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

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!

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.

“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

With a scribbled map at hand, we scaled the streets and alleyways near the hotel, but no Taiwanese breakfast was to be found. Stomachs were rumbling as the seven of us wandered desperately around what looked like the financial district, pulling aside locals and asking them where to find hot soymilk. Most were puzzled. Finally, Agnes made a quick decision for all of us. She shot her hand in the air to summon an approaching taxi.

“Where can we get hot soymilk?” she asked the driver.

“Oh, Soymilk King is very close”, he replied.

… Soymilk KING? Take us there, taxi driver!

The taxi driver’s “very close” translated into a city tour across Taiwan, through a tunnel and over a bridge. Fifteen minutes later, we arrived in a district even my dad had never been to, right in front of the famed Yong He Soymilk King (or just “Soymilk King” as I like to call it). Our eyes scanned the open air kitchen, and our ravenous expressions quickly changed to joy.

The makeshift kitchen at Soymilk King consists of a few tables for prepping and stacking bamboo steamers. This is where burly men and ladies in colorful bandanas cook, chop, and clean.

Instead of verbalizing orders, customers at Soymilk King fill out a checklist of menu items, a popular method of ordering food in East Asian restaurants. While Agnes read off the menu, my dad and Kelly checked off the orders. Meanwhile, I went around to the other side of the restaurant to see what was cooking in the kitchen.
Opening out into the street, the kitchen is where bread in varying shapes, sizes and degrees of flakiness is grilled and fried. These pipping hot, freshly fried goods are then whisked off into paper bags to be sold to hungry passerbyers or plated to be eaten by those ordering at the restaurant.

Hovering over a vat of hot oil and wielding a super long set of chopsticks, this unenthusiastic man nurses snaking strips of dough in the hot oil until they transform into properly puffed and golden you tiao (long, savory fried cruellers – a true art form).

Back at the table, our breakfast had arrived:

Kelly, Mom, Betty, and I ordered bowls of sweet soymilk, which consist of warm soymilk mixed in with sugar to create a soul-warming concoction just sweet enough to counterbalance the saltiness of the you tiao. Stirring is imperative to incorporate the sugar into the warm soymilk, and more sugar can be added as you please.

Agnes ordered the sweet soymilk with egg, the same as my sweetened soymilk, but enhanced with a frothy scrambled egg mixture. I prefer my eggs in salty dishes, but for those who who want a rich protein boost, this is the soymilk for you.

Dad and Zinnia got the salty soymilk, a mixture of salty soybean milk and cut-up bits of you tiao that sop up the flavorful milk, all topped with generous slivers of leek. Pour in a small dose of vinegar to taste and you’re set. This is a denser version of soymilk, which is a meal in and of itself, but like most things can always be accompanied by more fried stuff.

Sticky rice rolls are plump rolls of glutenous rice filled with a you tiao center and stuffed with dried meat floss. Dried meat floss — yeah, it sounds gross, but this Taiwanese specialty has a gentle sweet and salty flavor that goes wonderfully with any rice or dough. “Meat floss” is seasoned pork that has been dehydrated and shredded into fine, crumbly threads, creating a very distinct flavor-texture combination. Unfortunately, the King’s sticky rice rolls were a bit dry and bland.

You tiao wrapped with xiao bing is a double dose of fried carbohydrates. I never thought I’d say this, but double fried carbs might be a little too much fried carbs. Most of us ended up eating the you tiao, abandoning the denser surrounding xiao bing.

Freshly plucked from the cauldron of oil, this you tiao is too hot to handle, which is where the paper wrapping comes into play. Crisp on the outside, light and airy on the inside, this may be the best you tiao I’ve eaten yet.

Last but not least were the xiao long bao (soup dumplings). The doughy skin was thick and the pork inside moderately juicy, but not quite juicy enough to contend with some of the soup dumplings I’ve tasted. After discussing our food, we agreed that this style of xiao long bao would be better appreciated by Northern Chinese, who enjoy a good chewy dough, over us Southerners who prefer our xiao long bao with thin skin and gushing with molten soup. Speaking of molten soup dumplings, here are tips on how not to eat soup dumplings.

In short, if you find yourself at Soymilk King, stick to the breakfast basics: soymilk and you tiao. With the abundance of good food in Taipei, you’ll need to save some stomach room for all the other snacks you’ll see on the way.

Yong He Soymilk King
132 Fu Xing South Road Section 2
Taipei, Taiwan +886 (0)2 2702 1226

I wanted to ensure a good meal for their inaugural visit to Flushing, so I consulted with our friend Gary for some recommendations.  “What should I order?” I texted him.  An hour later, I got an email listing with instructions on what to order, divided into “cold apps” and “main dishes”.  One of the main dishes included one that was mysteriously called “enhanced pork”, which we sadly didn’t order.  I guess that’s for next time.  Just as I was closing the email, my eyes caught a glimpse of the last sentence — a few words of caution indicated by an asterisk:

*beware of the stinky tofu!  smells like someone stepped in dog shit

Taking Gary’s suggestions — and warning — into consideration, we picked out a bunch of dishes to try and share.  We started out with some cold appetizers, which were laid out in the display case towards the front of the restaurant.  This part of the ordering process was easy. I simply pointed and said “this one” with my limited Mandarin vocabulary.

Shredded fried bean curd with celery drizzled with garlicky sesame oil.

Having grown up eating beef ligaments with hot chili oil, a staple at restaurants serving Northern Chinese cuisine, I am accustomed to the texture and taste of them.  Served cold with a dense but chewy texture, the beef tendon accompanied by chili oil is not immediately spicy, although if you start eating mouthfuls of tendon the spiciness can start to creep up on you.  Although I’ve grown to like this taste and texture, Hope and Davis were not as fond of it, admitting that this was their least favorite dish.

Bamboo shoots with chili oil had a crunchy texture and nutty flavor.

Tea smoked duck with Hoisin sauce came with a crunchy skin and a beautifully smoky taste that was complimented by the hoisin sauce and scallion shreds.

The dry sauteed stringbeans were stir-fried in super high heat from wok cooking, (in Chinese the term is literally translated into “wok air”) browning the garlic and creating had a crisp crunchy exterior while maintaining the beans’ juiciness.

Submerged in a healthy amount of chili oil and fresh chilies, the fish fillet in fresh hot pepper was perfectly cooked and spiced with plenty of Sichuan peppers and spices.  Most of the hot chilies were hidden in the middle of the dish, which were intended to be stirred in.  Instead, we just worked our way towards the middle, each piece getting hotter and hotter.

Sichuan spiciness is different from that of salsa or curry, so even the spicier middle parts of the dish were not painfully spicy. Rather, these dishes are mildly hot and flavorfully spicy, which will at most make you feel a bit flushed and produce a few drops of perspiration but not dole out a full, mouth-on-fire sensation like that of strong Indian curries such as Vindaloo.

Last but not least were the peanut butter sweet sticky rice balls — a special request by Hope, who immediately was drawn to the peanut butter component (this came as no surprise; some of our favorite snacks freshman year consisted of bananas smothered with spoonfuls of peanut butter. Yes, I had a wholesale-sized jar of Skippy peanut butter from Costco).

These black sesame-filled glutinous rice balls were powdered with sugar and drizzled with a peanut butter sauce. Though I did find that they were not as hot (temperature-wise) as I’d like them to be.

Davis contemplatively ate his sticky rice ball..

Across the table, Hope took an unorthodox approach — eating it on an upside down spoon while simultaneously texting on her Blackberry.

Slurp

Although I am a seasoned eater of sticky rice balls and a self-professed lover of all things made from glutinous rice, I somehow encountered more difficulty eating them than both Hope and Davis.  Simply put, laughing and eating is a lethal combination. In this case, it resulted in a black sesame explosion that spilled into my spoon and onto my face.

Meanwhile, amidst all the sticky rice ball commotion, the staff sat at the table next to us, calmly unpacking and prepping a mountain of Chinese celery straight from the crate.

Spicy & Tasty
37-09 Prince Street, 1H
Flushing, NY 11354
718-359-1601

This is going to be my third time in Van Gogh Is Bipolar in the span of three weeks. My cousin Ashley introduced me to this small, beautiful hole in the wall when I was down in the dumps some two weeks ago, and the cafe’s pebbly courtyard, the violet fairy lights and a perfect cup of tea was the best defiance to a thoroughly rough day.

photo: Regina Belmonte

photo: Regina Belmonte

Located in 154 Maginhawa St. (a lovely street dotted with interesting cafes, antique shops, kitschy stores and small eateries), Van Gogh Is Bipolar is the brainchild – or in this case, the love child of Jetro – photographer, artist, and now cook and restaurant owner. Lovely how this amalgamation of things root themselves in the heart of the person- art and food, they are sensual things, but more importantly they are essential things.

The cafe is not meant for big crowds or loud crowds, for that matter. While it presents itself in a casual, laid back way (one must slip off their shoes at the doorway and pad around in their socked or bare feet) you can tell that this is a place where the gleam and glint of life come to nestle themselves between potent conversations.

Amidst art-work laden walls (this month it is Jason Moss’ figurations from the period before “he killed his passion for hate”), warm wooden floors, and a shamelessly ornate chandelier, there are stories to be told. It was just some time ago when a man proposed to a woman within the walls of the place.

So why ‘Van Gogh Is Bipolar’? It is undeniable how suggestive a title like this can be. Drawing from art and the psychological, one could go on for hours and hours sifting through the principle and philosophies (because there are things to be talked about) behind cerebral, sometimes abstract, things and their power to put more meaning into the concrete and simple, in this case, food.

The menu of Van Gogh is perplexing yet magnetic, there are little blurbs and stories to be read about the principle behind being bipolar, and the names of the dishes are a delight to read. Interestingly, all the names used to title Van Gogh’s dishes are bipolar people in real life.

I recently got to taste the President Clinton’s Manic Depressive Meal (Australian Lamb Chops with Black Mountain Rice and a garden salad for 255 PHP, roughly 6 USD ). Jetro had put in a special chili-kick when he asked me if I liked things ma-anghang (translation: spicy- I love anything spicy). The lamb was served atop a mound of black rice which was on top lettuce leaves, apple and tomato discs with chili powder. On the side were two sauces, a fish sauce to flavor the rice if desired, and a sweet, dark salty sauce to accompany the lamb. The salad was drizzled with honey and really brought the kaleidoscope of flavors together.

The lamb was nicely cooked and my favorite part was that the fat was not bland, and was in fact very very flavorful. I also liked that despite possessing a number of flavor layers in the dish (spicy, salty, sweet), it did not overwhelm the taste of the lamb – I like biting into a piece of lamb and actually tasting lamb and not just the seasonings and marinades used. The dish was satisfying in every sense, however I could not get enough of that sweet sauce and the black mountain rice!

It is good to end a meal at Van Gogh with a dessert (Mel Gibson’s Darkest Sin- a vodka shooter w honey, dark chocolate, an almond and other yummy, sexy things or sinful homemade silvanas). BUT. It is also highly recommendable to end it with a cup of tea. I find that a trip to Van Gogh is never complete without a hot cup of tea.

photo: Regina Belmonte

photo: Regina Belmonte

Van Gogh’s gem (amidst other gems) are their teas – at least it is the thing that most attracted me, being a self professed tea fiend. There’s something seductive and clandestine about tea. Perhaps it is in the slowness of the process, the steeping and extraction of things we can’t see with a naked eye and then allowing such mystery to enter into our bodies and interact with our make up.

The teas served revolve around the same idea the cafe is built upon – moods. The ingredients (which are all organic!) used in every dish on the menu is made to balance out the chemicals in the body to translate the individual’s mood into something positive through a dash of dopamine, serotonin or perhaps a teaspoon or two of endorphins? The teas (which are all locally grown in a farm in Isabel) are prime illustrations of this.

Each tea in the Van Gogh collection falls into a certain mood category- extra upper (my favorite), upper, light chill, happy chill, soothing and extra calming. I am partial to excitability and giddiness, so I have always chosen the Spanish Plum tea which is sour and pungent in a gorgeous amber color. In addition to the personalization of your tea, you get to pick a teapot of your choice. I am bad with choosing from a plethora of pretty things – I could take hours looking at Jethro’s teapots and examining them one by one, waiting for a certain teapot to spark out at me. But I don’t do this, I figure Van Gogh is a place I will frequent enough that perhaps I will be able to share some time with each one of them.

Once Jetro and the rest of the Van Gogh staff finish steeping your tea, it is brought out to you (whether you are in the courtyard or inside the cafe), complete with a miniscule goblet of wild golden Palawan honey (to eliminate anxiety!) and inside the cup is a singular, perfect fresh mint leaf, grown especially in Jethro’s herb garden. The Spanish Plum tea is a beautiful complement to the dark sweetness of the honey and the slight cool surprise of the mint leaf. Next time, I am hoping to try their Banana tea. I have long had a penchant for a good banana smoothie and I think it is high-time I try the counterpart.

Bringing together a contemporary Filipino conscience to gourmet food and art, Van Gogh poses a stark innovative streak in Filipino cuisine and the concept of a space for creative dynamics to move in different tangible yet intimate ways:

it is through the steam rising from a hot cup of tea, the secret messages written on that lit red wall, the sketches of somber old men, the purple fairy lights by the window, the silent cat that ambles Van Gogh’s floors, and you — drinking it all in.

Van Gogh is Bipolar
154 H Maginhawa Street
Sikatuna Village, Quezon City
The Philippines
(02) 394.0188
0922.824.3051
0922.824.3052

***

photo: Triccie Baquiran

According to the Food Section, Italians are expected to eat 40 million panettone this holiday season. What is panettone? A holiday sweet bread originating from Milan dotted with dried fruit, usually rum raisins and bits of citron.

Example of generic panettone in a red box

When the supermarket has red boxes of pre-packaged panettone stacked to the ceiling, it’s a strong indicator that the Holiday season is in full swing. Having heard tales of dry, stale and dense panettone, I’ve been hesitant to invest in some for myself. Luckily, my friend Gary, who works at Grandaisy Bakery, gifted me a loaf and I’ve been carving away at it like a turkey on Thanksgiving day.

Panettone from Grandaisy Bakery

Studded with zesty citron and plump rum raisins, and enhanced with a touch of honey, the panettone at Grandaisy is freshly baked. This panettone is perfect to soak up your morning coffee with but light and airy enough to eat on its own; totally unlike what I imagined panettone to be. When storing panettone, make sure to keep it wrapped tightly to prevent it from becoming hard and stale. Ok, now that I’m getting hungry, time to carve a slice for breakfast. Ciao!

Grandaisy Bakery
212.334.9435

73 Sullivan Street
New York, NY 10012

176 West 72nd Street
New York, NY 10023

250 West Broadway (at Beach St.)
New York, NY 10013

David Dale of Sidney’s Sun Herald daily newspaper recently declared phad thai one of Australia’s favourite take out dinners. As an ambassador for Thai food, this popular noodle dish has taken on the world. It seems like every Thai restaurant in America has it on the menu and packages of instant phad thai are even selling in mainstream supermarkets.

In Thailand, however, phad thai vies with boat noodles and fried rice as the ultimate comfort food. Any food centre or outdoor market inevitably has a phad thai stall which usually sells turnip cake fried phad thai-style and battered oysters as well. The oysters are fried with bean sprouts in a deliciously light, crispy egg batter and served with a healthy dose of sweet, sour and hot Sriracha chilli sauce. But that’s another blog post altogether.

It is a well-known fact that, in economic crises, traditional comfort foods return to popular favour and, in that paradox that can only exist in hard times, commonly found staples like phad thai start to get the glam treatment.

There are variations on the theme of phad thai popping up everywhere. In fact, Phad Thai Aree, a chic restaurant in Erawan Bangkok — a shopping mall with shops selling such designer labels as Marni, Burberry, Dries van Noten and Issey Miyake — serves practically nothing but different types of phad thai, from the traditional noodles to phad thai made with macaroni and even phad thai-style fried rice.

One particularly popular innovation may have been inspired by trendy low-carb diets popular with people who can afford the luxury of paying to stay thin: phad thai without noodles.

Like most Thai food, phad thai can require a lot of preparation. Ingredients need to be soaked, ground, mixed, minced, chopped and diced. The consolation, however, is that it takes but minutes to cook and, if you can recruit friends to help with the preparation, the whole thing can be done within fifteen minutes.

Phad Thai Aree
Lower Ground Floor
Erawan Bangkok
494 Rajadamri Road
Bangkok 10330
Thailand
+662 250-7648

For purists, nothing can compare to phad thai noodles made with Chantaburi Rice Sticks. These noodles are renowned throughout Thailand for their elastic, al dente texture and the tender crust they can get when pan-fried. If you can find Chantaburi Rice Sticks at your local Asian supermarket, get them.

The following recipe calls for such esoteric-sounding ingredients as Chinese salted radish but they can easily be found at a local Asian supermarket sold in little brown pots.

One note of caution when preparing any dish with bean sprouts: take care not to overcook them. If you do, the sprouts will become tough and stringy. The best way to describe when bean sprouts are done is to watch for when the ends are just wilted but the stems remain firm.

Phad Thai with Prawns
Serves 4

Ingredients:
1 lb of thin rice noodles
16 large prawns
4 tbs tamarind juice (if you can’t find tamarind juice, lime juice will do in a pinch but cut down the amount to 3 tbs)
3 tbs fish sauce
2 tbs sugar
½ cup water
2-4 tbs vegetable oil
1 shallot, finely minced
6 cloves of garlic, finely minced
¼ cup of dried small dried shrimp
½ lb of yellow tofu, diced
4 eggs, beaten
½ cup of unsalted, roasted peanuts, coarsely ground
1 tbs chilli powder (I know a tablespoon of chilli powder sounds like a lot but, hey, this is Thai food.)
2 tbs salted Chinese radish
1 lb bean sprouts, divided into two ½ lb batches

To Garnish:
2 limes, halved
½ lb bean sprouts
8 spring onions

Method:
1. Soak the noodles in cold water until needed for use.
2. Blanche the prawns in boiling water for three minutes and then immediately plunge into cold water. You want the prawns to just barely get that cooked pink colour but not to be too firm. Set aside. (If you’re really conscientious, you can have a bowl of ice water ready to plunge the prawns into but I make do with running them under cold water from the tap.)
3. Combine the tamarind juice, fish sauce sugar and water. Stir until the sugar is dissolved. Set aside.
4. Fry the shallots and garlic in the oil until they are just turning golden.
5. Add the dried shrimp and tofu. Cook for a minute or two, until it starts to brown a little at the edges, but only a little.
6. Add the blanched prawns and give them a couple of stirs to finish cooking them. Set aside. (I get lazy and just push it all to one side of the wok or frying pan.)
7. If the oil has been absorbed by the tofu-prawn mixture, add two more tablespoons and allow it to heat up for about a minute. Do not let it smoke. Add the eggs, allow them to cook for a minute and then stir to break them up into small pieces. You want chunks of omelette, not scrambled eggs.
8. Drain the noodles and add them to the tofu-prawn-egg mixture, stirring until the noodles feel pliable — soft but not mushy on your cooking spatula.
9. Add the tamarind juice mixture to the noodles and stir to combine well. It should be evenly distributed throughout the noodles, coating them lightly. Be patient. It might take a few minutes. I often use two spatulas and toss the noodles as I would pasta in a sauce.
10. Add the peanuts and chilli powder. Stir to combine.
11. Add the salted radish and the bean sprouts.
12. Immediately remove the noodles from the pan and serve, garnished with the lime, bean sprouts and spring onions.

Phad Thai without Noodles
Follow all the steps as above but with 2 lbs of bean sprouts. When the recipe calls for adding the bean sprouts into the stir-fry, add 1 lb.

Save the remaining pound of bean sprouts to add just before serving.

Along with lime and spring onions, I use deep-fried wonton skins as a garnish which completely defeats the aim of taking out the noodles to make phad thai low-carb but it’s too good to omit. The crispy crunch of fried dough makes a nice contrast to the vegetable crunch of raw bean sprouts. Combined with the phad thai flavours of salty, sweet, sour and hot, the pairing makes for culinary heaven.

In the meantime, while you lucky ones are wrestling with your turkeys at home, I recommend taking a break from basting to watch a few episodes of Posh Nosh on Youtube — a British TV program on BBC recommended to me by Elsapeth, the nicest bonnet wearing, bespectacled lady and owner of Podunk, a homey little nook of a tearoom in the heart of the East Village.

Podunk is where butter is used unsparingly and cookies are sprinkled with love..and sugar.  Like a cross between an antique store and a cozy country house kitchen, a varying assortment of tea pots and children’s books populate the shelves, which sit beside the brightly painted wooden furniture and a sundry of knickknacks.  Entering the tiny tearoom, I was transported from the dark, rainy streets of New York City into a warm, familiar place.

Sweet and buttery Podunk goodness

It was after she overheard the food-centric conversation my friend Davis and I were having, over our a pot of cardamom and pepper chai and a tray of buttery cookies and scones, that she recommended Posh Nosh.  If you’re a fan of dry, British humor and a lover of food (which I assume is the case, since you’re reading this), check out the first episode below:

Posh Nosh (Episode 1)

Podunk
231 E. 5th St., New York, NY 10003
nr. Second Ave.
212-677-7722