When the idea of doing an Asian Feastival bike tour came up, the first person that came to mind was Youngsun Lee.  A Korean chef born in Seoul and raised in Queens, he first began biking to get in shape for the snowboarding season but now he is an equally expert biker.  Together with Emily Lew, Asian Feastival graphic designer and correspondent, we discussed our shared passion for biking between bites of teok (Korean rice cakes) at the Asian Feastival press conference.  By the time the conference was over it was settled, we were going to take it to the streets and do the bike tour.  The fourth biker in our bike brigade was Jeff Orlick.  Having lived in Jackson Heights for the past two years, he’s been spreading a good dose of Queens love through food.  Organizing Queens-centric food gatherings and events, he’s been exploring the culinary landscape of Queens and bringing people together through a shared love for exploratory eating.

Emily, Jeff and Youngsun

Two Tuesdays ago, the four of us set off to test out the tour to get an idea of which roads to take, which stops to make, and to spend a nice sweaty Tuesday afternoon exploring the streets of Queens by bike.  Meeting in front of the Queens Museum of Art, we started off through the World’s Fairgrounds at Flushing Meadows Corona Park and made our way to our first stop, a local Korean community garden.

Youngsun deciphering the community board at the garden

A tall patch of scallions

Hidden amongst the neighboring residential and commercial buildings, the Korean community garden is just a stone’s throw away from the busy streets of downtown Flushing, yet it feels like a hidden oasis amidst the daily hustle and bustle of the area.  Divided into several plots, the gated garden was lush even in the thick of the summer heat.  We brushed past rows of scallions, green and deep burgundy perilla (sesame) leaves, tall stalks of amaranth, and other plants, while we watched the elderly Korean gardeners tend to their shared plots.  With a watering hose or hoe in hand, outfitted in complete trend-bending gardening regalia, they seemed so at peace sitting in plastic beach chairs, tilling the land and tending to each manicured plot with such great dedication.  There was no plant left thirsty or uncared for.

One of the winning gardening outfits of the day

Perilla (sesame) leaves

Korean hot red peppers

Amaranth off in the distance

Touring Queens by bike is an amazingly visceral experience — it’s just you, the road, and the wind in your face.  Since the areas in Queens that I frequent tend to be either near a subway station or a high traffic area when I’m traveling by car, I never really considered the borough to be much of a looker when it came to landscape and scenery.  I made a wrong assumption.  For the next leg of the bike route, we rolled through the bike paths along several parks, winded down shady tree-lined paths, and breezed by the quaint residential areas.  Riding through the pathways and streets at a bike’s pace is one of the best ways to instill some Queens pride.

Emily and Youngsun locating the bike path

After our leisurely stroll in the garden, we mounted our bikes and pedaled off to our next destination: The Queens County Farm Museum.  Right off the Littleneck Parkway, the Queens County Farm Museum comprises of 47 acres of New York City’s largest remaining tract of farmland and the oldest continuously run farm in New York State, a historical site whose mission is to restore, preserve Queens County’s agricultural, horticultural and viticulture past.  On a typical day, you can find volunteers weeding the watermelon patch, young families visiting the farm, and troupes of visiting children from schools and summer camps.

The farm is home to many furry residents. Let’s meet some:

Grazing llamas

Ducks

Lazy goats

Nosy goats

Small-eared goats

Itchy goats

A lonesome turkey

And these two porkers

After our meet and greet with the animals, we met with Amy, the director of the Queens County Farm Museum.  Even after working there for twenty years, she still gushes with passion and enthusiasm when she talks about the farm.

Edgar, one of the workers on the farm, was kind enough to walk us through a quick tour.  First stop was the Adriance Farmhouse.  Built in 1772 and done in the Flemish style, the farmhouse is where cooking lessons are held and the general caretaker of the farm resides. Stepping inside, lingering smells from the last meal cooked in the kitchen perfumes the farmhouse with the woodsy smell of roast pork.

Dutch kitchen

Edgar showing us a wind-resistant lantern

In the far corner of the living room is a foot-operated fan chair. If you step on the lever, it triggers the wooden flap to sway from side to side for a fanning effect

Across from the Adriance House is the farm store where produce, eggs, and other farm products are sold, in addition to other artisanal products such as their namesake Queens County Farm Museum wine made from the grapes on their vineyard and processed in Long Island.

The farm store

Inside the farm store: eggs, lollypops, herbs, and jam

Queens County Farm Museum wine

Edgar led us into the chicken coop and the hens didn’t seem to mind our company, continuing to strut about, lay eggs, and eat grain.  While Edgar passed around some freshly laid eggs, Jeff was busy picking up some ladies — as in some hens.

A grain buffet

Jeff and his new lady friend

Welcome to the chicken house

Aside from the farm animals, another major attraction at the farm is the corn maze, which changes shape every year (this year it’s supposed to look like an ipod). Hand-cut by farmhands after using lasers to direct the design, it isn’t much of a maze right now, but come fall the stalks will be tall and the maze will ready.

The ipod corn maze in the making

To conclude our farm tour, we ended at the vegetable patch, comprised of neat rows of vegetables and flowers.  The produce harvested here is picked and then sold at local farmer’s markets.

We looped back into the parking lot of the Queens Museum of Art slightly tanner and sweatier than when we started, but the 22 mile ride was worth every drop of sweat.  Thanks to Emily, Jeff and Youngsun for an epic ride.

To join the “Tour du Jour”, email biketour@asianfeastival.com with your Brown Paper Ticket purchase confirmation and we will send you a waiver with detailed instructions about the ride.  See you at Flushing Meadows Corona Park at 8:30am on September 6th!

The Javanese Gamelan group Kusuma Laras holds rehearsals at the Indonesian Consulate twice a week on Mondays and Wednesdays. Beginning at 5:30, members trickle into the basement of the Consulate, each taking their respective place in front of the majestic bronze instruments, sitting shoe-less and cross-legged while rhythmically beating to the numbered musical notations.  An hour and a half later, a cooker of rice and tupperwares filled with aromatic Indonesian home cooking are placed on the table buffet-style, indicating that dinner has commenced.

I was introduced to Kusuma Laras by Josh, who began playing gamelan in college and now regularly practices and performs with the ensemble.  What is gamelan?  “A gamelan is a musical ensemble from Indonesia, typically from the islands of Bali or Java, featuring a variety of instruments such as metallophones, xylophones, drums and gongs; bamboo flutes, bowed and plucked strings. Vocalists may also be included.  The term “gamelan” refers more to the set of instruments than to the players of those instruments. A gamelan is a set of instruments as a distinct entity, built and tuned to stay together — instruments from different gamelan are generally not interchangeable.” – Wikipedia

Kusuma Laras consists of an eclectic mix of Indonesians and non-Indonesians from a diversity of backgrounds.  There’s Amy, a host at NPR, Jon, a native of rural Appalachia who leads Wednesday rehearsals and speaks in fluent Indonesian, Stuart the seasoned gamelan player who also contributes to the potluck style rehearsal dinners along with the “ibu ibu” – from the long chains of emails that I receive from the gamelan google group, I believe the term is a reference to the Indonesian ladies who kindly feed us their homecooked dishes (a few of the ladies also participate in the Masjid Al Hikmah bazaar) – as well as a smattering of musically inclined guys.  And that’s just a small sampling of the wide spectrum of members who make up the ensemble.

Having sung in a children’s choir and spent years devoted to piano and flute in grade school, my musical talents have since waned while I’ve been busy pursuing my other interests and hobbies.  Learning gamelan was my personal attempt to awaken my latent musical abilities and renew my interest and love for music. But ultimately, I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I was initially lured into this tiny subterranean musical den by the promises of a good home cooked Indonesian meal.

The bait

Josh playing the Bonang

A typical Wednesday dinner in the Indonesian Consulate consists of:

Green curry with tempeh, green beans and onions: Unlike most of the Westernized vegetarian restaurant-style tempeh I’ve had, which usually is pretty tough and chewy, this tempeh was surprisingly dense yet soft.

Meatballs stir-fried with broccoli, beans, carrots and other vegetables; salted fish.

The spicy salted fish is fried, bones and all, resulting in a dense, slightly chewy texture, similar to my favorite canned comfort food — Chinese fried dace with fermented black beans.

Last but not least, Stuart’s eggplant stew, which he calls Terong Apa-Apa, made with sautéed then stewed eggplants and red peppers.

Visit Stuart’s website for some Indonesian recipes, and for those of you who are unfamiliar with Javanese gamelan, here is a small sampling courtesy of Josh: Srepegan, Ladrang Rajamanggala, Sampak

Shanghainese soup dumplings are a culinary phenomenon: a bite of pork and a spoonful of soup all within a neatly pleated wheat wrapper.  You’re probably curious: how does the soup get in there?  Over the years, I’ve come up with a fair share of outlandish theories – at one point I was convinced the dumplings were injected with a soup-filled syringe. But all my conspiracy theories were finally laid to rest two weeks ago when the high priestess of Nan Xiang Dumpling House, Chef Huang Jian Ping (黃建萍), came over to make soup dumplings from scratch.  In anticipation for Asian Feastival, an epic culinary event in Queens on September 6th Labor Day Monday (check out asianfeastival.com for the complete rundown), we decided to put her off-site dumpling-making capabilities to the test and invited some friends over to witness her pork and dough sorcery.  A special thanks to Roboppy for taking photos!

Pulling up to the curb, Chef Huang arrived by car with Nan Xiang’s owner, Tai Viem Ma, and Asian Feastival advisor and guru, Alex Peng, with a bag of dough, a bowl of pork filling, a rolling pin, and a stack of bamboo steamers packed into the trunk.  Once we carted all the materials to the roof, she began to set up her dumpling operation.

Chef Huang’s rooftop dumpling corner. Yep, that’s me creeping behind her shoulder.

Hailing from the town of Wu Shi (無錫) in the Jiang Su (江蘇) province located in the northeast area of China, Chef Huang has been pinching, twisting, kneading and pleating dough and pork filling into bundles of soup dumpling perfection since she was 18 years old.  Nowadays, she can practically make them with a blindfold and a hand tied behind her back.  According to Mr. Ma, he was able to recruit her from China because she was just one notch below the very best in China; top-tier dumpling makers are barred from leaving the country, since their skills are considered a national treasure.

Now, here’s a breakdown of how to make soup dumplings, from soup to nuts:

First, roll out a long snake of dough and pinch into little pieces.

Roll the dough nubs into round little orbs — Chef Huang does so by shaking them in a plastic bag like so.

Using a thin rolling pin, roll out the little dough orbs into a thin pancake shape, thicker towards the middle and thinner towards the outer edges.

With a butter knife, fill the wrapper with the filling. The secret of the soup lies in the paste-like pork filling, which consists of a secret mixture of pork, seasoning and its jus in gelatin form, the last of which melts into a liquidy soup when the dumpling is steamed. Then comes the hard part: cup your hand to make a pouch, then using your other hand, apply nimble pinching and twisting movements to seal off the top.  Chef Huang emphasizes that as a food safety measure, your finger should not touch and contaminate the pork filling, only the wrapper.

A metal circular plate resembling a big, thin metal washer is placed on top of a big stockpot of hot boiling water, funneling the steam through the small hole and upwards through the bamboo steamer to cook the dumplings.  It took a few tries to get the correct time it required to steam the dumplings — 12 minutes was just enough time to steam a bamboo steamer filled with 6 dumplings, but the stove temperature varies so adjust accordingly.

Before.

After!!

And there you go, the secrets of the soup dumpling, thanks to Chef Huang, Mr. Ma and Alex Peng, who made this all possible.  Come taste Chef Huang’s masterpieces for yourself at the Asian Feastival in September.  If you just can’t wait, pay Chef Huang a visit at Nan Xiang Dumpling House for a steamer full of some of the best soup dumplings outside of China.

Nan Xiang Dumpling House
38-12 Prince St
Flushing, NY 11354

Season One

To our delight, the rooftop garden last year was a meeting place for buzzing bees, fluttering butterflies, vocal songbirds and, ahem, migrant workers – a colony of mail-order ladybugs that worked for food and board.  Since we’re in a mid-rise building in Long Island City with plenty of sun, seasoned gardening experts assured us that bees and butterflies can still grace our plants. The bountiful abundance of vegetables — beans, tomatoes, peas, zucchinis, cucumbers, radish, lettuce, eggplants, pepper, green onion and a host of other experimental fruits and herbs — throughout May to October last year pretty much exceeded our expectations. We had enough not just to indulge in “flower pot to cooking pot” dining, but also to share with others. Our little baskets of fresh-cut garden produce became a great diplomatic gesture to reach out to our new neighbors in the community.

Peas, lettuce, tomatoes, bitter gourd

Scallions and eggplant

Sungold tomatoes

Blueberries

Coleus

Plant sex, in action

Red lettuce

Zucchini

Ironically, the spacious backyards we had while living in the suburbs of California and New York did not yield nearly as much food or fun. Our yard was a source of frustration and costly maintenance – dealing with chauvinistic gardeners who habitually overbilled us for all types of “additional services” – from grass seeding, weeding, tree grooming and removal, lawn patching, grub-killing… Then we had to pay for all the supposed fertilization, replacement of sprinkler heads (knocked away by snow ploughs), not to mention weatherization.

We took the long growing season in Southern California for granted, and the 20-pound bags of fresh oranges for $5 from the weekend farmers market were not exactly an incentive to try growing edibles. While we did have some basil, cilantro and tomatoes, we focused more on fragrant species to perfume our yard. There were bushes of gardenias and sweet olives that rendered intoxicating aromas to welcome us home after a long day at work.

After moving from Los Angeles to a New York suburb a train ride away from Manhattan, our first attempt to grow produce and herbs was met with a rude awakening. Our vegetable patch was practically an all-you-can-eat salad bar for the neighborhood rabbits, deer, woodchucks and other cute but hungry animals. Our grueling work schedules, forced to accommodate to the Metro-North train times, made it difficult for us to devote time to our garden. We simply gave up planting vegetables and herbs and settled for amusement from the parade of animal visitors that dropped by.

Now that we have moved permanently to the city, we have actually become more inspired to make the most of our precious rooftop space. Lugging potting soil home was not exactly a breeze, and those planters are not cheap either. But we had this urge to maximize our outdoor space, and it’s still cheaper than our monthly payment to the gardener! This time around, we do not have any 4-legged animals dining on our salad bar. Frankly, I am still rejoicing about the liberation from our tyrant gardener. No mowing, blowing or sowing. Oh, and we have time saved from shorter commute.

Season Two

Armed with the experience from year one, realizing what worked and what did not (which included a couple of short-lived yet beautiful banana trees and some succulents), we attempted to launch our indoor seed nursery in mid-April. Apart from being caretaker for these seedlings, Veronica has become more vigilant, playing chastity police to adolescent herbs, snipping any buds to prevent them from bolting (unwanted pregnancies) for healthier edible foliage.

Emboldened by other rooftop growers’ success in growing taller trees in spite of the wind, we added a collection of new trees – Asian pear, peach, jujube, cherry, persimmon and some colorful Japanese maple. We also installed a ladybug house behind a pear tree, offering deluxe accommodation for our visiting ladybugs.

Our delicate, fern-like asparagus grew stronger and taller, and our strawberries came back to our surprise. Other perennials woke up in the spring and exuded charm and beauty with colorful blooms like never before, and our blueberry plants are promising a bountiful crop.

But it really bothered us that our healthy heirloom tomato plants have not been bearing fruits. Unlike our Asian pear trees (we bought 2 to cross pollinate), tomato plants self-pollinate, and do not need cross pollination. It’s perhaps time for some human intervention! The “no-sex please” only applies to our herbs, and we totally want our fruit plants to be sexually active and fertile.  Of course it is troubling that our bee population seems to be dwindling – and there seems to be no conclusive reason why. Let’s hope more bees will find their way to our rooftop soon.

After some research, we learned that we could use our electric toothbrush to perform pollination! Who knew – our Oral B toothbrush is a sex tool for our tomatoes!  Hallelujah! After watching a how-to video online, my husband was thrilled with the idea and volunteered to offer experimental artificial pollination for our under-sexed plants, giving them some serious vibrations.

The idea that we’re artificially inducing the fruiting process is a bit weird. But hey, we need tomatoes. We crave for those deliciously sweet vine-ripened brandywine black beauties that possess a depth of tomato flavor you can’t find in any aisle of the supermarket. So, fingers crossed for some signs of success.

Our lesson learned here is that there are times we need to be involved with the reproduction process. We just hope that our crop can still be classified as “organic.”

This tomato plant is just looking for love..

Lonely tomato flowers

Peas in a pod

Zucchini

Lettuce and snow peas

Peach and Asian pear trees

Yellow wax beans

Menu:
*Kimchi Omelette
*Brioche French Toast with Maple Syrup, Berries and Bacon
*Savory Tart with Caramelized Onions, Gruyere, and Roasted Tomatoes
*Wild Blueberry Scones with Clotted Cream and an Assortment of Jams
*Tea & Coffee with Buttermilk Rusks

Plates & Records is a nomadic and themed supper club organized by Joann, Ram and Andrzej, a writer, a human rights lawyer and an artist respectively.  To attend, all you need is a plate, a record, an empty stomach, and an Andrew Jackson ($20).  The original P&R trifecta includes Andrzej, but in his place at the stove that morning was their friend Georgie.

Joann and Ram

Talisa and I arrived at Joann’s apartment to a friendly “Hello hello! Come in!” through the intercom.  Dashing into the hallway to greet us, Mellow, Joann’s Daschund, led us into the apartment, where we found a bustling kitchen and joyously inhaled the aroma of freshly baked savory tarts. We then climbed up the stairs and into the backyard, where a long communal table for 20 was set up, and a few people had already settled down.

Joann’s botanical kitchen / living room

Luckily, what started as a wet and dreary morning turned into a sunny afternoon.  It wasn’t long before we started passing around an aluminum tray of blueberry scones and assorted jams and began sipping on Mombucha and mimosas, all while I got a head start on my summer tan.

Joann’s dog, Mellow, scoping out the brunch scene

Ingredients for the kimchi omelettes

Ram’s Savory Tart with Caramelized Onions, Gruyere, and Roasted Tomatoes

My plate, after I took a few bites and before I grabbed a scone and piled on the berries and lemon curd.

Joann collected our plates and returned them with piping hot omelettes filled with a savory spicy mix of finely diced Soppressata, carrots, cheddar cheese, and of course kimchi.  This was all topped with a zig-zag of ketchup and Sriracha hot sauce.  Who needs a Bloody Mary when there are kimchi omelettes?  Kimchi omelettes aside, Ram’s savory tarts were a culinary feat —a total of 18 onions were cut, cooked and caramelized for these two tarts, some real blood, sweat and tears!  So what exactly is a savory tart?  Imagine if a quiche and a Chinese egg custard tart (“dan tat”) had a lovechild.  A very delicious lovechild.  Tucked within a buttery crust was a silken, custard-like, otherworldly egg filling.  The delicate filling coaxed out the complimentary flavors of sweet, golden brown threads of caramelized onion and robust gruyere cheese.  Throw in some cherry tomatoes and chives, and I was eating one killer savory tart.  For those who preferred a sweeter brunch option, Georgie helmed the stove and whipped up a delicious made-to-order french toast.  Made with fresh brioche, each slice was lightly washed with egg, browned in a cast iron pan, and sent off with a dusting of powdered sugar.  Unlike the hefty, dense french toast served at some brunch venues, this toast had a crispy, crunchy exterior with a light and ethereal interior.

Thanks to the Plates and Records crew, brunch is no longer a distant college memory.  Alright, so I’m not old enough to miss college yet, but I am susceptible to occasional bouts of nostalgia.  Find updates on the next supper club gathering and a recipe for Ram’s savory tart at the Plates and Records blog.  And if you’re in the hood, swing by and visit Joann and 50+ vendors at the monthly Greenpoint Food Market this Saturday, May 22, for some sweet treats and good eats.  Cheers to a warm spring and summer with backyard bbqs and park picnics aplenty!

Traditionally, Indonesian fried rice, or Nasi Goreng, consists of pre-cooked rice stir-fried with prawn, eggs, tamarind, chili, and coriander.  But there are an infinite number of variations to be made by simply adding a dollop of WORLDFOODS Indonesian Fried Rice ‘Nasi Goreng’ Paste, a concentrated medley of herbs and spices that I often throw into the pan with my leftover rice and whatever I have lingering in my kitchen drawers.

For those who are in need of more precise culinary guidance than “just throw it in a pan”, here are two variations on Indonesian fried rice that are both easy to follow and quick to make.  The first is a recipe developed for a Bloomingdale’s cooking demo by Jay Weinstein. And because I loved Jay’s recipe so much, the second is my ad hoc attempt at making fried rice inspired by his recipe.  Due to budgetary restrains — I switched out a few ingredients, making enough portions to feed 200 people at the Taste of Southeast Asia last month.

Jay Weinstein’s Indonesian-style Barley Pilaf with Sweet Carrots and Jade Bokchoy
Serves 4

3 Tablespoons vegetable oil
1 large onion, chopped (about 2 cups)
4 carrots, peeled and cut into bite-size chunks (about 4 cups)
1 teaspoon sea salt or other salt
4 heads jade bokchoy or other small bokchoy
½ cup Worldfoods Indonesian fried rice paste (nasi goreng)
4 cups cooked barley (2 cups dry barley, simmered 30 minutes, drained)
½ bottle of WORLDFOODS Indonesian Fried Rice “Nasi Goreng” Paste
Lemon wedges

1. Heat oil in a large skillet or pot until it shimmers but does not smoke. Add onions, carrots, and sea salt; cook over high heat until onions are translucent, about 5 minutes. Add 1 cup water and jade bokchoy; cook until carrots and bokchoy are tender and water has evaporated, about 5 minutes more. Remove bokchoy; set aside in a warm place.

2. Stir the Indonesian paste into carrots and onions until coated. Cook 1 minute (pan should sizzle). Stir in cooked barley; cook over medium heat until steaming hot, about 5 minutes more, adding up to ¼ cup water if needed to keep barley moist.

3. Transfer barley to a serving plate. Arrange bokchoy atop dish, drizzling with dressing and garnishing with lemon wedges. Serve immediately.

World to Table’s Indonesian-Style Fried Rice
Serves 4

3 Tbsp vegetable oil
4 cups of cooked rice
1 large onion
2 carrots, peeled and diced into 1/2 inch cubes (2 cups)
2 kohlrabi, peeled and diced into 1/2 inch cubes (2 cups)
4 Chinese long beans cut into 1 inch pieces (1 cup), blanched
2 medium onions, (2 cups)
½ bottle of WORLDFOODS Indonesian Fried Rice “Nasi Goreng” Paste

1. Heat oil in a large skillet or pot until it shimmers but does not smoke. Add carrots, kohlrabi, onions, and sea salt; cook over high heat until onions are translucent, about 5 minutes. Add 1 cup water and cook until vegetables are tender and water has evaporated, about 5 minutes more.

2. Stir the Indonesian paste and cook for 1 minute (pan should sizzle). Stir in cooked rice; cook over medium heat until steaming hot, about 5 minutes more, adding up to ¼ cup water if needed to keep rice moist.  Mix everything together.

3. Transfer to a serving plate. Serve immediately.

To buy some WORLDFOODS Indonesian Fried Rice ‘Nasi Goreng’ Paste, visit MyBrands.com (or click the photo on top to take you there)

Beer

Schnitzel

Hypnotic lights

Between bites, I mentioned that Kelly and I were going to Japan, and immediately Lee Anne’s face lit up. She whipped out her phone and excitedly flipped through a slide show of photos. “You must meet Shinji.  He will tell you where to go,” she asserted.

A few weeks later, Kelly and I arrived in Japan, each towing a small rolly suitcase and a backpack, ready to soak in as much of Tokyo as we could in three short days.  When we arrived at our hostel, I opened an email from Shinji, which read:

“At fish market, you gotta eat at Sushi Dai (寿司大), not Daiwa Sushi (大和寿司) at inner market. They both have long lines in front, but the quality and service are different. I took Lee Anne to Sushi Dai. Sushi Dai is the best. They open 5 am. Go before and get ready. Order “omakase” and it will blow your mind.”

Early the next morning, Kelly and I awoke to the industrial warning noise of my iPhone alarm.  The sun was not out yet, leaving us to poke around in the dark for our things. A sleepy German woman two beds away looked at me incredulously and asked why we were up so early. “We’re going to the fish market,” I whispered to her. She thought we were crazy. We slipped out before waking any of the others in the room.  At 5 am, the first subway train of the morning pulled into the station and just like that, we were on our way to get some sushi for breakfast.

The sheer size of Tsukiji is mind blowing. After all, it is the largest fish market in the world.  I don’t know whether it was our lost facial expressions or the fact that we circled the same block of stalls several times, but one of the shopkeepers took the clue and came out to guide us to our breakfast.  Not only was he kind enough to point us in the right direction, but he also gave us a map of the market, drew out directions, and even wrote out the characters for “Sushi Dai” and “Daiwa Sushi” to make sure we went to the correct restaurant.  What an awesome guy.

Hand drawn directions from the friendly shopkeeper

Sushi Dai

It was 6 am when we finally reached Sushi Dai, which comprised of a stall with a narrow bar and just enough seating room to fit 20 skinny people. A woman slid open the door and asked us for our names and offered us a few options to choose from — a 10 piece omakase for 3900 yen (~40 USD) and an 8 piece omakase for 2500 yen (~27 USD).  We opted to share one of each.

The sky changed from navy to pale blue as we waited outside. We stared enviously through the windows, gawking at the people inside as they sat shoulder to shoulder, enjoying their food and their morning beer. Half an hour in, we were officially hungry, and the pictures of food in the far less crowded adjacent storefront started to look very appetizing. Hot noodles and fried prawns on a cold, crisp morning… is that something anyone should turn down? But eventually the door slid open, customers filed out to some loud and friendly farewells, and the woman signaled for Kelly and me. We eagerly squeezed through the door, and the smells of hot miso soup and tea welcomed us. A wave of warmth overcame our bodies. At last!! We found our spot at the corner of the counter, anxiously sat down, and prepared for our minds to be blown.

Our view from our the corner of the bar.

Hot towels and cups of Matcha Green tea were quickly served. The warm and rich tea momentarily placated our hungry stomachs while we waited for food to arrive.

After 40 minutes of waiting outside, Kelly and I welcomed the hot miso soup with great enthusiasm.

Lo and behold, after stirring the soup with my chopsticks, I struck gold.  Well, not gold, but whole chunks of fish that were hidden underneath the surface of the cloudy soup.  The fish was clearly stewed in the soup for a while, as the dark and flavorful meat flaked off with the touch of a chopstick. Each bite was filled with the deep, satisfying flavor of miso. It was unlike any miso soup we ever had, with a complexity of flavors that packed a sucker punch of umami.

Our mind-blowing sushi experience commenced, and first up was a fatty, succulent piece of Otoro (fatty Bluefin tuna).  I had been anticipating this moment since my first glance at Lee Anne’s phone background.  We were instructed by the sushi chef to eat it straight and simple; soy sauce would overpower the delicate flavor of the fish.  A glistening sheen of marbled pink, the tuna was as delicious as it looked.  It melted in my mouth and stunned my taste buds with a subtle yet indulgently rich flavor.

Kasugo (young sea bream): This piece of sushi had a light flavor but had an interesting dense and meaty texture.

Hamachi (yellowtail): This piece affirmed my love for yellowtail — perfectly delicate, with a hint of sweetness that complemented its texture.

Amaebi (mini sweet shrimp): This may look like a textured piece of fish, but in actuality it is comprised of multiple little sweet shrimp packed together and topped with a small dollop of roe — it was as sweet and juicy as it looks.

Indisputably, all the fish served at Sushi Dai were of amazing quality because the fish is delivered straight from the fishing boats to the market every day.  But I was surprised to find that even items like the Tamago (sweet egg omelette) delivered the same light touch and complex taste as the fresh pieces of sushi.  Unlike the cold, dinky, sponge-like rectangle of shriveled egg I was used to seeing, this tamago was hunkering in size but fluffy and light in texture and still piping hot from the steamer.  Mixed with some unidentifiable herbs (If I were to guess, it was probably shredded shiso leaves), the delicately sweet egg was incredibly satisfying and quickly devoured.  I still have dreams about eating this.

Kinmedai (splended alfonsino or “golden sea bream”): What a strikingly beautiful piece of fish.  After poking around some sushi forums, I discovered that when it comes to kinmedai, the skin is usually quite tough and therefore typically torched, but I think ours was served raw.  I didn’t recall it being particularly tough, but I do remember the sweet and subtle flavor.

Uni (sea urchin): These glistening deep orange gems almost liquefied when they touched my tongue. Each morsel unleashed a refreshing taste, like a shot of ocean. The texture of the uni was smooth and silky and well complemented with a wrapper of crisp nori and a sturdy base of sushi rice. The omakase meal allowed for one additional piece of sushi of choice, and I didn’t have to think hard about asking for another perfect bite of uni.

Kohada (Japanese gizzard shad): This piece of sushi always reminds me of a painfully deep paper cut. But besides its unpleasantly painful looking appearance, it had wonderfully salty and meaty taste.

Tako (octopus): Whenever I order octopus, I usually prepare to tackle on an unmistakably dense and chewy texture, as if the octopus were giving one last fight.  This octopus, however, was neither chewy nor dense, but best characterized as having a sweet and bouncy bite which was very agreeable.

I’m not going to lie, I don’t remember how this tasted, or what it was.  By this point, I was in a euphoric state of delirium.

The mystery fish was served with four pieces of Tuna Maki (tuna and cucumber rolls)

Aji (Horse mackerel): Not as deep in flavor as the Kohada, the Aji was topped with a pile of scallions, which brought out a greater depth of flavor.

Mirugai (geoduck): “It’s alive!” laughed our sushi chef when he placed it on the wooden bar.  Moments after he cut slits into the Mirugai, it began to slowly curl up.

Sawara (Spanish mackerel)

Anago (salt water eel): Drizzled with sweet eel sauce, this anago was picked of its bones, leaving only an airy yet fish-like texture and a lightly sweet taste. Anago doesn’t typicaly look bright yellow and orange, that’s just my poor photography skills at 7am.

The sushi chefs, happy and smiling even at ungodly hours of the morning.

Lee Anne was right, the sushi at Sushi Dai was life changing.  It’s some of the best, if not THE best, I’ve ever had, and these descriptions don’t come close to the real experience. As we paid the bill, Kelly and I caught sight of the snaking line of people waiting outside, almost three times longer than what we were greeted with earlier that morning. We knew it was time to say our final “arrigato”s, so after a few more sips of warm matcha, we gave up our much coveted spots along the counter of Sushi Dai.

For this recipe, which can be found in her newest cookbook, At Home with Annie, Annie took inspiration from the classic Italian dish porchetta. To prepare porchetta, you take a whole pig, gut it, de-bone it, stuff it with layers of meat, fat and skin then tie it up and roast it over an open fire.  Annie gives the Italian recipe a twist, filling her pig with 8 treasure rice instead, like in the famous Chinese dish “Hundred Treasure Duck”.  But before we get into the details, let’s say hi to Annie’s poodle Miss Muffin, who won best hairdo of the evening.

Ok, now back to the food. When we first arrived, a cutting board of Iberian and other Spanish varieties of ham from Annie’s recent trip to Barcelona was passed around along with other hors d’oeurves.  If you haven’t had Iberian ham before, it tastes similar to prosciutto but with a subtle nutty flavor that is not overpoweringly salty. Even though I knew a marathon of eating laid ahead of me, it was hard to tear away from this cutting board.

After munching, I snuck into the kitchen to see what was cooking, stepping in just as the pig was pulled out from the oven. Laid out on the pan, the golden swine sported little ear and tail covers made from tin foil to prevent them from burning to a crisp.

Since the pig is deboned, the task of cutting it doesn’t require too much force. Witness Annie as she plunges the knife into the pig:

After the pig was plated and the wine was poured, dinner commenced. Here’s the rundown:

Lobster bisque: rich and creamy, yet not too heavy, Annie’s bisque had a full flavor without being overpowered by cream — which unfortunately happens more often than not with lobster bisques.

Scampi linguine: Annie used large, fresh Italian prawns, which she deliberately left slightly undercooked, allowing for the sweet undertones of the shrimp to shine through. The scampi was served with al dente pasta and marinara sauce, and everything came together harmoniously.

And now, of course, the main attraction, what we’ve all been waiting for: the suckling pig stuffed with 8 treasure rice.

Annie’s 8 treasure rice is a mixture of glutinous rice, Chinese Jinhua ham, Chinese mushrooms, bamboo shoots, scallops, pearl barley, gingko nuts, lotus seeds, dry shrimp, spring onion, Chinese Shaoxing wine, light soy sauce, sugar, and a dash of white pepper. Cooked inside the pork, the glutinous rice mixture was perfectly steamed and rich with flavor. The chewy texture played off the crispy skin and meat, all of which was then counterbalanced with a side of brussels sprouts, zucchini, and baby bok choy.

Since the Lins had already tried suckling pig version 1.0 not so long ago, Annie was nice enough to make an alternative entree: braised soy sauce short ribs.  The meat was tender, flaking off when you touched it with a fork, and the mashed potatoes were creamy and smooth.

To end the night on a sweet note, Annie made a simple Napoleon with mixed berries. I’ve always preferred lighter desserts with fruit over heavy, chocolate desserts (I usually pass on the ubiquitous molten chocolate cake).  To me, the Napoleon was just the right conclusion to the evening.

I end this post with a snapshot of my dad, eagerly diving into his plate of suckling pig. If you are brave enough to attempt Annie’s decadent pig dish (which is actually called “Roast Suckling Pig Extraordinaire” in her book) hop on over to Amazon.com and get a copy!

A few weeks ago, while I waited for Robyn and LeeAnne to arrive at the Underground Lobster Pound in Brooklyn (more informally known as Ben‘s apartment) Ben and I got to talking about food bloggers.  More specifically, Ben asked me why an overwhelming majority of food bloggers are: A. Asian and B. Female. Before I could give him an adequate answer, I had to think about it long and hard.  Fitting both those categories, I have often thought to myself, why do I love food so much? Why, after completing a liberal arts degree in fine arts and marketing, was I compelled to pursue a food-related career?

I think a major reason can be attributed to my upbringing. Simply put, I am the spawn of two food-obsessed parents.  Food has been an integral part of my life since I was old enough to chew.  Whenever we went out to restaurants, my mom brought along a small pocket-sized pair of scissors with her to cut up whatever she was eating into smaller bite-size pieces for my sister and me. It wasn’t long before we had to pick out tiny fish bones and peel shrimp on our own. From the moment we were weaned from baby formula, we were introduced to “adult food”.

Being exposed to many different types of food at an early age, which I suspect is the case in many Asian families, could be another underlying reason why I have developed an adventurous palette and an appreciation for so many different cuisines.  I still remember lunch time in elementary school: I enviously watched as my friends peeled open their Lunchables packs and stacked their circular ham and cheese slices between crackers.  Meanwhile, my mom had the nerve to pack me beef tongue sandwiches or multi-compartment lunch boxes filled with the contents from last night’s dinner with a side of rice, kept warm in my insulated Japanese lunchbox.  Many many beef tongue sandwiches later, I can now confidently say that my years of Lunchable-less elementary school meals were a blessing.

But for me, the real moment of truth came just before I was about to graduate.  Thoughts and anxieties raced through my mind, and the biggest unanswered question looming over my head was: what am I going to do now? I milled through memories of past jobs and internships, trying to recall what I took from these work experiences. What I immediately realized was that I couldn’t keep the memories of lunch from flooding my head.

As a studio intern at Kayrock Screenprinting, I was not paid a salary but fed lunch instead.  Hours of scrubbing down screens and performing other manual tasks would leave us all ravenous by lunchtime.  I have to credit Kristin, whose duty was to prepare lunch for everyone, for first introducing me to Tuscan kale and quinoa.  Many interns and employees were either vegan or vegetarian, which made the task of cooking lunch all the more challenging. Yet Kristin always managed to satiate everyone’s stomachs while staying within strict dietary restrictions. Her soba noodle salads were satisfying enough to put us all in a euphoric post-lunch haze.

When I was an archival intern at Joseph Kosuth‘s studio, the highlight of the day was also preparing lunch.  Between flipping through old copies of exhibition catalogs, scanning boxes and boxes of slides, and consuming countless cups of tea, we would enthusiastically discuss what to cook for lunch.  Sometimes it was spaghetti carbonara or Thai green curry.  Other days, when we lacked inspiration, we resorted to making elaborate sandwiches and salads, sometimes even treating ourselves to nearby restaurants.  As these vivid memories of lunches past reemerged,  I saw that all signs clearly pointed towards the same direction: food.

Aside from cultural influence and family upbringing, there is also some empirical evidence that might explain why Asian females make up such a high percentage of the food blogging community.  The term “supertaster” refers to a person who experiences the sense of taste with a greater intensity than the average person.  How is this possible?  A supertaster simply possesses an increased number of fungiform papillae, or taste buds, which thus enhances his or her sensitivity to taste — proof that biology can account for differences in taste.  According to studies (and Wikipedia), women have more tastebuds than men, and within the female demographic, Asians and Africans are statistically more likely to have those extra taste buds that qualify them as supertasters.

Since I’ve never been actually tested, whether or not I’m a confirmed supertaster is uncertain. But I’ve always sort of suspected that I have a heightened sensitivity to smell and taste, which may be a contributing reason why I enjoy food — because I taste it more intensely.  This leads me to ask a fundamental psychology question (a big one in “Intro to Psych”): Nature or nurture? Are Asian females more susceptible to becoming food bloggers due to environmental factors (nurture) or could this passion for food be traced back to genetics (nature)?

I’m curious to hear what people think about this phenomenon, and more specifically why others decided to take a similar path.  To fellow Asian female bloggers: why did you choose to start a blog?  What do you think influenced your love for food?  What do you hope to achieve through writing a food blog? And to those who are neither Asian nor female, what are your thoughts on this matter? Is this all just some weird coincidence? What did your moms pack you for lunch?

A few fellow Asian Female Food Bloggers: A Passion for Food, A Tiger in the Kitchen, Amy Blogs Chow, Bionic Bites, Chez Pim, Luxirare, Grab Your Fork, Just Hungry, Spatula Queen, Steamy Kitchen, Tamarind and Thyme, The Girl Who Ate Everything, Viet World Kitchen, Wandering Chopsticks, Wandering Eater

“Duck Balut tonight @ umi nom!!!”

And just like that, I was headed to Brooklyn.

Despite the rain and wind, I made it alive to Fort Greene, Brooklyn that night. My eating companion Gary and I sat down at a table and prepared ourselves. Half expecting to see an alien-like entree, I was pleasantly surprised when out came two unassuming eggs, snugly tucked in a makeshift double egg holder made from a folded white napkin.  The eggs were accompanied by four different sauces — fish sauce speckled with flecks of chili, sea salt, soy sauce, and vinegar.

Chef King instructed us to crack open the top of the egg and pour in a few small spoonfuls of each sauce. We were told to eat everything…except the rubbery disk at the bottom.  (“You don’t want to eat that.”)

Following directions, Gary and I carefully pried of the top of each egg to reveal a thin, translucent grayish film, which veiled the mysteriously dark and murky liquid underneath.

With great precision, I poured a spoonful of fish sauce and soy sauce, sprinkled a dash of salt, and drizzled just a few drops of vinegar, carefully as to not overpower the flavor of the balut.

Right as I was about to begin eating, I peered into the murky waters of the balut, barely making out a little chick fetus embracing the yolk. “Now or never”, I thought to myself.  Without further hesitation, I spooned my first few sips of the watery balut liquid.

Not knowing what to expect, I was pleasantly surprised to find that my first sip wasn’t strange at all.  Rather, it evoked a familiar taste reminiscent of an earthy duck soup. It took more courage to get myself to try the embryo, which more closely resembled a science experiment gone awry than a baby chick. Helplessly clinging to the yolk, it was almost begging not to be eaten.  But that didn’t stop me.  I managed to break off a small piece with my spoon and take my first bite.  The smooth and delicately gelatinous embryo melted in my mouth, leaving a rich and robust taste, like a smooth pate, that lingered on after it was already on its way down into my stomach.

Mixed in with the correct ratio of condiments, you’ll hit the fundamental flavors of Filipino cuisine — salty, robust, with a kick of sourness at the end; the result is a pungent yet poetic combination of flavors that is uniquely Filipino.

Looking back, eating balut is really not as intimidating as it seems.  Eating bird embryos may not be for everyone, but it was an experience I certainly don’t regret having.  As a matter of fact, I’m looking forward to returning for a second helping.

**Balut is not regularly on the menu at Umi Nom, so if you are daring enough to try it for yourself, check in with the Umi Nom Twitter to see when Chef King is cooking some up.

umiNOM
433 DeKalb Ave., Brooklyn, New York 11205
tel. 718.789.8806
www.uminom.com
info@uminom.com