Beer Before Bullets: A Philadelphian Dining Experience

I have been ordered by the Powers That Be to blog today, and now that I’ve sufficiently recovered from the shock of Ms Sunny Anderson commenting here, I suppose I have no choice but to comply.

This past Friday found yours truly in Philadelphia, a city that, albeit its close proximity to my current residence, I avoid like I would avoid a child with head lice.  Some mates from my stint at Oxford were in town (doing a sort of fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants East Coast tour), and my dear friend Catherine organized a mini-reunion.  I’d rather be in NYC, but I could never turn down such good company and a chance for some tasty food.

Thus we arrived at Tria, a small-plates bar that focuses on its strong selection of three different items:  wine, beer, and cheese (hence the name ‘Tria’).  When we got there — just shy of 6 pm — the place was already jumping with the post-work drink crowd, and the scene was casual/trendy, full of late-20s/mid-30s.  I wouldn’t go in looking like a hobo, but as long as you’re not an absolute fashion twat anyone can fit right in.  All and all, it was a cute place, in the “we’ve got a swank bar, 90s emo music, and cram a lot of people into a narrow space” pretentious kind of way, but I’ve been in seventeen bajillion wine bars before (yes, seventeen bajillion), and the real test was all about the food and drink.

I was immediately amused by the word choices on the menu.  My eye shot straight to the category called “Zippy Whites” — wines that promised a perky, tangy, and overful joyful drinking experience.  I had two glasses of the ’09 Sauvignon Blanc ($8/glass) and shortly thereafter all was zippy indeed.  While I didn’t partake in the beer, my friends did, and I had a gander at the selection; beers ranged from locally-brewed brands like Dogfish Head (Delaware) to some of the higher-alcohol Belgian beers that I prefer, like Maredsous 8.

Two Brits and Brian enjoy libations in Philly's Tria.

The food, however, is where Tria truly shines.  As stated on the website, most of the bar’s food (served tapas-style) is priced under $10.  This is actually misleading, as I would go so far as to say most food is priced around $8 bucks — which is amazing if you share with friends.  Granted, the portions aren’t huge, but they shouldn’t be.  Small plates!

Our first choice, of course, was cheese; we had to experience the third part of Tria’s claim to fame.  Since we had some fine English gentlemen in our party, Catherine and I ordered (and subsequently devoured with gusto) the Cabot Clothbound Cheddar (Vermont, $7.50), as the menu boasted that this New England cheese kicks the curd out of its British cousins.  Whether it really does or not is debatable, but it was still damn good cheese.

Among our favorites that evening were the mole-spiced salami with honeyed almonds (about which I exclaimed, “This tastes like Christmas!”), warm Tuscan white bean spread (“Hey, this tastes like Mexico!”), Tuscan three-cheese potato chips with herbed truffle aioli (I ate the remaining aioli with a spoon), and the Italian meats platter with pickled red peppers, pickled onion mostarda, and garlic oil (I ate the remaining mustard with a spoon).  We also had two types of bruschetta:  goat cheese, garlic, and basil pesto, which I said tasted like summer (Catherine said it tasted like grass), and pistachio herbed ricotta with lavender honey (which was unanimously described as sex).

Italian meats platter at Tria.

When we broke down the bill and factored in tip, it came to $26 per person.  Considering we were all quite full and a little buzzy off good liquor, I call this place a bargain and a half.  A place like this could easily mark up its food prices by 20% and still be considered fair; if this were NYC, I imagine it would have run at least $35/person.

The next time I venture to Philly, I’ll be sure to stop by Tria again, though I wouldn’t go so far as to drive into the city for the sole purpose of visiting this restaurant.  Kudos to Catherine, whose love of cheese led us to a perfect spot for an Oxford reunion.

Demystifying the East: The Japanese Holy Trinity

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I’m fairly certain that over the course of my illustrious career, I’ve written, read, and laughed at at least one hundred papers that began with “Demystifying the East” and ended with bullshit.  Misery loves company, so here’s one on cookery.

I was craving Asian food something fierce last night, and came across this recipe for lettuce wraps, the kind one might drop thirteen buckeroos on at PF Chang’s, at the Food Network website.  While I greatly enjoy the combo of hot, intensely-flavored meat against the refreshing, crispy texture of a lettuce leaf I’m not very inclined to sell a kidney for it, especially when most Asian food can be created (or rather, most food can be made to taste Asian) at home for pennies, as long as you know the flavor profiles.  Easy-peasy, right?

Apparently not so for Sunny Anderson, who created the aforementioned lettuce wrap recipe above.  It was at once heavy (from the beef) and way too spicy; the sheer amount of heat from the garlic and red pepper flakes overpowered the sweetness of the hoisin, which should have been providing a foil against the saltiness of the soy and peanuts.  Inedible?  No, it was decent (I polished off leftovers for lunch), but I am an Asian food snob of the highest degree and this meal was definitely not a star (I’ve adapted Sunny’s recipe to be better; check it out here).

After dinner, I found myself asking the little voices in my head, “Do Americans really not know how to do light, tasty Asian?”

They don’t, really.  So let me teach you.

Soy sauce, mirin, and sake -- the Japanese holy trinity of cooking.

Behold the Japanese Holy Trinity of Flavor:  soy sauce, mirin, and sake.  With these three tools, you can make anything taste deliciously light and Asian with minimal effort.  Let’s take a moment and think about each in turn.

Soy Sauce. It’s the hooker of Asian cuisine; it’s cheap, gets you off in a hurry, and you can find it anywhere.  Total bang for your buck.  The pungency comes from the fermented soy beans used to make it, and the high levels of salt added to it during its creation make it a great base flavor to any dish, Asian or not.  This is where that new-fangled Japanese loanword “umami” comes in.

Lots of people get ‘low-sodium soy sauce,’ and these people need to be punched in the face.  Soy sauce is meant to be salty; it is salt for all intents and purposes.  If you’re using it in cooking, don’t add salt.  If you’re using it on the side, don’t drink the bottle.  If you’re worried about your sodium intake, stop eating so many goddamned processed foods.

A final note on soy:  buy Japanese, such as Kikkoman.  Chinese soy sauce is cheaper, but so is the flavor.

Mirin.  Ah, lovely, lovely mirin.  Mirin is a rice wine that has been sweetened with sugar (a great, great deal of sugar), which produces a velvety, almost syrupy consistency.  When you combine mirin and soy sauce with some sugar, you get teriyaki sauce (yes, it’s that easy).

Mirin comes in several forms nowadays; the two I use are “real” (hon) mirin, which is alcoholic, or “mirin-fu chomiryo” (みりん風調味料), which is actually pictured above.  The latter means “mirin-styled seasoning,” and this is because it tastes like mirin, but doesn’t have any alcohol.  Both are acceptable to use, and since I often add sake to my dishes anyway, I don’t miss the alcohol when using the fake stuff.

Sake.  You should all be pretty familiar with sake; it’s Japanese rice wine.  I buy cooking rice wine, though you could always substitute nicer sake if you have it to hand.  This gives any dish some earthy, astringent notes that beautifully mellows out the sweetness of mirin and the saltiness of soy.  It brings balance to the trinity.  (I sound like I’m doing a tarot card reading.)  I like to finish off stir-fries and sautes with sake, adding it at the end and letting it cook out for thirty seconds to a minute.

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So now you know the basics.  But what do you do with them?  Try these:

Teriyaki Sauce

3 tbsp soy sauce
3 tbsp mirin
3 tbsp sake
3 tbsp sugar

Whisk together.  You’ve got teriyaki sauce.  Cook anything you want in a pan — meatballs, burgers, chicken breast, fish, tofu, etc.  When cooked, remove said meat, pour in the sauce and reduce over high heat until it’s thickened nicely.  Return meat to the pan, until the goods are thoroughly coated and glossy (do not burn the glaze).  Voila.

Basic Soy Broth

2 cups dashi (Japanese fish or seaweed stock; I use instant)
2 tbsp soy sauce
1 tbsp mirin
1 tbsp sake

Combine ingredients and heat it up.  Can be used to simmer chicken meatballs or poach fish, or as a broth base for ramen.

Japanese Omelet

2 eggs
1 tsp soy sauce
1 tsp mirin

Whisk together and make cook the eggs into an omelet however you fancy.  You’ll have a lightly sweetened, delicious Japanese egg dish.

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So there are three super-quick recipes that create authentic Japanese results.  If you just feel like experimenting, play with one or a combination of the flavors at different ratios.  I add soy sauce to pasta sauces and chilis, use mirin in salad dressings, and deglaze with cooking sake instead of white wine.

Rockin’ the Basics, Barefoot-Style

Unless you’re already wealthy, I doubt you’re able to just jaunt off to Paris for a couple years at Le Cordon Bleu (which is what I should have done instead of going to Oxford; ah, the joys of jaded youth).  A lot of us are forced to learn to cook through imitation — ie, via a cookbook.  That’s how I’m learning, and until Matt becomes a zillionaire, that’s how I’ll roll.

2008 saw the release of the Barefoot Contessa’s newest cookbook, Barefoot Contessa: Back to Basics, which was a tie-in to the rebooting of her eponymous cooking show on the Food Network.  Anyone familiar with Ina Garten (and if you aren’t, I may come to your home and smack you around a bit) is aware that she stands for simple, elegant entertaining with exquisite ingredients and good friends.  Since 1999, she’s been something of a cookbook mogul, with her first cookbook, The Barefoot Contessa Cookbook, and later Barefoot in Paris, selling almost ridiculously well.  And that’s because her food is damned good.

barefoot contessa: back to basics

Unfortunately, the first cookbooks aren’t for the faint of heart or faint of budget.  Barefoot in Paris, the first cookbook I received by Garten, does exactly what it says it will:  help bring “the romance and enduring appeal of French country cooking” into your home.  That’s a very provocative offer, Ina, but a novice cook will easily be intimidated by recipes for a blue cheese souffle (I can hear them screaming “I’m not ready yet!” — much as I did), balk at unknown words like “celery root remoulade,” or simply be unable to create the showstoppers like coeur a la creme, which for obvious reasons requires a special heart-shaped ceramic mold.

The big food boom for home cooks in the 2000s made the words “quick, easy, tasty” its credo.  That’s the reason Rachael Ray became a superstar; her 30 Minute Meals gave the homecook some new kitchen ideas with minimal time and effort.  I applaud Rachael for making cooking mainstream.  Are her recipes great?  No.  They are quick, but require no technique, no chefly finesse, and as such they must rely on a plethora of crazy-fresh ingredients, which for one meal turns out to be damn costly, especially when one considers the quality of the end result and the lack of skill retention.

That’s where Garten’s Back to Basics comes in.  At first, I was apprehensive of this title; I felt betrayed.  I had worked my way through that damned (and I say this lovingly) Barefoot in Paris and I’ll be double damned if I don’t get to chiffonade anything or have to omit pretentious cooking words like “coulis” (which really is just a fancy word for “sauce,” shh) from my food.  Still, it was Ina and I’d sooner go straight than miss out on one of her cookbooks (plus, Mattie got it signed for me).

The whole key to Back to Basics isn’t to teach a novice how to make a plain ol’ roast chicken and mashed potatoes; rather, it’s about taking classic recipes, teaching the basic technique behind them, and then manipulating the flavors so that they taste even “more” like the ingredients than before.  Chocolate is more chocolately (key: coffee); tomatoes more tomatoey (roast them, baby).  Mastering these secrets gives you enough culinary experience points to be a hero.

Like all of Ina’s recipes, though, these rely on good quality ingredients.  On her show, she’s been known to say “use whatever you have,” but that’s if we’re talking about a white onion versus a yellow onion.  She’s got some real zingers in here that make a few recipes cost-prohibitive, like her filet of beef sandwich that calls for black truffle butter or her chicken bouillabaise that needs saffron.  I know I launched a similar complaint against Rachael Ray, but investing in the ingredients in Ina’s case lets you turn out some high-quality dishes for minimal effort.  After all, I’m more willing to splurge on Roquefort if I know that the technique is sound and easy to execute; wasting Roquefort on a failed souffle, on the other hand, is the culinary equivalent of an ass-raping without lube.

Back to Basics succeeds in giving the novice cook plenty of impressive recipes well within their skill level, and imparts some pretty nifty tricks and tips that will no doubt impress your friends if you ever watch the Food Network together (a favorite snobby-hobby of mine).  If you’re looking for some high quality cookery and are a little shy about your kitchen prowess, skip Rachael Ray and start right here — you’ll feel like you’ve gotten first place after running a 20-mile marathon.  Barefoot.

Brian’s Fav Recipes from the Book:

-Roasted shrimp cocktail
-Pomegranate cosmopolitans
-Herb-marinated loin of pork
-Fruit salad with limoncello

Challenge: April 3 — A Trip Back in Time

Well, I’ll be damned!  I actually posted more when I was semi-steadily employed than when I have absolutely nothing to do.  That’s not to say I haven’t been cooking (that’s pretty much all I do nowadays); I’ve just been unbelievably lazy in all other aspects of my life.  I will try to rectify this, because I know all three of my readers have been in the depths of despair since being cut off from my culinary adventures.

The last post was a call to arms for my arteries — the magical Fence fried bologna and peanut butter.  I promised pics, and here they are:

Death by the Fences

Very ghettotastic, isn’t it?  Like I said previously, don’t knock it until you try it!  It’s quite delicious.  While y’all can probably figure out how to make it yourself, here’s the recipe.

Hopefully I’ll get back to blogging again.  Hopefully.  Perhaps I need a new challenge…?

(Announcement) Challenge: April 3rd

I know it’s been forever, but I figured I’d announce my Challenge for this week.  No, it’s not the big Easter extravaganza we’re doing on Sunday.  It’s a return of the Fence-family favorite sammich…

FRIED BOLOGNA AND PEANUT BUTTER.

Yes, I said it.  It’s not exactly a culinary challenge so much as a challenge for my arteries.  Before you knock it, I suggest you try it.  Look forward to some pictures of Matt and I killing ourselves one sandwich at a time!