On the Taco Tuesdays of my youth, the menu was always the same: fat flour tortillas, stuffed with black olives, mild cheddar, lettuce, tomato and ground beef, sometimes seasoned with spiced tomato sauce to add a weird Italian-American flourish. As an adult, I’ve mostly abandoned this style in favor of less Americanized preparations, partially a consequence of living with a vegetarian with a highly specific cheese allergy (hint: it’s not lactose). It’s hard, however, not to look back fondly on the old yellow cheese standby, especially as a member of a generation in which the casual gringo taco was perhaps at its prime, dished out at community socials and high school proms (yes, I attended a prom with a “Make Your Own Taco” station).
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China is a big place, one whose seemingly infinite variety of regional sub-cuisines is further complicated by hastening modernization and circuitous internal emigration. I’m still nowhere near finished working through the ever-expanding options offered at Chinese restaurants in New York, and the growing infusion of Northern and Western immigrants into the city’s composite cuisine only makes attempting to do so more of a fool’s errand. There’s also the additional difficulty that, even if something appears to be unavailable in Flushing or Sunset Park, it may just be under-reported (no one can check every menu, especially when some aren’t even entirely in English) or operating under a different name, which I suspect may be the case with the exotic delicacy sometimes known as Golden Sand. I was put on to this stuff by Carolyn Phillips’ fantastic Madame Huang’s Kitchen; in short, it’s a rich combination of salted egg yolks, garlic and onion, which get wok fried, then joined in the pan by any variety of edible matter, usually vegetables or seafood.
When I started writing this post, there were (to my knowledge) no Somali restaurants in New York City. There now appears to be one, in some stage of soft-opening up in Harlem. This doesn’t alleviate the fact that the entire East African coast, from Sudan all the way down to Swaziland (and excepting the obvious Ethiopian) is barely represented in the NY metropolitan area, while West African eateries dot the Bronx, Upper Manhattan and parts of Brooklyn. Some useful maps here note language disbursement across the five boroughs, confirming the presence of Ethiopian Amharic speakers in the Rockaways, but little representation elsewhere. Without this access point, the best way to peek into these mysterious cuisines is a little Googling. After preparing a Somali bizbaz sauce to liven up some leftover roasted potatoes, I became curious about the specifics of more substantial meals. Perched on the easternmost edge of the continent, Somalia has absorbed influences not only from colonialist occupiers (fascist spaghetti) but from nearby Arabian-peninsula nations, as well as India. One of these, the flatbread known as lahooh (or lahoh or laxoox), has roots in nearby Yemen, which in my experience appears to be one of the world’s preeminent bread-producing nations. Producing a healthy stack of these pancakey discs from this recipe, a few mistakes were made, including an evident lack of bubbles, but the relative idea survived. These were consumed in three different forms, one involving a further transformation of this recipe, with the lahooh stacked to create a sort of frittata, with further substitutions of pimenton (good in everything) and fresh garlic scapes for the scallions. The other was an American-style riff on the traditional breakfast lahooh, served with of ghee and honey, with the addition of sweet eggs, flavored with cardamom, topped with the proprietary complement of maple syrup and bananas. The filling tasted like the top of French toast. I consumed the last of the lahooh in the most traditional manner, by itself with a generous layer of honey and butter, which was probably the best use of all.
On a winter visit to Elmhurst’s venerable SriPraPhai, I’d planned to order the Haw Mok, a fish curry custard not commonly found around these parts. It was no longer on the menu, and rather than use MenuPages invaluable ‘Find-a-Food’ function to scare up another version elsewhere, I set down to replicating the dish myself. First, a trip to Bangkok Center Grocery on Mosco Street, where I purchased some Thai essentials, as well as an unfortunate squid snack that’ll be the subject of a future post. Then fresh red snapper from Mermaid’s Garden, and some banana leaves left over from a New Year’s Eve barbacoa, with structuring provided by this recipe. Despite a slightly-too-liquidy broth, which collapsed a few of the wrappers like overfilled backyard pools, the dish came together beautifully, toothsome chunks of fish floating in a curry-flavored custard, the overflow providing perfect seasoning for a side of jasmine rice.
Haw mok (also known as mok / amok / ho mok / hor mok, mok pa, etc.), has roots in Cambodia, Laos and Thailand, with plenty of regional quirks distinguishing the different versions. The Cambodian variety utilizes the spice mix Kroeung, while the Lao might involve dill and a different use of banana leaves, although it seems likely that most variations occur from personal preference rather than along strict national lines. All of these preparations, with their baseline of fish mousse simmered in sauce, seem to be derived from the French quenelle (itself rooted in the German knödel), a fine-dining delicacy left behind in Indochina after colonial occupation, then transformed into something entirely new. One important lesson learned too late: kaffir lime leaves should be julienned, not sliced, thus eliminating the need to work through their thick, waxy exteriors. Few foods are as perfect for fusion as sandwiches, which whether in Dagwood monumental style or miniature snack size allow for a variety of differing ingredients to share one bready meeting place. Over the span of one week I consumed four fusion-oriented sandwiches, prepared with varying degrees of success: 1 - Paneer Achari Tikki / Polenta / Orange Tomatoes / Cilantro / Tamarind & Date Chutney: A leftover serving of these delectable cheese kebabs paved the way for a vaguely Indian-themed sandwich, using the ubiquitous tamarind date chutney (familiar as part of the omnipresent trio of condiments offered at Indian restaurants), also available in bottle form. A previous attempt at haphazardly pairing lamb shami kebab with polenta having proven successful, I embarked on the larger scale effort of mixing mild corn pap with Subcontinental flavors, fresh herbs and cherry tomatoes. The result was possibly the most successful of these four sandwiches, and also the only photograph taken under ideal circumstances. Fair warning that the backdrop will only grow more rumpled, and the staging more haphazard, as we continue.
Inspired by the evocatively titled autumn dish, photographed on one of the first dark evenings of the season, a quick attempt to eat like a Japanese college student:
From bottom center: The aforementioned potatoes, also known as sweet sweet potatoes, reminiscent of Bao Si Taro but with a darker, deeper taste: 1.5 large ones roasted 30 minutes at 400, then pan fried in caramelized mixture of sugar (3tb), mirin (2tsp) and dark soy sauce (1tsp) and topped with sesame seeds. BL: Tofu Toast, a sort of Nippon-style Welsh Rarebit, with the consistency of soft scrambled eggs: 1/4 block of strained tofu smashed up with 2tb mayo, 1 tb soy and a squirt of hot sauce, spread onto crusty bread, topped with grated parmesan and nori strips and toasted. TL & TR: Quick miso soup, reconstituted from remnants of matzo ball broth for bonus Rosh Hashanah flavor. TC: Pan fried frozen gyoza topped with scallions BR: Sweet corn (roasted 30 min at 400) rolled in sesame oil and sprinkled with togarashi. |
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