October 28

Dining Among The Sandinistas

 I took a quick trip down to Nicaragua over the weekend, tagging along with some friends from Chicago - one of whom has two brothers who now make Managua their home.  Our priorities were pretty simple: eat, relax, read and take the occasional dip into the ocean or the pool.  Our flight was comically cheap - about $340 roundtrip on Continental - so it was a no-brainer to go.  While we were driving through Catarina, on the way back from the beach, we stopped along the side of the road to try these cheese-stuffed tortillas, which really reminded me of the pupusas you see in El Salvador.  They were unbelievably fresh, wonderfully warm, with just the slightest amount of white cheese inside, barely oozing beyond its borders.

The typical desayuno, or breakfast, is gallo pinto, a mound of black beans and rice, typically served with eggs and plantains.  Closer to the coast, the beachside meals of ceviche, armadillo (tastes like pork) and sopa de mariscos were splendid; yet we really enjoyed a meal in Managua, at a place called Restaurante San Juan De La Selva (277 3055; Kilometro 6 Carretera a Masaya).  The restaurant houses two giant cats out front (in cages, thank goodness): a graceful puma and a beautiful leopard, both of whom have apparently grown up at the restaurant, since they were just cuddly cubs. The highlight of the night: the enormous river shrimp, cooked tableside, which arrived smothered in a deep-red sauce made from pitaya, an addictive, indigenous fruit, often referred to as dragonfruit in Asia.  The streets of Managua reminded me a lot of Tijuana - the trash, the noise, the cacaphony of cars, motorcycles and animals - but the beaches are pristine, the people friendly and the weather just divine (even with the occasional rain shower).  

October 20

Suburban Sushi, African Studies and the AFJ Awards

First, from the shameless self-promotion department: the Association of Food Journalists held their annual conference over the weekend in Houston, and yours truly picked up 1st and 2nd Place in the Best Food Broadcast categories.  The top honors were for my reports at ABC 7, namely, a piece about Korean BBQ, and the second place was for my podcasting, which featured a piece on local brewmasters, Intelligentsia Coffee.  You can read more about this year's AFJ winners at www.afjonline.com.

Last last week, my friends and I drove down to 63rd and Halsted, on the city's South Side, to check out the new Washburne Culinary Campus, and specifically, their new student-run restaurant, Sikia (740 W. 63rd St., 773-602-5200).  Technically, it's housed in Kennedy King College, but Washburne has the run of most of the building here.  The focus is on Africa - covering regions from Morocco down to South Africa, and several countries in between.  The room is just gorgeous, and you wouldn't think for a minute that this is a student operation.  But everything here - from menu design and execution, to service and hosting, is done by the students or alumni.  It's only open for dinner Thursdays through Saturdays, and also serves Sunday brunch.  Our pan-roasted salmon was coated in an assertive chermoula sauce, and while they tended to fall back on the same veggies often (broccoli, red bell peppers, etc.) there were some surprises, such as akara, black-eyed pea fritters with spicy red pepper relish, and a chewy goat and ground nut stew.  You must try the sweet and sticky malva pudding with ice cream; the pudding-cake is dense but also soft and light, and has the aroma of butterscotch and maple.  Our server couldn't have been friendlier, and brought out a non-alcoholic (the place is BYOB) drink of cinnamon, nutmeg and clove-scented iced tea - delightful.

Last night, after a suburban movie with the family, we ventured over to a great strip mall in Mt. Prospect, tucked among the various Japanese and Korean ex-pat businesses along Elmhurst Road.  The Kampai occupies two storefronts - one featuring teppanyaki cooking; the other a sushi bar.  We walked into the sushi bar, and were pleased to see it was a kaiten-style operation, with bits of sushi, sashimi and maki floating by along a series of wooden boats in a watery moat.  You sit at a long, oval counter, and just pick what looks good; every plate has a corresponding value, so careful, as the dishes (and prices) can add up.  You can also order from a small a la carte menu, and I chose the spicy scallop handroll, which presented itself with giant hunks of fresh scallop in nori, but then the chef placed the spicy mayo on the side, so I could add it as I wished (this also revealed how plump and wonderful the scallops in the roll were, without obliterating them).  We munched on Dragon rolls, some sashimi octopus and ikura, and the kids just loved it.   

October 7 

Porkapalooza '08 

I had been looking forward to the 2nd Annual Porkapalooza with great anticipation.  Held at the Red Horse Ranch in Fennville, Michigan over the weekend, the event raises funds for the Saugatuck Dunes Coastal Alliance, but it also gathers together a bunch of local food and beer enthusiasts to drink local suds and chow down on some local pork. The website (and event mantra) is "save gas eat pork," which refers to driving in carpools to the event;  they charged $40 per car to enter.  The main event though, was the pig.  (Note: a downloadable audio report from this event will be on my October 16th podcast: www.stevedolinsky.libsyn.com)

Matthew Millar is the chef and owner of Fennville's Journeyman and Rye restaurants, and he was also the main man behind the day's menu.  While there was a basic menu available throughout the day, including brats and burgers (my friends Coop and Neighbor Dan couldn't understand why you would attend and not order the pig) they also offered three different pig preps, called "featured items" and priced at $13 per plate,  available at staggered times during the day.

At 2 p.m., they were planning to sell smoked pig in the Carolina-style, mopped with a mustard sauce and served with bacon-studded beans and a kohlrabi slaw. At 5 p.m., they were going to sell pig roasted in a Caja China box, served with pickled onions in a wedge of squash; then finally, at 8 p.m., they were to unearth a pig that had been buried underground all day - Hawaiian luau-style - wrapped in banana leaves and burlap, then served with sticky pineapple rice and mashed sweet potatoes.   Unfortunately, not everything went as planned. 

Coop, Neighbor Dan and myself arrived a little after 2 p.m., after taking a brief detour to Crane Orchards in Fennville, where it looked like a scene from Soylent Green, with people scrambling to snatch up pies, donuts, breads and apples, as if it was the last bit of food they were going to see for the next month.  The weather was cloudy, but still decent, with just a slight chill in the air.  Live music was playing.  The full monty of beers from New Holland Brewing were on tap, as well as some select pours from Fenn Valley Vineyards.  People were standing in line, waiting for the first round: a pig that had been raised and slaughtered from about a mile away, was also apparently smoked off-site, since the custom smoker that chef Millar had set up in the field wasn't quite ready.  The pig was hand-pulled or chopped into rather large pieces (above), and was well-seasoned, with the slightest jolt of garlic; it was accompanied by smoky beans peppered with large hunks of pork belly as well as a crisp, tart kohlrabi slaw that balanced the fatty pork; a sad, dry, overcooked cornbread muffin would have been better served as a doorstop.  It added nothing to the plate.

By 5:30 p.m., the pig being roasted in the Caja China was already pretty well cooked. Coop and I noticed they were using hardwood charcoal on the top of the box, which cooks the pig way too fast.  Millar had caught this too, and had put tinfoil over the cavity to protect it from the overwhelming heat; when they flipped the pig to skin-side up, one of the assistants seemed perplexed as to why you would score the skin, but we assured him this was the correct way to finish the pig (as you can tell, by this point, we had completely infiltrated the cooking area, deeming ourselves "Caja China Luminaries").  After another 30 minutes, the pig was ready, but we were surprised they had only injected the pig pre-Caja China with mojo, and had not dry-rubbed it, or even placed a few garlic cloves into the skin or cavity.  Coop makes an unbelievable wet rub; he should offer the recipe for next year's event.

The pig was just o.k., but it should have been left to rest for at least 20 minutes, and should have been pulled or chopped into bite-sized pieces, since there were no knives available for diners to use.  The pork was decent, still not juicy enough, and a handful was mounded over pickled white onions that were far too bitter and a wedge of nicely roasted squash, that was wonderfully soft and comforting on a chilly afternoon.

The final preparation - the luau - was the most disappointing of all.  

Millar had told me that they had some trouble getting a fire started in the large hole they dug that morning, because the wood had been outside overnight and was (not surprisingly) wet from the dew.  The fire didn't get going until late in the morning, and it had to burn hot over some large rocks at the bottom of the pit.  Once it burned down to charcoals, the large pig (at least 90 pounds) was lowered into the hole, wrapped in banana leaves and burlap, around 11 a.m. With that timing, it was never going to cook properly.  Ideally, you want to leave the pig in the earth overnight.  At 4 p.m., the internal temperature was only 90 degrees.  He decided to remove some of the dirt from the hole, leaving about six inches of dirt on top of the pig; he then had his team of volunteers dump all of the hot coals from one of his grills on top of the pit, hoping the heat would continue to speed up the cooking, a la Caja China, by roasting from above.  By 8 p.m., it wasn't much more than 90 degrees internally, so he called an audible: pull out the pig, unwrap it, and break it down into manageable pieces and start grilling it over the same grills that had been cooking the brats earlier.  

While this finished the pig by the pre-ordained time of 8 p.m., it clearly rushed the process, and didn't add much flavor to the finished pig; we had, essentially, grilled pork (which I helped pull to get into manageable pieces) and it lacked any hint of banana leaf essence or other spices or even garlic.  The pineapple rice and sweet potatoes were, again, serviceable, but there were just too many people and not enough "featured" food.  

I think it's hard when there are only three pigs - one per cooking style - and several hundred people in attendance, all wanting the same thing.  Millar had an impressive staff of volunteers on hand, and plenty of cambros, keeping all of the sides warm, but there was just a logistical problem with the timing, the facilities, the prep involved and the number of people who had showed up to eat pig.  For my one pig roast alone in August, we roasted three large pigs in three Caja Chinas to feed about 250 people.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not complaining.  The weather improved throughout the day, the people were very friendly and the beer was fantastic.  I'll be at Porkapalooza #3 next year, happy to lend a hand or offer some well-earned advice as it relates to Caja China prep.  Hey, one more thing: in addition to loading up on pig and drinking as much New Holland as you can, be sure to pick up one of their caramel apples, which have bits of caramelized pork embedded into the top of each apple.  Now that's my kind of porkapalooza.

October 3

C-House Sadness

In as much as I'm a fan of Marcus Samuelsson's elevated Swedish food at New York's Aquavit (before it closed in Minneapolis, it was one of the best meals I had ever had in the Twin Cities) I just can't understand why there is such a disconnect with the food being served at the new C-House in the Affinia Hotel in Chicago.  Granted, his name and likeness is nowhere to be seen in the sleek, modern room or on the menu, but this is the second time in as many weeks that I've been severely disappointed with the quality of food coming from a brand that he helped create.  The other was at his burger kiosk on the 7th floor of Macy's, which I'm not even going to get into.

A friend and I stopped in last night, and even though it was dead (Cubs playoff game, V.P. Debate) you would have thought this opportunity would give the kitchen a chance to really create some delicious stuff, considering they weren't slammed, pumping out orders left and right.  We started with slivers of cobia, one of several small bites from the raw bar that are offered.  Another option was the "fish tacos," which arrived in heavily fried tortilla shells with a piece of hamachi the size of my 8 year-old son's pinkie; these nibbles run $3 - $6 and were not worth it.  Small plates included a poached duck egg that arrived almost cold, paired with some tiny bits of pork belly and a mustard glaze.  zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz........
Duck confit topped a gooey, sticky risotto of sorts; like many of the dishes up to this point, nothing even remotely popped out in terms of flavor profiles, textural contrast or even just simple deliciousness.

Our best large plate was the pork shoulder and rack, which came with a great, fruity peach compote of sorts.  The skin could have been a tad crispier, but the meat was moist and smokey, with hints of garlic throughout; we gnawed on the last bits of pork sticking to the bone;  the monkfish didn't fare as well.   The sofrito topping had nice bits of onion, pepper and garlic, but the fish itself was on the well-done side, and the repetitive side of sauteed greens mirrored the same greens we had with the duck egg.  Ho hum.  A side of chorizo mac 'n cheese was obliterated by way too much cheese/bechamel, all but burying any hit from the miniscule bits of chorizo.

Desserts were just o.k.  A $9 butterscotch pudding with some lovely poached pears and a $12 mini "trio" of pumpkin options: a cake, a pastry and some ice cream.  The $2 a la carte "candybar" options provide a tiny jolt of sweetness without the major committment; we liked our pumpkin caramels and salty fudge brownies.  It's odd that the best things on the menu were non-fish, and with a place that is so committed to seafood in name, offers an Atlantic farm-raised salmon rather than a wild one (if you can't get wild, why even offer it?)  I can understand if the "name" chef is gone, the local guys have a responsibility to do their own thing, but c'mon, if you can't even update your menu on your website (which still lists Michigan peaches and cherries, on Oct. 3) you better bring in the big guns to right the ship.  For once, I sort of - but still not completely - agree with Phil Vettel.