I was excited to see that Chef Shirley Cheng, professor at the Culinary Institute of America, chose to use black cod skin and tails as her main ingredient for her winning recipe this past Saturday at the Japanese Ingredient Culinary Challenge at the Restaurant Show.

Shirley Cheng demoing her Black Cod Skin and Tails alongside emcees Ron Hsu and Jenna Zimmerman

Her plate was not conventionally elegant. It was a humble composition that possessed an unspoken familiarity, reminding me of a typical dish served at a traditional Chinese restaurant — lacquered with a glistening brown glaze and served over a bed of blanched vegetables. There was not a micro green in sight.

But while the other two competitors masterfully plated their dishes and leveraged advanced French culinary techniques, what they fell short in was Japanese flavors. Professor Cheng’s fish skin and tails were the perfect vehicle to showcase the mirin, sake, rice vinegar, and soy sauce, which melded together beautifully in every bite.

I hope that Professor Cheng’s victory is an indication that there is a growing appreciation for more versatile and undiscovered parts of the animal. After all, chicken breasts and fish fillets can get a bit boring.

Here is Professor Cheng’s winning recipe:

Black Cod Skin and Tails

Ingredients
12 cloves of garlic
10 scallions
1/2 inch ginger, sliced
8 dried Chinese chilies, whole
2 lb fish skin and tail
1/4 cup soy sauce
1/4 cup sake
1/2 cup mirin
2 Tbsp sugar
1/2 cup Japanese rice vinegar
1/2 cup spring water
1/2 lb napa cabbage heart

Method
1. Remove all scales and rinse fish skin well.  Dry with paper towel.
2. Cut fish skin into two inch wide and three inch long pieces.
3. Cut scallion into three inch long sections.
4. Put scallions, garlic, and ginger in the bottom of a one gallon sauce pot.  Add fish skin and tails on top then add soy sauce, sake, mirin, sugar, water, and chilies.
5. Cut napa cabbage into three inch strips then blanch in water.  Remove and place on the plate.
6. Serve fish skin on top of napa cabbage or on the side.

*Note: do not stir during cooking.

A big thank you goes out to Ron Hsu, a friend and sous chef at Le Bernardin who won last year’s competition, for getting us badges for the show!

Just one short bus ride away from the bustling satellite Chinatown of Flushing, Queens is Bownie restaurant, a modest Sri Lankan eatery that has been owned and operated by Nanthini and Sri Kandharajah and their family for 11 years now.

While there are plenty of appetizing traditional Indian dishes on the menu, you’ll find that the Sri Lankan specialties really stand out. That night, dinner at Bownie was one in a continuing series of ambassador programs organized by Jeff Orlick, and Joseph Aranha of the Asian Arts and Cultural Alliance was our ambassador for the evening.  So, how exactly does an ambassador dinner work?  According to Jeff, this is what goes down: a guide (ambassador) “will order for the table and discuss what we are eating and why we are eating it. Not a classroom experience, but more of a familial gathering centered around the food.”

Just two weeks before, Joseph, Jeff and I set out to approach restaurants to participate in Asian Feastival, an event on Labor Day I helped produce. When Joseph brought us to Bownie, he first requested an order of their freshly steamed idiappams. Doused in hot mutton curry and flaky spiced desiccated coconut, these wheat noodle patties were a powerful trifecta of flavors and textures.  Spicy, nutty, and with varying textures coming from the noodles, curry and coconuts, everything worked.  Joseph instructed us to dip the idiappams into the curry like a tortilla chip into salsa, and then we were to finish them with a light sprinkling of coconut chutney. I somehow managed to inhale 5 idiappams even after a full day of eating.

I peeked into the kitchen just in time to catch Nanthini press out idiappams from a crazy-looking contraption.  The wheat dough mixture is squeezed through the press, somewhat reminiscent of play-doh spaghetti.

Then each patty is individually steamed in a little plastic mesh container.

Skip to two weeks later, and this was the menu for the ambassador dinner:

MENU

APPETIZERS
Medu Vadai and Dhal (Lentil) Vada

ENTREES
Idiappam with mutton curry
Uppumai with cocunut chutney
Egg Dosa

DESSERT
Puttu with coconut milk and sugar
Ceylon Tea

That’s Joseph. Ray and Sakiko, to Joseph’s left and right.

For our first dish, we were each given a plate with a medu vada and dhal vada with a side of coconut chutney.  Like salty, spiced donuts, the medu variety was made with rice and the dhal version with lentils.  We dipped both into the accompanying pale green chutney, flecked with coconut and what appeared to be coriander, which might be responsible for the green hue. The chutney also contained some other mysterious spices that, when eaten in spoonfuls, can give your mouth a real kick.  After a few bites, our tongues began to tingle and our eyes dashed towards of the drink cooler.

To ameliorate the spicy chutney situation, we ordered some Thums Up soda, the Indian equivalent to Coca-Cola (apparently acquired by the Coca Cola Company too). It is a fizzier, less sweetened version of its American cousin made with sugar instead of corn syrup.

Plates of idiappams were passed around, and they were just as delicious as I remembered.  This may have been the most popular and most well-spiced dish of the night.

Since Ray is a vegetarian, his plate of idiappams came with a side of sambhar, which is an earthy vegetable stew made with tamarind and other spices, instead of curry.

As soon as our idiappams disappeared, plates of uppumai arrived.  Uppumai may resemble mashed potatoes from afar, but they are actually made by mixing fluffy semolina flour with a mild medley of vegetables, herbs and spices. Eaten alone, they were a bit bland, but there again was the omnipresent coconut chutney. The uppumai served as the perfect carb vehicle to sop up the flavorful chutney.

The egg dosa had the density of a firm omelette and came with a dollop of flaky spiced coconut. Biting into the doughy dosa, I could taste the ever so delicate sour traces of the fermented rice flour.

Our dinner concluded with a plate of puttu, a compression of course ground rice, coconut and water.  By itself, the puttu had a flaky texture, like oat bran.  It wasn’t until a few bites in that I noticed the sweetened coconut milk, camouflaged against the white plate. When poured on top of the puttu, the sweet coconut milk added a welcomed flavor and moisture to the dessert. We washed it all down with a complimentary cup of hot milk tea.

At the end of the dinner, I collected our dues and finished with a group shot of the diners.

And one of the Kandharajah family too.

Thanks to Joseph, Jeff, and the Kandharajahs for this introduction to Sri Lankan cuisine.

Bownie Restaurant
143-05 45th Avenue
Flushing, NY 11355

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

“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

Back from London and tired from bland British food, Hope had only one request when I asked her where she wanted to go out for lunch.  “I need some SPICE!”, she pleaded.  Somehow I managed to convince Hope and Davis to wake up early on a cold day and venture into the inner depths of Queens for a taste of Sichuan cuisine.

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

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

While picking up a bottle of wine from Di Palo’s in Little Italy, we asked Lou Di Palo for a pasta recommendation.  “This will be the best pasta you have ever tasted,” he assured us, presenting us with a burgundy box of perfectly coiled dried pasta.  “You can even eat it plain, it’s that good.”  Tonnarelli is similar to Spaghetti, except it has a square cross section rather than a circular one.  Convinced by his testimonial, we headed back to my place to make a simple Marinara sauce to accompany the pasta.

For a perfect, slow simmering Marinara sauce, you’ve got to peel off the tomato skin.  The first step is to cut an “x” on the bottom of each tomato, then blanch them quickly for 5 minutes.

Once blanched, they’ll be easy to peel.  Don’t forget to also cut off the little tomato nub on the top where it once connected to the vine.

Mince a healthy amount of garlic (I like my sauce nice and garlicky); 4 or 5 cloves is a fair amount.  Roughly chop up the tomatoes.

Josh very slowly and gingerly peeled 5 Roma tomatoes. Meanwhile, I feverishly minced the garlic.  “Um Josh.. can we do this a little quicker? I’m getting hungry!” I quipped impatiently.  “Veronica, if we make this quickly it won’t taste good.  You have to put love and care into the sauce,” Josh replied, gesturing with a half-peeled tomato in his hand.

After the peeling, chopping, and mincing is done, heat up a pan on medium high heat, add 3 Tbsps of olive oil, the finely chopped garlic, followed by the roughly chopped up tomatoes.

Stir it up!

Let the sauce reduce for about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. By this point in the night, it was close to 9 pm and I was so ravenous that I began to gnaw on a few of the figs I had sitting on my counter to subdue my hunger.

We let the sauce reduce for 20 minutes, watching the tomatoes melt and liquefy into a chunky, viscous consistency.  The sauce reduced a lot, sinking an inch down from where it originally was in the pan, so if you like your pasta saucy, use more a few more tomatoes.

Tear up a handful of basil leaves and throw them into the sauce and stir some more. Adding the basil in last keeps the fresh basil flavor.

While the sauce is close to being fully reduced, boil a pot of salted water, add the Tonnarelli for about four and a half minutes for a perfect al dente.

Stir in the pasta into the sauce and add salt to taste.

FINALLY, the pasta was complete!  Just as I was at the brink of collapse, we filled our plates, crawled up the stairs to the roof and filled our howling stomachs with pasta.  Lou was right, it was some of the best pasta I’ve tasted — a perfectly buoyant texture with a rich egg flavor, and of course it was further enhanced with the lovingly made Marinara sauce.  And I have to admit, this was all totally worth the wait.

Di Palo’s Fine Foods
200 Grand St
(between Mott St & Mulberry St)
New York, NY 10013
(212) 226-1033

The next day, while my cousin Wesley was over at my apartment, we told him about our grand lunch plans.  “So, why are you going all the way there to get pizza?” he asked.  Kelly then went on to explain, concluding with “…he then slowly cuts the arugula with his scissors.  Want to come?”  We didn’t have to do much more convincing after that; the three of us set our lunch date.  Later the next day, while reading some more reviews online, I stumbled across an online review titled “Sink Your Teeth Into $14 Motorino Pizza, Skip Brooklyn Commute”.  The title alone challenged the need to venture deep into Brooklyn for pizza. We did our own investigating, and upon evaluating the time it’d take to commute to Di Fara’s in Brooklyn versus Motorino in Manhattan, our trip to Motorino would require less transit time.  After extensive deliberation, we made the executive decision to go to Motorino.  Did Motorino live up to the glowing review?  Well, we won’t know until our trip to Di Fara.  In the meantime, here’s an idea of what you can find at Motorino if you’re hungry in the East Village on a weekday afternoon.

If you’re planning on going to Motorino for lunch, first of all, be sure you receive the special lunch menu.  12 clams (not literally) will get you a whole pizza pie and either a green salad or ice cream.  You can order take-out too, which can be boxed up and ready to go.  If you just can’t wait to bite into the doughy Neapolitan pizza goodness, but don’t have time to sit down for formalities, get it to go “a libretto”, in which your entire pizza gets folded taco-style and wrapped in a sheet of wax paper, so you can literally eat it on-the-go.

A framed photo of an Italian lady eating her pizza “a libretto” above our table serves both aesthetic and instructional purposes.

Fresh from the oven, the pizzas have a thick, misshapen crust mottled with puffy charred dough bubbles.  I ordered the classic Margharita, topped with molten medallions of buffalo mozzarella and basil leaves.  All of Motorino’s pizzas are made with buffalo mozzarella; a big plus in my book.  The melted fresh mozzarella is almost liquid, melting and mixing with the tomato sauce and into each other.

Take a closer look.

Kelly opted for the Brussels sprouts pizza, a white pizza without sauce, that was also topped with crispy pieces of pancetta.  While I personally prefer tomato sauce on my pizzas, this was an excellent topping combination.  The saltiness of the pancetta worked well with the crispy shreds of Brussels sprouts.  There were also pieces of garlic thrown into the mix as well.

My only complaint about this pizza would be the abundance of burnt parts.  A little too carcinogen-laden for my taste.

Wesley decided to go with the Sopressata pizza.  A spicier Italian rendition of the classic American pepperoni topping, the pie was sprinkled with red pepper flakes, for an extra kick.

Wesley and Kelly discussing how hungry we were, among other things.

While I really enjoyed Motorino’s pizza, I did have some qualms about it as well.  As noted in a post by Slice, posing the question, “The Manhattan Motorino: Is It as Good as the Brooklyn Location?” I couldn’t tell you myself, not having been to the original Williamsburg, Brooklyn location, but pizza connoisseur Adam Kuban makes a valid observation when he says, “The things I noticed were that the lip of the pizza seemed much more puffy than at the Brooklyn location and that the pie overall seemed more charred. And while the lip, or cornicione, was puffy and done well, the interior of the pie was a little droopier than those that the Brooklyn location typically puts out.” His description was right on.  I guess some tweaks still need to be made to perfect the Manhattan Motorino pizza, and this only means that I will be adding Motorino Brooklyn alongside Di Fara’s on the World to Table to-eat list.  Stay tuned for more New York pizza updates!

Kindai tuna is born and raised at Kinki University in Higashi-Osaka, Japan.  Born in the laboratory and hand fed wild catch, they are raised in better conditions than other farm-raised tuna and offer a more sustainable alternative to wild bluefin tuna.

The introduction of the lecture was led by Nick Sakagami, who described Kindai tuna as “couch potatoes” in comparison to their “athletic” wild counterparts.  Less active and therefore subsisting on less mercury-laden wild catch, the mercury levels in Kindai tuna are only .6 parts per million, while wild tuna often have levels of 1 to 2 parts per million.

Organized by the Gohan Society, this demonstration was a rare opportunity to taste Kindai tuna.  Raising tuna by these methods is pricey–about 200 Kindai tuna are successfully raised every year and only 1 to 2 fish shipped to the United States every week.

The official Kindai Tuna seal of approval indicates and ensures that the has been raised at Kinki University.  Now, for the cutting of the tuna!

We watched as the three chefs wrestled the fish and skillfully attacked it with an artillery of sharp knives.  First, an incision was made along the side of the fish, then through the gill to take off the head with a long square-shaped knife.  The rest was then cut up into more manageable segments, using smaller, precise knives, and laid aside to be carefully sliced into fillets later on.

Since the fish is killed by stunning it with electricity, there is often some bleeding near the spine–that part is sliced away by Chef Suzuki and saved to be cooked later on.  Electric shock is a common slaughtering technique used to quickly stun and kill fish.

Some more slicing.

Small tasting plates of tuna were passed around for everyone to try, each bite-sized piece a different gradient of pink and from a different part of the fish.  The buttery “oh toro” and “chu toro” differed slightly in fattiness, but both were equally delicious and smooth.  The leaner “akami” and “hakaochi” had a gamier taste and buoyant texture, while the small spoonful of “assorted scrape” burst with a bright punch of citrus and a hint of onion flavor from the thin scallion shavings.  (Check out the plating cheat sheet below for some proper Japanese tuna terminology)

The correct way to eat sashimi, especially with freshly grated wasabi, is the double-dipping method.  First dip one side of the fish generously in the wasabi, then follow through with a second dip into the soy sauce, gliding the portion of the fish that has not come in contact with the wasabi quickly across the pool of soy sauce–be careful as to not submerge the whole piece.  This method preserves the spicy, subtle taste of wasabi without being muddled by the saltiness of the soy sauce.  According to Chef Suzuki, mixing together soy sauce with fresh wasabi overpowers and ruins the wasabi flavor.  Unlike the spicy green goop you find at cheaper sushi places that is usually made from a powder, fresh wasabi has a lighter, refreshingly pungent flavor, since it is not mixed in with horseradish or other fillers.

The bigger slabs are pared down into clean, long rectangular slabs, ready to be sliced into sashimi-sized slivers.

Second round of tasting was cooked tuna. Little white ceramic bowls containing chunks of broiled tuna with caramelized onions were passed around for us to try.  Midway through our tuna, Chef Kobayashi emerged from the kitchen with a tray of tuna spines and asks, “Sorry there is not enough for everyone, but who wants to try?”.  Luckily, I was one of the few who looked eager enough to deserve a taste of broiled tuna spine.  The spine was cut up into individual vertebrae, each a tiny shot of briny cartilage topped with a sprinkling of sesame seeds and chopped scallions.  The meat surrounding each vertebrae charred to a smoky perfection and packed with flavor from the bone.

Chef Kobayashi extracts the eyeballs with a sharp knife.

Broiled tuna brain (above) tasted surprisingly similar to the meat of the fish, except with a denser texture and richer flavor.

For the more adventurous eaters, chunks of freshly cut vertebrae were passed around.  It was more gelatinous and gooey than the cooked version but meatier around the bone.  After slurping up the cartilage I proceeded to gnaw the meat off the bone.

Chef Anita Lo trying some blackened tuna jerky.

Although only certain parts of the fish are eaten raw, sashimi-style, none of it goes to waste.  It may look like a gruesome murder scene from a Quentin Tarantino movie, but the collar, eyes, and brain are cooked and made into other delicious tuna dishes.

Even the fatty scrapings from the skin of the tuna are used to as filling for maki rolls.

At the end of the demonstration, slabs of tuna were sold, individually wrapped in plastic and packed into iced bags for those who wanted to bring tuna home for dinner. After my $30 worth of medium-fatty tuna was all weighed and paid for, I snuck into the kitchen sweetly asked one of the chefs for some fresh wasabi.  A quick glance and a nod later, I was out the door and on my way home, with wasabi and tuna in tow.

Gohan Society
200 Chambers St
New York, NY 10007-1131
(212) 385-3550

French Culinary Institute
462 Broadway
New York, NY 10013-2618
(888) FCI-CHEF
(212) 219-8890

Coming up: Prepping Kindai tuna sashimi at home

Hello World (to-Table fans). My name is Kelly, and I’m writing to you from my home away from home, Poughkeepsie, NY. My real home is actually in an apartment with my sister Veronica, creator of this blog. But I currently live with three friends in a house near Vassar College, where I am a student.

That’s enough about me. What about FOOD? Like my sister, I have acquired quite a refined palate, which is a blessing and a curse, as the dining hall that “nourished” me for four semesters is not cutting it anymore. Good-bye meal plan and hello kitchen!

After eleven hours of epic cleaning, the kitchen we inherited bloomed from a museum of ancient pot lids and broken George Foreman products to the real heart of the house. We cleaned and restocked the fridge, stuffed our pantry with bags of pasta and rice, and hung up new cutting boards and pans. This is where raspberry flapjacks are made at two in the morning, borscht is stewed between classes, and tea and coffee flow endlessly. Here is where the magic happens!

Last night, instead of reading books, I was thinking about the magnificent stock of produce we had in our refrigerator. My housemates and I purchased a farm share from the Poughkeepsie Farm, so every Saturday, we bring our tote bags to the farm and pick out ten pounds of fresh vegetables and then excitedly brainstorm recipes on the short car ride home. Having chosen three plump long Chinese eggplants, I was moved to introduce some of my mom’s home cooking to the house. One of my favorite dishes is incredibly simple: steamed eggplant stuffed with chopped scallions and drizzled with soy sauce and hot oil.

So I pushed all books and syllabuses aside, descended to the kitchen, turned on the radio, and began making dinner. I sliced our eggplants in half and steamed the halves for twelve minutes, making sure to also tend to the pot of Thai rice cooking away on the adjacent burner. After steaming the eggplants, I arranged them on a dish and gently cut each half longitudinally like a hot dog bun, creating a piping hot opening for me to stuff with chopped scallions. Then I heated up a couple teaspoons of canola oil. Having had a recent bad experience with oil while frying arepas, I made my housemate David spoon the oil over the dish of eggplant while I delighted in the sizzle of scallions instantly cooking upon impact from a distance. I then whisked up a mixture of soy sauce and chili sauce and poured it over each eggplant half.

The dish was served up with another simple favorite of mine: tomato and egg stir-fry. I sliced up an assortment of tomatoes from the farm and sautéed them in canola oil with a little salt and a sprinkle of sugar. While they cooked, I beat three eggs together and then added them to the wok, making sure to turn down the heat a little so that they didn’t cook too quickly. This way, the scrambled eggs mix with the juices of the tomatoes and develop a soft, silky texture.

For a third dish, I drained one can of baby corn, cut them into more manageable, even more baby-like pieces, and sautéed them lightly with garlic, spinach and a little bit of chicken stock. When the final dish was done, we brought them all out to the porch with a big steaming pot of rice and a pitcher full of Poughkeepsie’s finest tap water.

The vegetables from the farm were amazingly sweet. The steamed eggplants came out soft yet firm. They soaked up the sauce on the plate, leaving not quite enough for all of us to spoon over our rice. The juices from the cherry tomatoes flavored each tuft of scrambled egg, and the spinach and corn retained a crispness that accompanied the other dishes wonderfully. My housemate Lily declared this was “way better than Hunan Village!”

Eating these dishes (and hearing the clinking of chopsticks against rice bowls) reminded me of having dinner with my own family. As the four of us chowed down, I felt so contented that I had left the dorms to come live in this house. Here, I can evoke the comforts of home and share them with friends. And better yet, my friends did all the dishes and I was gifted an ice cream sandwich for dessert.