in a stall at the Sweet Auburn Curb Market, starts with the hot, griddled corn cake called an arepa. She slits them to a hinge at one side, like Pac-Man, and then fills them with shredded meat and select garnishes — whatever you choose from the suggested combinations, or custom order.

I’m partial to the simpler ones with fewer fillings. The pernil combines excellent 12-hour-roasted pork from Riverview Farms with some caramelized onions. As an add on, the herb salsa called guasacaca, kind of a Venezuelan answer to chimichurri, does wonders.

You can stuff these arepas to Dagwoodian heights if you, say, add in avocado, lettuce, tomato and a fried egg. But they will never get very wide, since they start with an arepa no larger than an English muffin, maybe a bit smaller. The best arepa is the one you can comfortably hold in one hand.

You can get fried plantains, black beans or yucca on the side, and you might want them if your $8.50 arepa seems a little too small for dinner. When I order the sides, I tend not to eat them. The arepa by itself is what I most crave.

Arepas and lu rou fan are both popular street food items in their home countries. (Indeed, Hernandez learned to make arepas from her mother, who ran a street stall in Venezuela.)

That makes sense to me. In places where you have vibrant street food cultures, you have meals that are larger than snacks but don’t try to qualify as a dining excursion. Rather, they are there for you to notice when you walk by, and they only promise to just fill the right-sized hole in your budget as well as your stomach.

When this food is as good at that at Ah-Ma’s Taiwanese Kitchen and Arepa Mia, it can satisfy like a feast.