Communism—now there's a good theory. Let the workers control the means of production, everyone pulls together, and behold—a radiant new society where everyone is happy. The problem is that, in practice, Communism produces gulags, cultural revolutions, reeducation, and widespread inequity.
Now take the upscale vegetarian restaurant. Another good concept. Let the benevolent chef create delicious concoctions out of the manifold vegetables, grains, and reconstituted soy protein on God's green earth. The results should be salubrious, scrumptious, and entirely guilt-free. As with other utopian visions, however, there are some snakes in the garden.
The Healthy Hedon advertises itself as "an experience in vegetarian decadence," but upon first entering the smallish, warmish, and purplish cafe-style restaurant, I see we're talking about decadence on a very small scale. With only five tables, a short counter, and a couch, the Hedon feels intimate, and on this sultry summer evening, a bit stifling.
Although the menu is short (only nine items), the choices are tantalizing. We begin with a cheese plate ($14), which, despite the heat, emerges from the kitchen looking as fresh and spry as a free-range chicken. Cool slices of kiwi surround a martini glass that holds salty kalamata olives stuffed with blue cheese; there's a goat cheese with a not-too-sweet mango purée; a sage Derby and a wine-infused Derby; and, strangely, several slices of a quite bland Parmesan. Served with crunchy herb-garlic bread, it's a promising beginning.
Unfortunately, the staggered arrival of our main dishes interrupts our sampling. The Lavendarius ($15) is a mountain of fake lamb marinated in lavender and herbs and served with a martini glass full of coconut cream and white-wine sauce with mushrooms, Swiss cheese, and caramelized onions. If that all sounds a bit much, well, it is. The tender lamb has satisfying little crunchy bits at the edges, but the sauce seems both too rich and too bland, overpowering the fake meat, while leaving a vaguely chalky residue in the mouth post-chew.
Next to arrive are the Jamaican jerk wings ($15), accompanied by a pile of bok choy, two pieces of foccacia, and a cup of jerk sauce. A strange combination indeed. The wings have good, chicken-y texture and the sauce is appropriately sweet-and-spicy, but after a few bites my dining partner has to excuse herself because, as she says, "My face is sweating." The wings do kick like a disgruntled proletarian, but the bok choy provides relief. The foccacia, while good, just seems out of place.
I should mention that the presentation of all of our dishes is exquisite—long, elliptical plates contain just enough food to be visually interesting without seeming cluttered (an exception being another diner's noodle-and-peanut-sauce dish, which fills its canvas like a Hieronymus Bosch triptych).
Our final entrée is by far the tastiest. Seoul Food ($12) consists of six skewers of spicy sesame grilled "beef," roasted seaweed, beautiful purple-brown jeweled rice, and na-mool, traditional Korean vegetables parboiled and mixed with sesame oil and spices. A tablespoon of just-hot-enough Korean barbecue sauce provides a kick that enlivens the rice and beef, and the mixed vegetables have a sweet piquancy to them that makes me wish for colder days.
After our not-completely-satisfying main plates, we are aching for some of what the menu touts as "decadent moan and squeal desserts." Unfortunately, according to our server, they have all melted because of the heat. Instead, he tells us about their signature chocolate tea ($7), which isn't tea as much as it is chocolate truffles dissolved in steamed coconut water. Mine includes fresh-shaved ginger and passion-fruit nectar; my companion opts for the chipotle-anise mix. The fun here is playing chemist and concocting the teas from the separate ingredients, which arrive beautifully arranged on a white plate. What isn't as much fun is actually drinking them. The flavors just don't complement each other, which I find curious until I ask our server which one the chef (who invented them) likes best.
"Oh, she doesn't like to eat anything she makes," he says. So she's never tried them? "Nope," he says. "She tests them out on other people."
And therein lies the problem. Lenin never pulled a plow. Vegetarian decadence is a great ideal, but the Healthy Hedon's variety of it isn't founded in reality—not yet. So it remains just a beautiful, beautiful dream. 
