New Ways to Boost Your Grain Power 2: Congee!

 fig. a:  Danny hearts Chinatown

There were numerous things to like about Lucky Peach's special on "Chinatown"(#5, Fall 2012)--it's an  issue of the magazine that we've gone back to repeatedly, and every time we seem to find something new hiding within.  But probably our favourite feature was the one on Danny Bowien and his love affair with Chinese food.  This might seem self-evident for a story about the chef of Mission Chinese Food NYC appearing in an issue on Chinese-American foodways, but Bowien is Korean-American and he grew up in Oklahoma, and the impression you get from the article is that New York's Chinatown continues to be a source of complete wonderment.  As Chris Ying puts it in the foreword:

On his days off from cooking Chinese food at Mission Chinese Food, Danny eats Chinese food.  Whenever I come to New York, he immediately brings me to Chinatown to show me what new gem he's unearthed.

The article features some typically tripped-out Mission Chinese-style Chinese-American fare, like Bowien's "Chinese McDonald's" spread, consisting of pigtail nuggets with seaweed fries and three dipping sauces (sweet & sour, General Tso, and spicy mustard), but we were most attracted to the more traditional recipes that bookend it.  (After all, the title of the article is "Cooking What Chinese People Eat:  Recipes by Danny Bowien.")  And we were especially attracted to the recipe for rice porridge, a.k.a. congee, that kicks off the article.

Montreal isn't much of a congee town.  At least it's not enough of one to support a large congee-centric enterprise such as a Congee Palace, Congee Village, Congee Garden, or a Congee Queen (or a Palais Gruau, Village Gruau, Jardin de Gruau, or a La Reine du Gruau, for that matter).  And, frankly, neither of us could claim to be too well-versed in the pleasures of congee--we'd only had disappointing experiences in the past.  But there was something about the purity and the simplicity of this recipe, something about the ingenious technique behind it, that intrigued us.  Plus, we'd prepared and eaten countless Asian breakfasts of all stripes over the years, but we still didn't know a whole lot about Chinese breakfast, aside from dim sum and cold leftovers out of the takeout containers, and Bowien made a pretty good case for it:

...there's no more fundamental Chinatown breakfast dish than rice porridge.  It's total stick-to-your-ribs stuff that'll keep you full the whole day.  It's quick and cheap, and couldn't be simpler to make.

As an additional bonus, the recipe involved toasting the rice, which made it ideal for this series.  So a few weeks ago, we went to our local butcher to pick up an organic chicken, we measured some jasmine rice, we opened up our issue of Lucky Peach, and we got to work.



 fig. b & c:  preparing the bird

Rice Porridge, a.k.a. Congee

1 whole chicken, preferably with head and feet
1 celery stalk
1 carrot
2 cups white rice
8 qts water
cheesecloth
2 chopsticks

toppings of your choice (such as toasted sesame seeds, chopped cilantro, egg yolks, salmon roe, smoked eel, sea urchin, etc.)

Salt the chicken heavily inside and outside the cavity.  Make sure you rub salt under the wings.  Stuff the cavity with the carrot and celery stalk.  Refrigerate overnight. 

Bundle the chicken in a large piece of cheesecloth and tie it off.  The cheesecloth needs to be big enough that you'll be able to tie the excess cloth to the side of a stockpot in a knot. 

Toast the rice in a dry stockpot over medium heat.  Don't rinse the rice first.  Here, you want the starches on the surface of the rice to thicken the porridge.  Also, be careful not to burn the rice.  Stir constantly until it is lightly toasted and aromatic--just a few minutes.

Add the water and bring to a boil over medium heat.  Starting with cold water and boiling over medium heat (as opposed to high heat) will yield a lighter, cleaner soup.

Once the porridge boils (be patient, this will take a while), lower the chicken in and tie the cheesecloth to the handle of the pot, so the bird doesn't sit on the bottom and burn.  

 fig. d:  venting the pot

Vent the pot with a pair of chopsticks by balancing the chopsticks on opposite ends of the pot.  Point one toward you, and the other away from you, then rest the lid on the chopsticks.  (Bowien notes:  "My cooks used to burn this porridge because they thought they knew a better way to vent the pot, but this is the way grandmothers do it.  Trust me."  We note:  this method works perfectly.  It both vents the pot and catches the condensation.  The result is an ideal cooking temperature and maximum flavour.) 

Cook at medium heat for 45 minutes to an hour.  The rice should be very soft but not completely exploded into mush.  Pull the chicken out and shock it in ice water.  Once it's cooled, you can slide it and use it as a garnish or any other application that calls for a nicely poached chicken.  Because that's exactly what you get:  a nicely poached chicken with hints of rice flavour. 

Season with fish sauce and salt.  Bowien suggests:  "Garnish with chopped cilantro, sesame seeds, an egg yolk, and your choice of toppings--smoked eel, ikura, uni, whatever." 

 fig. e:  Danny Bowien's rice porridge

Bowien claims that this recipe produces "4-6 servings," but, in fact, it makes enough for at least 12.

 fig. f:  we heart leeks

We followed his advice to a point, but instead of going the seafood route, we went the pork and vegetables route.  Specifically, I made some sweet & sour Chinese-style ribs, and Michelle sautéed some leeks, as well as some baby bok choy.  Why?  Well, we were pretty sure it would taste great.  Plus, there must have been something about Bowien's description of rice porridge as "total stick-to-your-ribs stuff" that struck a chord.  And, finally, we had a feeling that sweet & sour caramel would be a pretty nice thing to drizzle over the congee as a finishing touch.  We were right.

The result is the very definition of comfort food, as delicate, satisfying, and warming a variation on chicken soup as you're likely to find.  The texture is somewhere between risotto and cream of wheat, if that makes any sense.  It may be "total stick-to-your-ribs stuff," but it's definitely not stodgy.  And it's also another great way to increase your grain power.

aj

Bo Knows

Speaking of wraps, I still remember our first experience of Momofuku, way back in 2006, vividly.

fig. a: Momofuku!

Like virtually everyone else, the dish that first won our hearts was David Chang's now legendary, oft-imitated steamed pork buns, with its supremely succulent braised Berkshire pork. But the dish that left a lasting impression was the ssäm.

At the time, I had the following to say about the experience:

The true revelation of our luncheon, however, was my Ssäm. I have to confess, at the time that I ordered it, I really had little idea what exactly I was ordering. The ingredients--"Berkshire pork, rice, edamame, onions, pickled shiitake, kimchi"--all sounded great to me, but I was expecting some kind of a fried rice dish, or possibly even a rice-based soup.

fig. b: Momofuku ssäm

What we got, instead, was a burrito--a clever Korean-American take on the Mexican-American classic. In general, we're a little skeptical when it comes to "fusion cuisine," but here was another instance of Chang taking chances and finding (not forcing) culinary affinities. The results were brilliant--but, then again, as huge fans of Mission-style burritos and Korean food, we were pretty much an ideal audience for Momofuku's ssäm burrito.

Chang writes about his ssäm burritos with humor and a healthy dose of self-deprecation in Lucky Peach #2. In fact, his opening line baldly states, "In 2005, I thought I had the greatest idea in the world: I was going to serve Korean burritos." And he goes on to explain the logic behind his brainchild:

It wasn't that much of a stretch of the imagination: Koreans wrap up everything. Go to a summer barbecue with enough Koreans and one of them will eat his burger wrapped in a lettuce leaf just because that's how we do it. Bossäm is a traditional dish where you sit around a big plate of pork belly (and sometimes oysters) and wrap up mouthful after mouthful in napa cabbage.

fig. c: ssäm burrito spread

But, overall, Chang's piece reads more like an attempt to restore the reputation of his poor Korean burrito (and poke fun at himself) in the aftermath of the Korean taco phenomenon: "I was such a dumbass... (A year or two later, my good friend Roy Choi started doing Korean Tacos in L.A. Now he's so successful I want to be him instead of me.)"

Now, it's easy to make your own ssäm burritos at home. Chang's Bo ssäm recipe has appeared in Momofuku (the cookbook), in Lucky Peach #1, and elsewhere (such as Sam Sifton's New York Times article on Chang's version, "The Bo Ssam Miracle"). And in Lucky Peach #2, Chang provides a complete recipe for his original ssäm burritos.

But when I finally got around to preparing Chang's Bo Ssäm at home a few weeks ago, it struck me that he had missed out on a golden opportunity. As much as I love tacos, including Korean tacos, I still love burritos enormously. And while tacos might offer more opportunities for variation and innovation, there's one category where burritos have tacos beat hands down: breakfast.

Unless you're feeding a pack of coyotes, you're probably going to have some bo ssäm and some bo ssäm fixings leftover after your next bo ssäm-athon. And you're probably going  to find yourself so ravenous for the taste of bo ssäm again, and, in all likelihood, so incredibly hungover, that you're going to want to dig in to those leftovers sooner rather than later (like, for breakfast, the very next day). Just make sure you have some nice, big flour tortillas on hand, as well as some eggs, when you do. Then you can make yourself some bo ssäm breakfast burritos, or as we like to call them...

Ssäm Bburritos

1 extra-large flour tortilla, steamed or microwaved until warm
roast pork shoulder, Bo ssäm-style, reheated
refried short-grain rice
1 egg, fried, poached, or scrambled (depending on how you like it)
kimchi
quick-pickled cucumbers
quick-pickled radishes
ginger-scallion sauce
ssäm sauce

Pile the ingredients high, but not so high that you can't actually close the burrito.

fig. d: ssäm bburrito 1

Roll and fold the burrito up tightly, and wrap with aluminum foil.

fig. e: ssäm bburrito 2

Devour.

Repeat as needed.

[we'd like to think this recipe is a Momofuku/AEB co-production, but mostly it relies on recipes from Momofuku by David Chang and Peter Meehan]

How did they turn out? Well, they tasted like "the greatest idea in the world."  The very greatest.

aj

Take a Vow

fig. a: taking a vow

While others were still trying to get over their New Year's Eve hangovers, I spent New Year's Day trying to get over my New Year's Eve hangover and taking a solemn vow.

It went something like this:

My Beautiful Dry-Aged Steak

I make this vow to you.

I will do almost nothing to you. I will not get fancy. You are not the canvas for my ideas about how Cambodian and Croatian cuisines relate to one another. You, like very few ingredients in the world--gray pearls of beluga caviar, Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, Oreos--do not need my help to be delicious. I will do everything in my power to avoid fucking you up. I will not get in the way of your magnificence. I shall season you well. I will brown you deeply. I will cook you rare, and let you rest as long as you need. When I slice you, I will slice against your grain, and season you again. I will adorn you only in pan drippings, and perhaps a simple compound butter. I will consume all that you are, and leave nothing uneaten.

"My Beautiful Dry-Aged Steak" appeared in Issue #2 of Lucky Peach, of course, and it followed up "another transmission from Harold McGee's Orbital Desk in Outré Space" about enzymes and their role in the dry-aging process. As McGee explains, by harnessing the powers of enzymes, "we can get our food to make itself more delicious," which is why he refers to them as "nanocooks--the true molecular cooks." Examples of this enzymatic process in action? Ripening, fermentation, and, yes, dry-aging.

For those who haven't had the pleasure of experiencing the joy of dry-aging, it involves keeping parts of the carcass in a carefully controlled environment (one with cool temperatures, and fairly high humidity) for a period of several weeks. Doing so allows enzymes to work their magic--"[breaking] down the meat's proteins, fats, and glycogen... into amino acids [including glutamate], fatty acids, and sugars," as well as causing the meat to lose some of its moisture (hence the name) and thereby concentrating its flavours--and the result is beef that has an extraordinary complexity and depth to it.

Sounds great, right? It is. Astounding, actually. The problem is, dry-aging is a costly, time-consuming process, one that doesn't jibe with the economic logic of our supermarket culture. Consequently, it's hard to find dry-aged beef. It's also a process that's hard to duplicate at home because of the smells and flavours that occupy your basic household refrigerator, but also because your basic household refrigerator isn't particularly well temperature-controlled (think of how many times per day your refrigerator door gets opened and closed). As McGee puts it: "Dry-aging is very difficult to do well at home."

What's the answer? Get more butchers to take their beef more seriously.

Start by frequenting a local butcher shop. Ask if their beef is dry-aged. If it is, great--consider yourself lucky. If it isn't, ask them to consider doing so. Then, while you're at it, ask them where their beef comes from. Are they able to give you a straight answer?  If not, move on to another butcher, one who's more willing to make an effort, or just keep asking.  The more people ask, the greater the likelihood that things might improve.*

As it turns out, we'd just paid another pilgrimage to our friends at Fleisher's. Not only do they dry-age their steaks at Fleisher's, but their beef is local, grass-fed, organic, and sustainably raised. The combination is pretty much impossible to beat.

fig. b: our beautiful dry-aged steak

Our beautiful dry-aged steak was pricey (understandably), but it was one-and-a-half inches thick, and it wasn't just beautiful, it was gorgeous. It was also a hell of a lot cheaper than a comparable steak from a reputable steak house.

We took the vow seriously. We kept things very simple and we didn't fuck it up. Just the steak, the jus, some sautéed mushrooms, a Caesar salad, and a killer bottle of wine. We browned the steak deeply, finished it in the oven, and gave it plenty of time to rest.**  We did those enzymes proud. It was a glorious affair.

Taking a vow, committing to dry-aged beef may sound silly, but it's actually a pretty great idea. It'll probably mean that you eat a lot less beef, but it'll definitely mean that you enjoy it a lot more when you do.***

aj

* In Montreal, things are a little difficult when it comes to sourcing high-quality beef, a fact made all too clear in the pages of The Art of Living According to Joe Beef.  There are a few establishments that dry-age their meat (Boucherie de Tours and Queue de Cheval come to mind), but locating beef that's dry-aged, locally and sustainably raised, grass-fed, and organic is another matter.  Customers need to be more demanding.  Restaurants need to be more demanding.

** Not sure how to prepare your beautiful dry-aged steak? We've been following the Fleisher's Method for the last couple of years. You can find directions here. Given the size and thickness of the steak, our oven time was about 14 minutes.

*** Those familiar with the work of Michael Pollan will recognize this basic argument.  Pollan has argued time and time again that we, as a culture (North American culture), should be eating a lot less meat, but he's not vegetarian.

This is the way he responded to the vegetarian question in an interview with Democracy Now!:

SHARIF ABDEL KOUDDOUS: Are you vegetarian?

MICHAEL POLLAN: No, I’m not. I eat meat. I eat much less meat than I used to. And I don’t think the answer is necessarily, you know, giving up meat. There are kinds of meat that have much less of a carbon footprint. I mean, we’ve been describing grain-fed beef. But what if you feed cattle on grass? When you feed cattle on grass, they’re not competing with humans for food, because we can’t digest grass. They’re geniuses; they can digest grass, because they have a rumen. And that — and well run, rotationally grazed cattle, on grass, actually build carbon in the soil. They can be used to sequester carbon. So there is a way to organize meat production that would reduce its carbon footprint dramatically. Now, it must be said, that meat is much more expensive and harder to find, with the result that I eat very little of it. But that’s the kind of meat I eat.

What he leaves out here, but discusses elsewhere, is the all-important taste factor.