Coming Attractions: Gourmanoff

Posted on March 15, 2017 by Rich

Brooklyn’s Brighton Beach neighborhood, affectionately known as Little Odessa, is a gastronomic jubilee of Russian, Ukrainian, Georgian, and other Former Soviet Union culinary delights with a touch of Turkish and a wee bit of Uyghur blended in for good measure. (As a matter of fact, if memory serves, there had been a market there years ago that bore the name “Gastronom Jubilee”.)

On a recent food tour along Brighton Beach Avenue, the main drag and principle eatery artery of the community, my band of adventurous epicures was a little surprised when we stopped at the venue depicted here. Cultural arenas don’t usually make it into the itineraries of my ethnojunkets – we’re more about global food than local sightseeing – so why have we stopped at what appeared to be a theater, replete with ticket booth, artificial frondescence, and statuary? Posters and digital videos heralding forthcoming entertainment in diverse variety from movies and stage shows to dance and musical performances and even a “World Famous Comedy Pet Show” confirmed the nature of the site. And indeed, Master Theater, formerly the Millennium, is just upstairs and is home to all of the above. But our spotlight was on Russian food, so it was the orchestra level that would be our focus that day.

Deftly sidestepping the “if music be the food of love” play on words (see what I did there?), I escorted my curious group into the capacious expanse now known as Gourmanoff, a dazzling upscale supermarket brimming with smoked fish and meats, cheeses, organic produce, baked goods, and a myriad of Russian products along with an extensive array of tempting prepared food.

Since everyone seemed so impressed with this theatrical display of culinary opulence, I thought I’d share a bit of the spectacle with you – sort of a Sneak Preview (if I may extend the cinema metaphor) of my Brighton Beach ethnojunkets. Shown here are just a few of the tidbits I picked up from the dumpling-ish section in the prepared food bar. At the top, hailing from Azerbaijan, there’s kutaby, a tortilla-like pancake filled with ground lamb and luscious seasonings, folded in half and griddled, and an object of universal culinary lust for anyone whose lips have ever caressed it. Just below that are Russian pelmeni and Ukrainian vareniki to the left, delicious dumplings that are probably familiar to you. (And if they’re not, you need to sign up for this ethnojunket!) Below those are Uzbek manti, lamb on the left (the best I’ve ever tasted, and that’s saying something since my bathroom scale and I lost track years ago of just how many I’ve consumed) and pumpkin on the right.

And then there’s that rolled up thing just above the pumpkin manti. The sign said Russian sushi, but I wasn’t convinced; needless to say, I had to buy one. Here’s a photo of it unrolled and deconstructed. A blini (Russian crêpe) had been substituted for the nori (seaweed) wrapper that’s common in Japanese maki sushi; it was spread with cream cheese and filled with raw salmon, kani (imitation crabmeat), and cucumber skin. It was cute and a little cheeky, but not the tastiest of their offerings. (But no spoiler alert here because whenever I’ve visited, everything was incredibly fresh. <groan>)

We do hit other markets as well as we eat our way through Brighton Beach Avenue; some are similar to Gourmanoff (though not as ostentatious), but each has its own standouts that we sample along the way: the tongue salad at Brighton Bazaar is fantastic (don’t knock it till you’ve tried it) and their eggplant salads are not to be missed. Georgian breads from Berikoni are mind-blowingly delicious as well.

But this is intended to be a Coming Attraction, just a teaser about what you’ll experience along a Brighton Beach ethnojunket! When will the next one happen? Well, when the temperature in Brooklyn’s Little Odessa is more like Ukraine’s actual Odessa – a tourist destination with a subtropical climate – and less like Siberia! So to extend the movie metaphor one more time, think of this post as a cliffhanger – and my promise that when you join us, you won’t leave hungry, and you will leave happy!

You Say Gnetum, I Say Gnemon – Let’s Call the Whole Thing Oats

Posted on November 3, 2016 by Rich

My interminable quest to discover the ultimate ethnic crunchy snack led me to Top Line Supermarket at 81-37 Broadway in Elmhurst, Queens. (Interminable, by the way, because there are so many outrageously good ethnic crunchies out there that there will clearly never be Just One Ultimate, thus making it a delightfully sisyphean task.) Indonesian ingredients are not that easy to come by around these parts, but Top Line arguably offers the best concentration of Indonesian and Malaysian items in NYC. (Got a better one, ethnofoodies? Let me know!)

Quick vocabulary lesson:

Gnetum gnemon — a plant (actually a tree) native to southeast Asia, known in Indonesian as melinjo or belinjo, and in English as padi oats or paddy oats. The seeds are ground into flour and used to make:
Emping — chips that are very popular in Indonesia (along with many other varieties of crackers generically called krupuk). They are available in a number of varieties including:
Manis — sweet; Pedas — spicy; and Madu — honey.

There. Now you can translate the packages as well as I can.

What are they like? Wonderful, obviously, or I wouldn’t be telling you about them. More crunchy than crispy, a little sticky right out of the package. Of the two varieties I found available under the Kukagumi brand, I like the sweet/spicy combo a little better than the honey version, but I do tend to favor spicy in general. The heat level of the pedas was within the bounds of my co-conspirators that day (some of whom draw the line at wasabi peas to give you a comparative frame of reference). Padi oats have a slight bitter, but not at all unpleasant, aftertaste. They’re not really “oatey” in the Cheerios sense since they’re another species, but they’re more like oats than corn or wheat since there’s a satisfying nuttiness to them. The Rotary brand offers larger pieces that are seasoned less heavy-handedly – a little less spicy and a little less sweet than Kukagumi. Perhaps even a little more sophisticated than Kukagumi, it allowed the flavor of the padi oats to come through with more definition. And I recently discovered Zona brand emping pedas camouflaged in loopy, orange and red Western style packaging. Crisper than Kukagumi and Rotary, their sweet spiciness is akin to Shark brand Sriracha (the Thai Sriracha). All three brands are excellent choices.

These are ready-to-eat, but a version that requires deep frying first is also available.

Gnetum gnemon — Eat ’em: get ’em!

Smart Cookies

Posted on August 24, 2016 by Rich

If you’ve visited the confectionery aisle at almost any Asian market, you know there’s no shortage of packaged cookies and cookie-like treats to tempt your tastebuds and purge your pocketbook. Japanese renditions of American classics take that to the next level, both in terms of snackability and sticker shock (at least what I can find stateside). A cursory perusal of one such aisle revealed variations on the theme of mini Kit Kats and Oreos (in a bite-sized format unfamiliar to me); I was tickled to find matcha green tea versions of both as well as strawberry Oreo and sweet potato Kit Kat varieties. (This last sported instructions on the back for optional toaster-oven crisping!)

I was less tickled by the prices, however. Certainly the packaging is attractive – bright colors, shiny gold, embossed even! – but lots and lots of air surrounding teeny tiny morsels of sweet crunchiness. (Reminds me of a quote from Monty Python’s Flying Circus: “There will now be a whopping great intermission, during which small ice creams in very large boxes will be sold.”) This 9½ inch wide bag of mini Kit Kats, for example, offers about a dozen individually wrapped pieces, each weighing in at about 12 grams – less than half an ounce – for $6.99, but I guess I do understand why the pricing is what it is.

In terms of taste, the sweet potato Kit Kat was, for an instant, sort of sweet potato-y, then it turned somewhat artificial and a little metallic. The matcha was more subtle but was also more true to its green tea flavor description. Strawberry Oreo straddled the fence between fruity and artificial.

(I’ve always theorized that if a being from another planet landed on Earth and was tasked with the challenge of reconciling how the taste of artificial cherry, grape, et al. has any resemblance whatsoever to real cherries or grapes, it would shake its heads, concede defeat, and return home with its tails between its legs. Somehow, after years of ingesting these chemical concoctions, we’ve become inured to their ersatz essences and have accepted the use of the word “raspberry”, for instance, to describe both disparate flavors. Such is the wonder of modern food science as it confronts our ability to suspend culinary disbelief. But I digress.)

It turns out that Japan comes by its penchant for wild and crazy cookie flavors honestly. Since 2000, Nestlé has developed some 200–300 (reports vary) extreme Kit Kat flavors: cinnamon, hojicha roasted tea, strawberry cheesecake, brown sugar, pear, crème brulée, apple, apple vinegar, ginger ale, blueberry cheesecake, hazelnut, raspberry, orange, rum raisin, pumpkin pudding, orange pineapple, choco-banana, pancake, black honey, taro, chili pepper, red bean, edamame, sake, wasabi, soy sauce, and dark chocolate (how’d that get in there?) as well as something called “mixed juice” to name a few. (I can’t help but wonder what flavor “Midnight Eagle” might be.)

The story, as I understand it, of Kit Kat’s overwhelming popularity in Japan has to do with its name – it sounds roughly like “kitto katsu” which translates as “you will surely win”. The smart cookies at Nestlé became aware of burgeoning sales every January when the appropriately named sweet was given to students as a good luck gift prior to taking college entrance exams.

Now, sixteen years later, the candy is the number one seller in Japan, even promoted in schmancy department stores and specialty shops. The unusual (by Western standards) varieties pay homage to the unique flavors of Japanese foods; some of them are based on the particular character of a specific region in the country with limited distribution of each signature flavor to its region.

If you’d like to read more about how Kit Kat became a phenomenon in Japan, check out this story in the online version of the British newspaper, The Telegraph. In it, they write about innovations like an extravagant version covered in gold leaf and a Kit Kat croissant available in a coffee shop chain that sells out on a daily basis. (Take that, Dominique Ansel.)

I’m certain that more of these delicious wonders are lurking throughout the New York City area. (Update: I subsequently found bittersweet chocolate, strawberry, and Japanese sake. And more recently, I’ve discovered a designer version, the “Chocolatory Moleson”, the first decorated Kit Kat, which is topped with dried cranberries and almonds – placed there by hand!) Fellow ethnofoodies: let me know what you find and where you found it and I’ll update this post along with a hat tip for your hunting prowess!

Specialty Food Association’s Summer 2016 Fancy Food Show

Posted on July 11, 2016 by Rich

To some, it is America’s largest food and beverage trade show playing host annually to 2,670 US and international exhibitors who this year presented 180,000 specialty foods to over 47,000 industry professional buyers, distributors, brokers, and the media.

To me, it is Xanadu.

And not only because of three days’ worth of opportunities to sample some delicious wares. The Fancy Food Show affords the chance to hob and nob with other professional foodies, see what products and brands are trending and poised to make a breakthrough, and get a sense of what the industry thinks the marketplace is craving. (I lost count of how many products had Krave in the name.)

To clarify, “specialty foods” – as contrasted with staples – encompass cheese (easily the largest category); cured meats; caviar, smoked, and other seafood; baked goods and mixes; candy and chocolates; nuts; condiments including sauces and marinades; oils; snacks; jams and jellies; beverages and more. The show highlights three major areas: a formidable presence of national manufacturers, a panoply of international pavilions proffering provisions from Peru to Pakistan, and a section organized by state populated by artisanal entrepreneurs trying to catch a foothold in the national marketplace. (Incidentally, it would seem that Brooklyn has seceded from New York since they were ensconced in their own area.)

Needless to say, the international food representatives are a major inspiration for my annual hajj to that stately pleasure dome known as the Javits Center (although my unbridled passion for cheese does vie for first place). Case in point, my quest for argan oil. Made from the kernels of the nut encased by the fruit of the argan tree, its flavor is rich and distinctly Moroccan. Want a tip? Use this awesome product in your cooking or even just for dipping bread, perhaps with a sprinkle of dukkah. After chatting up the folks in every booth in the Moroccan subsector, I was able to consummate my crusade upon meeting the delightful and generous folks at TVT Trade Brands, an importer and distributor of spices and more from around the world.

(Click on any image to view it in high resolution.)
Back in the main area, I couldn’t resist snapping a few photos of some over-the-top displays of cheesy elegance along with an example of fun and exciting things you can do with Serrano ham. (Take that, Lady Gaga!)

A booth promoting Pichuberries®, Mojo Tree Farm’s trademarked name for golden berries (aka physalis, husk cherry, cape gooseberry and others – and not to be confused with true gooseberries) provided an example of something relatively new to the marketplace. If you’re near a great farmers’ market, you can find ground cherries in late summer but they’re unlikely to be perfectly ripe (look for orange, not green), and Pichuberries are far more reliable in that regard. The fruits, about the size of a marble, are sweet, tart, and a little earthy – delicious, and a worthy addition to any salad. Mojo Tree Farm provides a number of recipes (like a pico de gallo that looks wonderful) on their website.

Of course, one can easily find the usual suspects like the baked goods wannabes: the brownie that eats like a cookie, the cookie that eats like a brownie, cookies masquerading as muffin tops, donuts masquerading as brownies, and brownie bottoms masquerading as cookies – “the best part of the brownie!” one company boasted.

One artisanal sausage maker bragged about how their product had no casing so there wasn’t that annoying “snap” when you bit into them. Yeesh. Ah well, one man’s meat is another man’s poisson, I guess.

The atmosphere was a little more homespun down in the States level: Virginia peanuts, Vermont maple products, Brooklyn hipster artisanality, you get the idea. Certainly there was a passel of good ol’ boys invitin’ all y’all to come on down and taste what they just whomped up in the basement. Retired gramepaws, bless their hearts, sporting straw farmers’ hats, who instead of traveling opted to sink their entire pension into bottling their secret family BBQ sauce recipe, beckoned to passing attendees as their granddaughters, aspiring Future Spokesmodels of America and dolled up in gingham, offered samples. Gotta love it.

At the end of the day, it’s all about marketing, and that’s the only aspect of the show that saddens me a bit. Not that I have anything against marketing per se. But all of these companies have done tremendous research into what America wants to put in its mouth, and it seems to me that it’s really about what America doesn’t want to put in its mouth. It felt like practically every product crowed about some mix’n’match variation on:

gluten-free, salt-free, sugar-free, dairy-free, trans fat-free, soy-free, egg-free, butter-free, tree-nut free, peanut-free, caffeine-free, no msg, no GMOs, no hormones, no artificial colors or flavors, no preservatives, no additives, no high fructose corn syrup, no cholesterol, high protein, low carb, low fat, low calorie, vegetarian friendly, vegan friendly, paleo friendly, diet friendly, heart friendly, non-irradiated, pastured, macrobiotic, probiotic, antioxidant, raw…handmade, fair trade, A grade, cage-free laid…<catching my breath> and, of course, the ever popular and stupefyingly meaningless All Natural.

We want our handcrafted, small batch comestibles to be organic, sustainable, artisanal, locally-sourced, farmstead, snout-to-tail, farm-to-table, field-to-fork, root-to-stem, and even (in the case of chocolate) bean-to-bar.

Eagerly extending trays of samples, exhibitors intoned, “Gluten-free all-natural!” never making it clear what they were offering let alone whether or not it might taste good. I think I saw biodegradably packaged gluten-free natural spring water. Gluten-free water? But I was pretty tired by then.

Don’t get me wrong; I applaud lifestyle choices and would never mock a creed someone holds dear. But sadly, nowhere did I see labels proclaiming ambrosial, appetizing, delectable, delightful, divine, enticing, exquisite, heavenly, luscious, mouthwatering, rich, savory, scrumptious, tasty, tempting, toothsome, yummy, and certainly never delicious. Why can’t we strike a balance?

And again, to be perfectly clear: the show itself is fantastic – a veritable Disneyworld for enthusiastic food professionals.

I just wish America’s relatively new-found romance with food were less about how it might kill us and more about how it might thrill us.

Fulton’s Steambuffets: Definitely Not Folly!

Posted on June 19, 2016 by Rich

Okay, I freely admit it. I like steamtable buffets. The good ones, at least. Not because I harbor any porcine proclivities (shh!), but rather that I’m keen on the idea of tasting one bite of many dishes as opposed to sitting down to a plate of “hunk o’ meat and two veg”. It’s why I love dim sum in Chinatown. So you can imagine my delight when I discovered a row of mostly-Caribbean-but-bordering-on-African-with a-hint-of-Middle-Eastern steamtable joints while strolling along Brooklyn’s Fulton Street.

Here’s what you need to know to join in the fun:

Pricing can be tricky if you’re a newbie. Your container is weighed and priced by the pound. But that’s where things can get confusing. If you take mostly vegetables or less costly items like salad, one price applies; add some heftier proteins and the price per pound for your whole order goes up. And then there are certain “special items” (like baked salmon) that carry an even weightier price tag ($11.95 instead of $6.95 per pound, as a rough example). Grab enough of that one and the cost of what was mostly greens can escalate from lunch to dinner level. So choose judiciously. If you want to taste that $11.95 pasta and fish dish, put as much as you want in a small container and it will be weighed and priced accordingly. And how does that pricing determination happen? The person at the checkout station peers into your container and makes a decision. In my case, it was always more than fair. But forewarned is forearmed and there’s nothing wrong with checking out a couple of containers at different cost levels.

Some of the spots have excellent signage, both in terms of what the dishes are and what you’ll pay per pound for various choices. At the other end of the spectrum, some have no signs at all – neither price nor identification – and generally there isn’t much opportunity to ask questions. But again, I want to emphasize that in my experience, pricing will be fair and for the most part you’ll leave full and happy. In terms of what you’ll be eating – that’s the fun part: try a little bit of lots of things. Chances are you won’t be disappointed and you’ll be better informed on your return visits.

In many cases, you’ll find whole fish accompanied by a sign warning, “Please Do Not Break the Fish”. A good excuse to go with a friend, I should think. Each of you chooses a number of items, but only one of you lands a fish and then you can share when you get to your table. More fun and perfectly legitimate.

Most of these places are Halal, so if you see something that looks or tastes like pork or ham, it’s probably smoked turkey.

A few venues are worth a mention:

• Soldier Place at 1444 Fulton St. was as far east as I ventured for this run. There was an emphasis on Jamaican food here. Beef dishes were tender if not exciting. Chicken dishes were okay (skip the red sweet & sour variation), and remember that anything purporting to be jerk chicken at any of these restaurants is usually baked chicken with jerk seasoning as opposed to the real (wonderfully smoky) deal. There was serviceable mac ‘n’ cheese along with some Island specialties like bammy (Jamaican cassava flatbread) and dumplings. Standouts included most of the fish offerings like saltfish – and that pasta and fish dish was certainly tasty; tempting Jamaican escovitch fish came out as I was leaving. You may know that “ground provision” or simply “provision” is a West Indian catchall term that includes yams, cassava, taro, breadfruit, plantain and more and you’ll usually find them combined in a single dish. Here, each type of starch swims in its own container making it easy to cherry pick your favorite. Drinks included some delicious Irish moss and ginger beer. There were five tiny tables and a sign that promised ackee and saltfish for breakfast (so I’ll be back); a poster outside trumpeted “Big Buffet”. No lie.

• Smokey Island Grille at 1274 Fulton St. was home to hard core West Indian cuisine. You’ll score curry goat, oxtail, a number of varieties of rice, and reliable mac ‘n’ cheese along with a sizable array of other options; don’t forget the Caribbean desserts at the counter. Avail yourself of the hand sanitizer as you enter the steamtable area. Prices (variable, so pay attention) and choices are clearly labeled.

• Al Masry at 1178 Fulton St. was a blend: some soul food, some Island, and a little Middle Eastern. A good mix, but no labels. Certainly there’s nothing you won’t recognize, but if there are five dishes that are obviously chicken, you won’t be able to tell what they are without a scorecard. That’s true for all of these restaurants. Just another reason to take a tiny portion of each. Plenty of variety and lots of seating.

• In my opinion, the best of the lot was International Cuisine at 1174 Fulton St. A wide variety of offerings, some African food including couscous, porridge, and goat along with soul food and West Indian staples like oxtail and dumplings: the “International” moniker is appropriate. Not only does this place not label the food or the prices, but the restaurant itself is hiding in plain sight: no name on the front or even inside, and not even an address except on the building next door!

But the food there was very tasty, the selection left nothing to be desired (see photos above) and there were plenty of tables. If you’re going to venture out along Fulton St., try this place first.

If, like me, you’re into African cooking, there are a number of markets along the way that can supply some basic needs like stockfish, smoked fish, and spices so you can make a day of it if you have the time and the inclination.

And that was only the south side of the street! Another visit beckons and I’ll add to this post as I stumble across more treasures.

¡Llame a la Llama!

Posted on May 12, 2016 by Rich

“Salteñas!” the jazzy sign exclaimed. “Not an Empanada!!”
“Hey look!” the passerby exclaimed. “Empanadas!!”

Um, not quite. Bolivian Llama Party is all about setting the record straight and the way they’re going about it might just get you hooked. The salteña is Bolivia’s answer to the empanada and to all outward appearances, they do look similar to other Latin American offerings. But take a bite (carefully – you’ll see why in a minute) and you’ll realize that that’s where the similarity ends.

First, the dough is not merely a delivery system for the filling; it’s flavorful in its own right – hand crafted, golden with aji amarillo (yellow hot pepper) and baked to perfection. And then there’s the delicious savory filling (do I hear music?) known as jigote. Juicy like a stew, you’ll find four varieties here: Beni (grass-fed beef), Chimba (free-range chicken), Cliza (mushrooms and quinoa), and Toco (three kinds of pork and extraordinarily scrumptious), all named for locations in Bolivia. Even the dark green hot sauce is outstanding, imbued with quillquiña (Bolivian coriander), but don’t fear the spice level – it’s easily managed and an integral part of the experience.

Biting into one of these treasures can be a bit messy – the word “gush” comes to mind – and there’s even a wry, tongue-in-cheek sign, “How to Eat a Salteña (Without Wearing It)”, outlining three skill levels for pulling off its consumption: Beginner, Enthusiast, and Master. Think of it as empanada meets soup dumpling.

The first Bolivian restaurant in Manhattan, Bolivian Llama Party is owned and operated by three brothers, all natives of Bolivia. Alex Oropeza (aka Llama Whisperer) explained the painstaking care that goes into making these authentic delights: one day to make the dough, another to create the filling, another to assemble them and braid the dough. Crafting that braid perfectly is one of the keys to success, because if one salteña breaks while baking, a pool of filling will escape and ruin the entire batch. Alex told me that the level of expertise required by a salteñero to perform that magic is akin to that of a skilled sushi chef – they both devote years to their training. As a matter of fact, Patrick Oropeza (BLP’s chef and salteñero) has been so swamped in the kitchen that, as of this writing, he hadn’t yet had time to visit the Turnstyle venue that opened at the end of April.

But wait, there’s more! BLP also offers a couple of Sandwiches de Chola, Bolivian street style sandwiches, available in brisket and triple pork (the standout of the two). Eliana (she’s a sweetheart) works the register; when you order, be sure to ask her for extra aioli for the sandwich. During my last visit I found a new addition – BLP’s version of an huminta. Humintas are tamales traditionally wrapped in a corn husk; these snacks are little cornbready treats in the shape of a madeleine, filled with quesillo cheese, kissed with fennel and anise, and served with seasoned butter on the side. Get them while they’re still hot if you can.

I won’t even attempt to describe the hip, colorful, crazy décor, but it pairs perfectly with the food. Check out their website for additional seasonal locations and more information.

Trust me, these guys are beyond awesome. Drop everything and go there. Now.

Bolivian Llama Party can be found at Turnstyle, the food court in the subway tunnel under Columbus Circle. Use any entrance (A,B,C,D,1 trains) at West 57th/58th Street and 8th Avenue.

The Equal Opportunity Celebrant – Part 1

Posted on April 18, 2016 by Rich

Spring is upon us! You can tell because a few days ago the high was in the 40s and then the day after, it was in the 70s, and the next day we were back to the 40s and…well, you get the idea. I’ve come to accept this convulsive oscillation of the daily temperature as typical of New York City’s signature overture to both Spring and Fall. As a matter of fact, I suspect that if you didn’t actually know the month, you’d be hard pressed to guess which one it was. Over the years, I’ve noticed that we generally unflappable New Yorkers are at sixes and sevens when it comes to determining how to dress on any given day during this period. Recently, while waiting for a particularly recalcitrant traffic light to change, I observed that the individual on my right was decked out in jeans and a fur-collared, heavy leather jacket garnished with a scarf, cap, and gloves while the person on my left was wearing shorts and a tee-shirt. (Both had the foresight to don sunglasses.) Even the flora in tree pits seem confused.

No matter. As the first season of the year, it heralds a procession of traditional holiday treats that is only enhanced by embracing ethnic foodways from around the world. You may have read some of my stories (check out “The Case of the Uncrackable Case”
and “From Russia with Plov”) and know that I’m a self-described equal opportunity celebrant who lives in hungry anticipation from one delectable holiday to the next.

You may also know that I’m a cookin’ fool and love to put my own spin on holiday dishes. Here, for example, is how I do deviled eggs for Easter.

Anyway, a while back, somebody dared me to come up with an ethnic fusion Passover menu. Well, far be it from me to dodge a culinary challenge! So although obviously inauthentic, but certainly fun and yummy, here’s to a Sazón Pesach!

Picante Gefilte Pescado
Masa Ball Posole
Brisket Mole
Poblano Potato Kugel
Maple Chipotle Carrot Tzimmes
Guacamole spiked with Horseradish
Charoset with Pepitas and Tamarindo

And, of course, the ever popular Manischewitz Sangria!

Hmmm. Wonder if I can make tortillas out of matzo meal? 😉

Sponge Information

Posted on March 11, 2016 by Rich

I read the sign with no small measure of suspicion: BEST SPONGE CAKE IN TOWN, it shouted in all caps. Writing up this one will be a piece of cake, I thought, ignoring my own pun. Two words should do it: “Oh, really?” I mean, ya tried one sponge cake, ya tried ’em all, right? Eggy, airy, moist, a little sweet, and that about sums it up.

Seventy-five cents and one bite later, I began to wonder if I had let my prejudice get the better of me. Shouldn’t I at least compare this one with another if only to prove to myself that all sponge cakes are created equal? So I randomly entered another Chinese bakery (no shortage of those in Manhattan’s Chinatown) and emerged with a contender. The difference was subtle, but there was indeed a difference – enough to compel me to purchase a third rival. Again, the basic premise echoed the first two, but with a distinct personality of its own. With a sigh of resignation, it became evident that my story would exceed two words and I headed home to do some preliminary investigation.

The first order of business was to see what other NYC food writers had to say about the subject because attempting to taste every sponge cake at every bakery in Chinatown would be a herculean task. A few minutes of poking around on the web revealed that there are definitely a few favorites (four or so were always mentioned) among the experts. I made note of them and returned the next day armed with a list and the decision to hit up a few additional bakeries selected arbitrarily along the way just to be fair. I gathered nine examples (that’s all that would fit in my tote) and headed home to set up an Excel spreadsheet. (Those of you who know me are aware that I can get a little OCD sometimes, particularly when it comes to taste testing.)

I decided to rate them based on my initial definition of sponge cake characteristics: egginess, airiness (a continuum of spongy to cakey), moistness, and sweetness; crust and special features would factor in as well. My personal opinion of these qualities is that ideally they should be pretty middle of the road: eggy but not overly so, sweet but not too sweet – you get the idea – but above all, the cake should taste great.

I did a blind taste test and was amazed to discover that for the most part my independent research bore out the conventional wisdom. So I’m pleased to report that I stand corrected, disabused of any notion that sponge cake is sponge cake.

If you’re an information sponge too, here are the details – my ranking in order of overall deliciousness (you won’t be disappointed in any of the top five):

Kam Hing Coffee Shop, 119 Baxter St.
75¢ (2 oz)
Yes, believe it or not, the one that claimed to be the best! Perfect balance.

Tai Pan Bakery, 194 Canal St.
$1.10 (2.5 oz)
Lemony! Almonds on top provided a little crunch and a lot of flavor.

Ka Wah Bakery, 9 Eldridge St.
$1.00 (3.25 oz)
Excellent as well; crust a little eggier than others.

M&W Bakery, 25 East Broadway
$1.20 (2.5 oz)
Very good; tight crumb but still moist.

Fay Da Bakery, 83 Mott St.
$1.20 (3 oz)
Pleasant “baked” flavor to crust; almonds on top.

New Golden Fung Wong, 41 Mott St.
$1.00 (3 oz)
A little more cakey; a little drier.

Simply Bakery, 70 Bayard St.
$1.10 (4.25 oz)
Sweet but average.

QQ Bakery, 50 East Broadway
$1.25 (3.75 oz)
Moist but average.

Good Century Café, 243 Grand St.
$1.00 (4.5 oz)
Biggest cake, smallest flavor.

Of course, now I need to investigate sponge cakes in Queens and Brooklyn Chinatown bakeries too. (Told you I was OCD.)

Faking Peking Duck

Posted on February 14, 2016 by Rich

Before we expose this canard canard (got that one out of the way early!), let’s be clear that there is a significant difference between a proper rendering of Genuine Peking Duck and The Dish We’re About to Make.

Genuine Peking Duck is eminently shareable, incredibly impressive, and absolutely delicious.

Step One: The Chinese tai see foo (master chef) starts with a breed of duck (Pekin) that is specially raised for this dish. After plucking, eviscerating, and general cleaning, the duck is scalded in boiling water, dried, and air is pumped under the skin. Traditionally, the chef blows into a small hole that has been punched in the skin at the base of the neck, thus separating the skin from the meat (yes, essentially it’s a duck balloon) and then it’s tied off. This procedure ensures that the skin will be crispy because that’s what this dish is all about. The duck is then refrigerated for 24 hours. From there, it’s coated with a sugar-based glaze – maltose, honey, there is some latitude here – that coaxes the skin to brown during cooking and hung in front of a fan for as much as another 24 hours. Finally the duck is roasted. (And that’s the short version that omits detail, although in no version do we omit the tail.) – End of Step One.

The Dish We’re About to Make is eminently shareable, incredibly impressive, and absolutely delicious.

Step One: Go to your local Chinatown and purchase one of the Cantonese roast ducks you see hanging in the window. – End of Step One.

So you see why we’re Faking Peking Duck, right?

Note: as soon as you ask for a roast duck, the fellow behind the counter will take one down and brandish his cleaver in order to chop it up (for that is what one does with Cantonese style roast duck). STOP HIM! Perhaps he speaks English, or if not you can resort to sign language, or if you’re brave you can say “Mm sai jahm!” (Cantonese for “Don’t need to chop!”) – but you want it whole.

By the way, you might also see flattened ducks that look a little like Georgian Chicken Tabaka or like Daffy the time he didn’t get out of the way of the steamroller Bugs was driving. Those are pipa (or pei-pa) ducks, so called because of their resemblance to the Chinese “banjo” of the same name. Delicious as those BBQ ducks are, you don’t want one for this recipe. It also bears mention that the roast ducks have been more fully seasoned from within (think five spice, soy sauce, etc.) than true Peking Duck, so the flavor of the meat will be a little different.

At this point, the recipes converge and we can delve into presentation and construction.

In addition to the duck, you’ll need:

• Chinese pancakes (bing) for steaming. Moo shu wrappers are perfect; most likely they’re available at a store near where you buy the duck. White Chinese buns (bao) are great too.

• Hoisin sauce: I generally mix the hoisin with a little honey to tame its intensity and add a little sweetness. Same store.

• Scallions: slice into long julienne strips (about 4 inches).

• Cucumber: remove the seeds (even from a seedless) and slice as you did the scallions.

Preparation:

Remove the skin from the duck. (I generally make one long slice down the middle, breast side up, and slip the skin off by sliding a finger between the meat and the skin, working my way around the duck. It’s surprisingly easy, but don’t worry if it doesn’t come off in one piece; you’re going to cut it up anyway.) Scrape away most of the fat adhering to the skin; it’s fine to leave a little.

Next, remove the meat from the carcass. You can either julienne it like the scallions and cucumbers (prettier) or just slice pieces against the grain (better from a culinary standpoint because the meat will be even more tender).

Now as I said at the outset, this is a trick, albeit a delicious one. Remember that genuine Peking Duck is all about the crispy skin and what you’ve got here is a succulent but flaccid roast duck. So here’s my secret: put the skin, fatty side down, in a pan and heat in a 275° oven for about 10 minutes. Remove from the oven; the skin will be only a little crisper than when it started out, but stay with me. Place the warm skin between layers of paper towels and set a plate on top to keep it flat. When the skin is cool, use kitchen shears to cut into small pieces (about 3″ x 1″). As the pieces air dry, they’ll get even crisper. Even better: instead of treating the skin to a dry sauna session in the oven, break out your deep fryer. Don’t overdo it; like the oven treatment, the skin will crisp up after it cools.

Steam the pancakes (or buns) according to package instructions. If you don’t have a steamer you can improvise one by setting a covered colander over a pot of boiling water. Incidentally, although the duck meat is usually served at room temperature, I like to warm it up in the steamer at the same time the pancakes are steaming.

Assembly:

Now you’re ready to commence Faking Peking Duck. Apply a little of the hoisin/honey mixture to a steamed pancake. Add some meat, scallion, cucumber, and crispy skin. Roll up the pancake burrito style (fold up a flap from the bottom, then roll horizontally) and enjoy.

Of course, if this were the real deal, the duck would be used for two additional courses, one where the meat is part of a stir fry, minced or perhaps in a noodle dish (it might not even make an appearance in the pancake), and one where the carcass has been used to make soup. You can do all that if you want to, but we’re keeping this simple, right?

And I recommend that you do keep it on a small scale; you may find that it’s a perfect dish for two – eminently shareable, incredibly impressive, and absolutely delicious (see above). It doesn’t even have to be Valentine’s Day: if the setting is enchanting, and if you’re dining with the right Very Special Person, this could be the beginning of a most romantic evening. Share it – along with a bottle of red – with someone you love.

Trust me, this dish is decidedly seducktive.

Ratcheting Up Sriracha

Posted on January 26, 2016 by Rich

It is written in some ancient tome, or so my rather hazy understanding would have it, that during times of inclement weather the more sagacious among us hunker down in our kitchens and prepare mass quantities of pain perdu. Otherwise why would so many well-meaning mediarologists exhort us to make a beeline for our local supermarket in a frenzied quest for whatever remains on the shelves of bread, eggs, and milk?

So following the spirit of the law, although not the letter, I made the obligatory pre-disaster pilgrimage to stock up on essentials. I returned home and gingerly set my lumpily filled bags down outside my door. I was fumbling with the keys to my apartment when my neighbor, affectionately known to the denizens of my building as Windy, emerged.

Windy had a wiry frame and wore owlish Harold Lloyd glasses. His shaggy gray hair was usually half hidden beneath a weathered Australian cork hat. Somehow the corks were always in motion, even when Windy stood still, bobbing about as if propelled by some unseen force.

“Hey, Ethnojunkie! Got plenty of bread, eggs, and milk in there, right?”

“Um, yeah. I mean, no, not really. I’m not planning on making French toast.” The contents of my limp plastic bags were redistributing now, making themselves more comfortable on the dingy tile floor as I continued to grapple with the lock.

“All ready for the mother of all storms?”

“I thought that was Sandy.”

“Yep,” he continued, ignoring me. “The Blizzard of ’16. Snowmageddon. Snowzilla, they’re callin’ it. The blizzard to end all blizzards. Snowpocalypse….”

“Been watching a lot of TV, Windy?”

“…Gonna be a real snownami. A snowlapalooza.”

Windy himself could generate a gale greater than even the most virulent hurricane might ever aspire to. Having pretty much exhausted his supply of snowstorm metaphors, he went on to do what he did second best: pry.

“Got yer emergency preparedness kit ready?” He craned his neck and peered into my bags to inspect their contents. I slid them out of his line of sight with my foot.

“Sure thing,” I lied. “I’ve got wind-up batteries, sustainable “last-forever” wick-free candles, and solar powered #2 pencils, sharpened, of course.” At that moment, one of the bags shifted and my bottle of Sriracha tumbled out.

A bewildered look passed across his face as he squinted at the bottle with a gimlet gaze. “What kind of emergency were you expecting?” he sniffed. He was right. My idea of an emergency preparedness pack was somewhat skewed. “What’s in that bottle anyway?”

“It’s Sriracha. Like a kind of hot sauce,” I replied, stuffing it back into the bag and finally pushing my door open.

“That’s not Sriracha! Sriracha has a rooster on it! This one’s got a shark!”

“Right. Well, it’s a different brand. Sometimes I like it better than Huy Fong, the one with the rooster.”

“What’s the difference?”

Seizing the opportunity to go on about ethnic food, I began, “Well, they’re all chili, garlic, and vinegar, plus sugar and salt, but that’s where the similarities end. This one is a little sweeter….”

He interrupted, “No, no, I mean what’s the difference which one you get? Sriracha is Sriracha. Okay, I gotta go back inside and watch the storm.” He pivoted on one Birkenstock and marched back into his apartment, corks bobbling wildly, never allowing me to inquire as to whether he thought mayo is mayo or cola is cola.

I scooped up my bags and lugged them into my apartment, bemused by the interchange. But my reflection on our conversation wasn’t because of Windy’s dismissal of my brand preference. If Windy knows about Sriracha, everybody knows about Sriracha. Years ago the darling of a few culinary cognoscenti, the stuff is now ubiquitous.

Huy Fong brand (with the rooster imprint) was developed in 1980 in California by a Vietnamese-American; by 2010 Bon Appétit magazine had crowned it “Ingredient of the Year”. I’ve spotted it gracing the tables of diners and restaurants having no pretense of being Asian. It’s in every supermarket – they even sell it at Bed, Bath & Beyond. And now it’s available in individual packets like ketchup or mustard, not to mention their line of Sriracha popcorn and chips.

Shark brand, the favorite of Andy Ricker of Pok Pok fame, is a product of Thailand and is markedly distinct from Huy Fong.

So pitting the rooster against the shark, let’s examine the differences (with apologies to Windy).

Huy Fong is tangier and sharper (think horseradish kind of sharp) with a coarser texture and tiny bits of chili within. Shark is thinner, sweeter, more garlicy, more vinegary, a little herbal and significantly brighter.

Incidentally, Huy Fong also makes a chili garlic sauce, available in 8 ounce jars, that’s thicker than their Sriracha (you would spoon it out rather than squirt it); it’s earthier, more garlicy, less sweet and less vinegary. Just for kicks, I tried mixing the two Huy Fong products together and I thought the combination was great – not to mention that if you try this at home, seasoned Sriracha aficionados will ask you which brand you’re using. Simply smile coyly and say it’s your custom house blend; it’ll be our little secret.

Which do I like better? It depends on what I’m doing with them, but I lean more towards Shark for straight-out-of-the-bottle applications. And yes, there are plenty of other brands as well. Perhaps I’ll write about those when my emergency preparedness pack needs replenishing during the next Blizzard to End All Blizzards.

Ethnojunkie

Turning people on to ethnic food…one story at a time.

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