vip in the city, page 20

Okonomiyaki is a Japanese dish, whose name (according to Wikipedia) is derived from the Japanese words “okonomi,” meaning “what you want”, and “yaki” meaning “grilled” or “cooked.” I’ve seen the dish described as Japanese savory pancake, or Japanese pizza — understandable, if not perfect, reference points: the popular Japanese street food is prepared in a pan or on a griddle by integrating flour batter with layers of cabbage and assorted toppings of seafood, meat and vegetables.

I’d first sampled okonomiyaki at Otafuku in the East Village, but JL had assured me that the homemade version would be far superior to anything ordered in a restaurant. After picking up a few final ingredients at the Sunrise Mart above St. Mark’s Bookshop — knowing how to read Japanese would have been very helpful here! Good thing for packaging photos — we were off to cook.

The mise en place:

JL laid out all the ingredients and explained the process of making the base, adding copious amounts of sliced cabbage and toppings, and flipping the entire pancake to allow the different layers to hit the hot pan at various intervals. Our Hiroshima-style version of the dish included a layer of pan-fried noodles (Kansai [Osaka]-style omits this), sliced bacon, shrimp and squid, rice cakes (which melted down to gooey goodness), and chopped onions. Lots of fun, actually, and once we began assembling in earnest, the mad flurry of activity sent clouds of smoke wafting throughout the kitchen.

We finished the pancake with squeeze-bottled grids of mayonnaise and tonkatsu sauce, plus generous handfuls of bonito flakes which danced eerily in the heat. Filling and delicious!

To accompany our okonomiyaki, JL put together a flight of Hitachi Nest beers from Kiuchi Brewery. The company, which has been producing sake out of Ibaraki since 1823, first entered the beer market in 1996, though their products have been available in the United States only since 2000. The brewer has seen the line’s popularity spike locally over the past couple of years in large part due to being by championed by David Chang at his Momofuku and Momofuku Ssäm Bar restaurants. Chef Chang himself has evinced particular devotion to the Hitachino Nest Red Rice Ale, his restaurants’ bestseller.

Check out this row of little red owls. Did we really drink all this beer? Why yes, yes we did, though after a while, it became somewhat difficult to distinguish among the different brews, most of which fell into a fruity/sweet pattern. The Real Ginger Brew was noticeably ginger-y; the Espresso Stout, too, sticks out in my mind — though not for particularly good reasons. Still well worth sampling, though. Kudos and thanks to JL for setting up this fine evening of food and drink.

For the first time in years, I took off from work the day after Thanksgiving. Having decided in the end to pass on most of the Black Friday madness (midnight outlet shopping, pre-dawn camp-outs for flat-panel televisions), I spent a leisurely day taking in the sights of the new holiday season, and the signs of good things to come.

I took a break from cooking this morning to catch the tail end of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade along Central Park West. So strange to be able to step outside my apartment without a jacket in late-November.

The unseasonable warmth did not last: by evening’s end, the temperatures had plummeted 30 degrees — a chill against which even our bellies full of Thanksgiving turkey could not insulate us.

Thanksgiving eve on the Upper West Side.  So much for my plan to stop by the parade balloon inflation before last-minute shopping at Fairway Market.

At Paradou on Little West 12th Street tonight for dinner with MB.

There was a time — back when I was spending more of my nights in the Meatpacking District — when this little restaurant was one of my semi-regular haunts, both for its small but satisfying Provençal menu and its decidedly warm but not very trendy feel among a sea of increasingly stylish spots. Regular readers know how I feel about the transformation of MePa; last year, urban travel guide Gridskipper recommended a full blockade of the area, and I’m inclined to agree.

All the more reason to believe the sandwich board outside the restaurant: “Wherever you’re going it won’t be as good.”

Which is not to say that Paradou hasn’t changed also from its neighborhood pioneer roots. The menu has expanded over the years to include full entrees — I have particularly fond memories of times spent over their cassoulet — and the expansive back garden, once a bare back lot with tables, has been gussied up with actual wood flooring, foliage and a white canvas tent so that the space can be heated and enjoyed year-round. The pastic sheeting “windows” face into the lit garden of the establishment next door, which once operated with no official name, but has since been rechristened as Revel.

In a nod to menus past, we kept things light tonight. I ordered the salmon tartare, mixed with pumpkin seed oil and paprika oil, topped with a lemon-chive mousseline, and served with slices of Haas avocado and red onion, and a balsamic reduction. Very good. And because we learned our lesson from the last time, we each reserved ample room for a plate of dessert crêpes: nutella & banana for her, dark chocolate & candied orange for me.

How very dainty. Well, maybe not so: as the talk turned to the impending holidays, we noticed a chalkboard touting the restaurant’s “Dirty Bingo” night (December 11 — sorry). Numbers were to be called out by drag performer Epiphany from Screaming Queens, with adult-themed prizes provided by Kiki de Montparnasse and Babeland, the latter of which (if you’re not already familiar) you’ll just have to Google for yourself.

Back at Madison Square Garden tonight for the Rangers-Islanders match-up, courtesy of SC and PJ. After a surf and turf dinner at Nick & Stef’s — rather: surf for the men, turf for the women — we headed next door and made our way into the best seats I’ve ever had inside the area.

So what does a $184 ticket get you? A club seat four rows from the glass (watch out for flying pucks!), with a prime view of every pass, check, hook, scuffle and skirmish. And personal waiter service, apparently. Rolled into each of our cup holders was a printed menu from which we could order a variety of food and drink. CG found the opportunity to order Peanut M&Ms just too extravagant to pass up; we put in our requests (no cotton candy this time, alas), and minutes later had the bright yellow bag delivered to us where we sat, along with a box of popcorn, a couple of Amstels and a Johnny Walker Black (hey, why not?)

Singer-actress Hilary Duff was in attendance that night – though we didn’t see her — cheering on her boyfriend Islanders forward Mike Comrie. In between periods, I tried — unsuccessfully — to get a text message posted up on the JumboTron scoreboard. Apparently my proposed missive deviated too far from the usual “Go Rangers!” “Islanders rule!” and “Dear Sharon, I Love You Forever!! Will You Marry Me? Streety Bird,” which aroused some suspicion among my companions. Were the MSG censors hard at work this night? Or was it just that the 18,200 fans inside the arena generated too many messages for all to be displayed? We’ll never know.

The Rangers’ only goal, which came in the second period. (They lost: 2-1 )

Check out the rest of the game photos on flickr, though unlike at the Knicks game a couple of weeks ago, there was a notable lack of cheerleading support on the ice. Sorry, boys, the Rangers City Skaters disbanded after former captain, Courtney Prince, brought a 2004 sexual harassment lawsuit against the club. Is it something in the air at the Garden?

And what would a hockey game be without a brawl? This pile-on ensued after Isles’ goalie Rick DiPietro punched Rangers bad boy Sean Avery in the head. Tsk, tsk.

The 7 train has undergone its share of construction detours this year, but this weekend’s commute was probably the most convoluted of all. No service to Manhattan, trains running express in one direction… the service change/alternate route announcements were comically long, and as usual — though much improved from back in the day — nearly indecipherable. The signage inside the cars didn’t even attempt an explanation:

Nonetheless, I managed to deliver my stuffed pork loin safely out to Sunnyside (brining works!), where just the most hardcore of dinner devotees had gathered this night.

Post-dinner, as we were catching up on DVR-ed episodes of How I Met Your Mother, I felt a guilty twinge of recognition during the “Spoiler Alert” episode… further enhanced by the meaningful looks cast pointedly in my direction during the “Mr. Corrector” bits. Oy!

At Midtown Loft, across the street from Marble Collegiate Church, this evening for a tasting event hosted by Macallan. Or rather: The Macallan.

On the 11th floor, we were greeted with tumblers of scotch, which we brought to the high round tables set up along what had been a fashion runway the last time I was here. As trays of hors d’œuvres were passed about, we were treated to a primer on the six scotch single malt whisky-producing regions in Scotland: Highland, Lowland, Islay, Campbeltown, Islands and Speyside — that last being the heartland of malt whisky, and the home to The Macallan distilleries. We learned that in order to be classed a “scotch” whisky, the spirit must have been matured in an oak cask in Scotland for a minimum of three years, and bottled at a minimum strength of 40% alcohol by volume… which meant, so we were forewarned: no sticking your nose inside the glass for a hard whiff unless you’re looking to burn out the nasal membrane.

I’m not much of a scotch drinker, so there was added value in being talked through the tastings of The Macallan Fine Oak 15 and 17 year-old scotches. For this line, the scotch is matured in a triple combination of oak casks from Europe and America: the European casks are seasoned with sherry, which imparts hints of dried fruits, spice and chocolate orange; the American casks are either seasoned with sherry (lending notes of lemon, coconut and toffee) or with bourbon (which delivers floral aromas and sweet notes of vanilla and fresh fruits.) Tastes of The Macallan Sherry Oak 12 year scotch came next, followed by the distillery’s pride: The Macallan 18 year old, which was named “Best Malt in the World” by Whisky Magazine in June 2004. All The Macallan Sherry Oaks are matured exclusively in sherry oak casks brought to the distillery from Jerez, Spain — a town acclaimed worldwide for its sherry and brandy production.

Fancy, but not the fanciest: on December 8, a bottle of 1926(!) vintage Macallan — bottled in 1986 and rebottled in 2002 — was sold for a record-breaking $54,000 (including commission) at Christie’s “Fine and Rare Wines and Spirits” auction, in what was the first spirits auction to take place in New York since Prohibition.

Each new glass was accompanied by cheers of the Scottish Gaelic toast “Slàinte Mhath!” — pronounced: “SLAHN-zhe-vah,” which is an ever-so-slightly different pronunciation from the Irish toast we were taught earlier this year. Each vintage was introduced with a newsreel montage, which provided some context for the year in which our scotches were bottled. Has it really been 17 years since Nelson Mandela was released from prison in South Africa, and Milli Vanilli were stripped of their Grammy? (Best “Behind the Music” ever, by the way — “Girl, you know it’s… Girl, you know it’s… Girl, you know it’s true!”)

Five drams in one night. Not record proportions, but quite enough.

For a change of scene from our usual Chinatown lunch, we wandered over to the eastern edge of TriBeCa this dreary afternoon to check out Province Chinese Canteen, based on yet another of JL’s recommendations, making it a three-peat ™ for the week.

Province opened last August during a spate of Asian snack-food openings, and quickly distinguished itself to earn a spot on New York magazine’s Cheap Eats list in 2007. The scaled-down, industrial cafeteria design — brushed metal, blonde wood, white Christmas lights strung from the ceiling — seems appropriate for the simple offerings: sandwiches, sides, soups, salads, desserts and beverages.

The sandwiches are what comprise the bulk of the menu, and based on the steady stream of walk-ins, the bulk of their take-out business. And we could see why: what they do, they do addictively well. The assorted Asian-inspired fillings (grilled chicken, braised pork shoulder, spicy pork and short rib) are presented on griddled round mantou — the Northern Chinese bread, the diameter of an English muffin, the density of a fluffy bagel. Province’s version are slightly sweet and topped with a sprinkling of dark-toasted sesame seeds, which add a nice texture.

The snack-sized buns are $4.25 apiece, making them a bargain in the city’s most expensive zip code, but on the pricey end for the market a few blocks north in Chinatown; a filling meal can be made of two sandwiches for $8, or three for $11.75. Here, the short rib, topped with kimchi (lettuce may be substituted upon request), and the spicy pork, topped with Japanese takuan. Good stuff. I would have liked to stay on to sample more items, particularly the cold sesame noodles — “the must-eat item on the menu” — but this afternoon, I had neither ample appetite nor time.

As I raced back to the office, one particularly strong gust inverted and bent in half my favorite Lulu Guinness umbrella. Drats.

With so many happenings around New York City on any given day, it’s good to have friends who will clue you into ones you would otherwise miss. Courtesy of a tip from JL (again!): “An Evening with the Kitchen Sisters” at NYU’s Kimmel Center for University Life, overlooking Washington Square Park.

Those who tune in regularly to NPR’s Morning Edition are probably already familiar with the duo of Davia Nelson and Nikki Silva. The two women, who first crossed paths while working on similar oral history projects in Santa Cruz, have been producing radio programs together since 1979. They are the renowned creators of the NPR’s series “Lost & Found Sound,” the Sonic Memorial Project, and “Hidden Kitchens”; their fascinating and provocative radio documentaries have earned them two Peabody Awards and a duPont-Columbia Award.

Most of tonight’s program was framed around the Kitchen Sisters’ past radio features, chronicling little told stories of American kitchen and food culture, past and present. The pair had an easy-going rapport with each other and with the audience (several members of whom were called upon to read from their book) — and much livelier than their Saturday Night Live counterparts.

Nelson and Silva shared many fascinating stories about food subcultures: a Kosher cafeteria in New York City’s diamond district, Christmas dinner at a nail salon in San Francisco where dozens of Vietnamese manicurists convene from around the city… the women provided context for the stories while sharing selected clips from their radio series as well as a few listener phone messages that inspired the topics. Among the projects were a few non-food-related stories, such as that of WHER, the first “all girl” radio network that broadcast out of Memphis, Tennessee for 17 years, beginning on October 29, 1955. With hushed awe in their voices they talked about their interviews with members of the Mohawk Indian tribe, working precariously high above the ground to build much of our city’s skyline.

I was struck by the Kitchen Sisters’ obvious passion for their work — how would I go about getting a job like this? — and the women’s affection for their subjects; at one point, over an audio excerpt of their “Milk Cow Blues” story about an Indiana farm community divided over the sale of raw milk, Nelson was moved to visible tears, despite admitting to having heard the clip dozens of times before. The piece offered a nice segue for the women to introduce from the audience food writer Frederick Kaufman who in November, 2004 wrote an article for The New Yorker entitled “Psst! Got Milk?” about his infiltration of a private raw-milk coven in Hell’s Kitchen. (Slightly off-topic, Kaufman — who also happens to be Nelson’s cousin — amused everyone with his musings on food porn conventions.)

Finally, there was the ultimate “hidden kitchen” story of Robert “King” Wilkerson, who spent 31 years in the Angola State Penitentiary for his involvement with the Black Panthers, 29 of those years in solitary confinement. During that time, Wilkerson developed a recipe for pralines, prepared over a contraband stove in his cell fashioned from cans and tissue paper. As a free man now, he sells his candy with much of the proceeds going towards helping his still-imprisoned cohorts fight for freedom. The Kitchen Sisters brought baskets of King’s “freelines” with them this night, which were distributed throughout the delighted audience for sampling. A sweet ending to a wonderful night of stories.