There’s a First Time for Everything: Brooklyn Chinatown

I had walked down 8th ave a few times to get to a friends’ house for dinner, but I never had the time to partake in what I saw available. Having said that, I was tempted to take a pit stop and make my friends wait even longer for me to arrive. The smells were intoxicating. They took me back to my trip to China in college. The durian, dried seafood, and stir fried noodles were the closest thing to real Chinese street food and vendors I’ve witnessed outside of the mainland of China itself.

My wife and I were guided by a close personal friend, Danny “Machiats” Mentado, through some of the food vendors. We started by ordering skewers of various meats cooked over live charcoal. It was like a classic NYC food cart, but open concept with a pit in the back to house the glowing coals. Char marinated meat perfumed the area, causing me to float through the air like Jerry the mouse mesmerized by a fat hunk of cheddar.

You have to call to order and I get the beef tendon balls, charred aorta and the chicken heart. The wait is long, because we ended up at the end of an invisible queue of hungry locals waiting to feast on their perfect late night drinking food. As we wait for our turn in heaven, we wander down a stand selling a variety of stir fried noodles. The three of us share one spicy and one mild container of vermicelli noodles cooked with egg, bean sprouts, scallions and whatever wonderful sauces they threw in. The chef’s wok was beaten to hell; bent completely out of its conventional shape and into the shape of efficiency. You could tell that this man cooks these same noodles the same way over and over again every day. And you taste that cultivation of technique. I ended up with most of the spicy noodles to myself, it turns out my spice tolerance is much higher than my friends’.

As my plastic takeout container gets closer and closer to being empty, we receive out skewers. The charred aorta was cartilaginous and succulent, the beef tendon balls were bouncy and flavorful, and the chicken hearts had a perfect meaty char to them. Everything was heavenly. I got to try Danny’s lamb skewer and it was by far the most luscious and buttery lamb I’ve ever eaten, and I won’t forget it anytime soon.

I ended my meal by trying something that I had always been curious about: stinky tofu. A legendary preparation of the well beloved bean curd that includes mold inoculated fermented tofu cubes that have been fried hard and dressed in a punchy, spicy sauce with raw garlic, cilantro and soy. It was hard to describe, reminding me of a funky washed rind cheese with deeply savory flavor notes, a provocative aroma of something born of necessity. I can’t say I didn’t like it, but I’ll definitely have to temper my palate to that taste over some time.

To think that I haven’t even seen all of the Chinatowns in New York is amazing. There’s so much culture and diversity across the 5 boroughs and I’ve barely scratched the surface in the 5 years I’ve been living here. I certainly look forward to seeing, tasting and experiencing more of what is out there waiting to be had.

Simplicity

I can’t stand when a chef says that the recipe they use for something is “simple” but then use an ultra specific piece of equipment only really available in restaurants or the kitchens of wealthy people that can afford it.

Great, simple recipes are not made so based on the amount of ingredients. The method to get to the other side of raw components

The clip that comes to mind is of a European chef claiming that his “simple dessert” is perfectly delicious, despite his effort. He isn’t lying, because it is simple to him. He takes créme englaise (most likely supplied by one of his lackeys) and adds it to chocolate. Super simple!

The problem is that he dumps this shit into a $2200 Thermomix that can also be used to heat cook the mixture.

Most chefs of a certain level are so sickeningly disconnected from reality that “simplicity” in their presence is only really found after digging through layers and layers of technique and currency. Of course it’s possible to recreate his method and dish in more common home equipment, but the effort and thought required to convert his technique to the real world make the recipe inherently not simple anymore.

It’s hard to say why so many chefs fall into this fallacious habit of over simplifying description and approach, but I would bet money that it’s simply due to them being a bit too disconnected from reality. They’ve been in their realms for so long surrounded by vacuum sealers, Pacojets and Hobarts to realize that the ground that they’re looking down upon is actually just clouds.