de ar foodies & friends It is with happy hearts and loudly growling stomachs that we present to you the Winter 2022 issue of Bite Magazine. Even though the start of the quarter was a bit delayed and we spent too long on Zoom, we are thrilled to be back on campus and making the most out of our Winter quarter. If you build up the courage to venture into the cold and want to pretend you’re off in Europe, make sure to visit La Crêperie (10), a charming French restaurant and the oldest creperie in the U.S., or to Cafe Beograd, a Serbian cafe and market (6). Or, if you want to stay closer to home, you should check out BarDavid (5), a new hotspot on campus. Maybe you’d much rather stay in the warmth of your house; try digging into some of our best winter recipes: a winter citrus salad (26) to start and a grapefruit upside-down cake (22) to finish. If you want to bring international food to you, make sure to check out our recipe for Pinseques Fritos (24), a delicious Filipino wonton. After you eat, snuggle up for an evening read with Crying in H Mart (12) or try your hand at homemade Challah (16). While it may have snowed more than we would have liked, we made it through with some delicious eats by our side. As the sun begins to melt the ice and cure our seasonal depression, make sure to check out all of our favorite spots from this quarter. Or, gather your friends and show off the culinary skills you’ve learned. Whatever you decide to do, make sure to savor the food with friends, and don’t forget to tag us on Instagram (@uchicagobite) with all your epicurean adventures!
the editors 2
bite | winter 2022
table of contents 5 BAR DAVID 6 cafe beograd 8 CHALET 10 La crêperie 11 Bloom Plant Based Kitchen 12 Food, Family, and Grief: A REVIEW ON 'CRYING IN H MART' 14 My Love Letter to Specialty Grocers 16 Challah Recipe & Essay 18 AN ODE TO CLASSIC FOODS 20 The Dangers of Nostalgia (Lunchables Edition) 22 Grapefruit upsidedown cake 24 Pinseques Fritos 26 Winter Citrus Salad 27 Lemon Ginger Soup Editor-in-Chief FIONA LU Managing editor EMILY JACOBS creative director FELIX GONZALEZ blog editor ALEX WANG ASSISTANT Blog editor Isabella Sun communications director ANGELINA TORRE programming DIRECTOR ARUSHI MUKHERJEE designers Abbey Price, Elaine Wan, Eve Meadow, FELIX GONZALEZ, Sophia Koock, Victoria Kielb, Vivian Soong writers Abby Yuhan, Aiden Cessor, Alex Medoff, Ben Miller, Cayla Volandes, Esha Deokar, Henna Nam, Ian Henderson, Kate Kaplin, Rachel Suggs, Sofia Torriente, Stacia Konow, Stephanie Chung, Thomas Song, Zoe Kim photographers Abby Starr, Amanda Huang, Elaine Wan, Elizabeth Li, Emily Kim, Jerry Cao, Joanna Ma, Karina Mak, COVER PHOTO KARINA MAK
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Credits: Abby Starr, Elaine Wan, Elizabeth Li, Karina Mak
inside the issue
Imagine you’re making spontaneous plans to have dinner, but you can’t figure out where to go. You’re looking for a place that’s a little more upscale with sophisticated options, but it’s a weeknight, so you don’t necessarily feel like traveling to the city. The answer to your conundrum lies at the corner of East 60th Street and South Woodlawn Avenue on the ground floor of the David Rubenstein Forum. Aptly named, BarDavid provides an accessible fine-dining experience right on campus. One of the most appealing aspects of BarDavid is that both its atmosphere and dining options are refined without feeling REVIEW overwhelming or unfamiliar. The restaurant itself has a clean, modern design with both open tables for larger dining parties as well as smaller booths that provide a more intimate experience. One of the most memorable aspects of the restaurant’s design is that it is lit with hanging orbs that resemble stars. The menu itself, created by Chef Marco Bahena, is very customizable with a focus on modern mediterranean-inspired cuisine that is
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enhanced by seasonal ingredients. I went with a friend for dinner, though BarDavid is also open for breakfast and lunch. All of the meals served provide a myriad of options that appeal to all diners, regardless of dietary restrictions or food preferences. Out of these meals, the dinner menu provides the most variety. The beauty of the menu structure is that it provides guests with various options for their dining experience. While choosing an option from the Main course may be preferred, the combination of options from the Flatbreads and Bites for the Table sections are sufficient for a dinner meal as well. We decided to share the burrata flatbread and parmesan chickpea fries. The best way to describe the burrata flatbread is an elevated, thin-crust pizza. In addition to burrata, the crunchy crust of this flatbread is topped with a layer of sweet, tangy roasted tomato sauce and a basil pesto. This dish is the perfect example of elevated comfort food. It includes all the familiar flavors of a traditional margherita pizza (tomato sauce, cheese, and basil), with
BAR DAVID BY ANGELIQUE ALEXOS PHOTOS BY KARINA MAK
more sophisticated ingredients. The flatbreads are a great, substantial option to share between two or three people as part of a shared main course, or they can be split among more people as an appetizer. The parmesan chickpea fries are similarly a great option to share. This dish consists of about six individual “fries” stuffed with a smashed chickpea filling that is lightly breaded and topped with parmesan. However, the star of this dish is the spicy piquillo aioli. On its own, the chickpea fries are more plain in flavor, but they are greatly enhanced by the sharp parmesan and spicy aioli. We could not get enough of the aioli in particular and ended up spreading it on our slices of flatbread as well. For those who have a lower spice tolerance, this aioli is nothing to be afraid of, but it adds a great kick to an otherwise simpler dish. Of course, dinner would not be complete without dessert. We ordered the chocolate cremeux torte, which is a rich rectangle of chocolate cake topped with a layer of caramel. This cake is covered with a layer of ganache and finished with almonds and more caramel. Paired with a cappuccino, this dish was a lovely way to end the meal because it was sweet and balanced, while also being well portioned, so it was not overly decadent. BarDavid provides a great dining experience for those seeking a more upscale yet accessible option in Hyde Park. While the options are refined, they incorporate many familiar ingredients and flavors, making the menu both enjoyable and approachable for all guests.
>> NEIGHBORHOOD HYDE PARK >> PRICES $$ >> DISHES TO TRY BURRATA FLATBREAD PARMESAN CHICKPEA FRIES CHOCOLATE CREMEUX TORTE reviews
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CAFE BEOGRAD BY AIDAN CESSOR PHOTOS BY JOANNA MA
After an hour on the L, we finally arrived at our destination. The dusk-ladened streets did not obscure our view of the blue and yellow sign that sports the words, “Cafe Beograd.” Situated on the corner of Irving Park & Richmond, the cafe and market duo has a quaint facade but stepping inside transports you to home with fond memories of Belgrade, the capital of Serbia. A sleepy, cold winter day lends itself to not many patrons, but that didn’t deter a lively atmosphere. Painted in flowing cursive Cyrillic script, a poem about the cafe’s namesake was next to our table while posters of hyper-stylized versions of Belgrade’s landmarks line the other wall. Conjoined to the restaurant, a little market with jars of ajvar, fluffy cakes, and shelves and shelves of rakia, the Balkan’s national spirit. With our stomachs desperately desiring a filling Balkan meal, we ordered one of Cafe Beograd’s freshly baked Bureks. Consisting of flaky phyllo dough and stuffed with all sorts of fillings, Burek is one of the most recognizable dishes from the region. Deciding on a hearty beef filling, our server recommended we get ajvar, kaymak, and urnebes as our three sides. Consisting of blended roasted red peppers, eggplant, and spices, ajvar is a spread that has touched my soul. The flakiness and heaviness of the burek are complemented by the cold, creamy, and almost sweet ajvar. The other two condiments pale in comparison to the ajvar. Like clotted cream, the fatty richness hits you as you taste the kaymak, which wouldn't be bad on a lighter dish, but the burek is also very heavy, which makes the combination too rich. Urnebes is feta cheese with hot peppers, and it runs into the same issues with the kaymak, except there is a hint of heat that singes my tongue. The burek with ajvar is with no doubt the best dish we tried and is worth a try. For our second dish, we got the Beograd special. This dish was more like five dishes in one—it had pork chops, bacon, pljeskavica, and ćevapčići. The last two items are Serbian hamburger patties made with spiced meat, and little logs of grilled minced meat respectively.
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Most of the meats were overly greasy and dry, with the exception of the ćevapčići and pork chops. Reminding me of those oh-sowonderful breakfast sausages that I used to have almost every day as a child, the ćevapčići were the best thing on the platter of meats. We ordered the Beograd special to try their barbeque, which can all be ordered separately. Overall, I would stick to the burek and ajvar, which were lovely. Add some ćevapčići if you’re not satisfied. If you’re ever in the area, making a quick stop for a bite to eat will leave you fulfilled, and you can even pick up a bottle of rakia at the store.
>> NEIGHBORHOOD
LITTLE ITALY >> PRICES
$$
>> DISHES TO TRY
THE BNB SIGNATURE THE CRISPY YARDBIRD
>> NEIGHBORHOOD IRVING PARK >> PRICES $$ >> DISHES TO TRY BEEF BUREK WITH AJVAR
BY ZOE KIM PHOTOS BY AMANDA HUANG
reviews
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>> NEIGHBORHOOD RIVER NORTH >> PRICES $$
>> DISHES TO TRY
SHRIMP SCAMPI SKEWERS POUTINE BREAD PUDDING BRULEE
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CHALET BY THOMAS SONG PHOTOS BY KARINA MAK
Chalet, a newly opened restaurant in River North located conveniently across the Chicago Brown Line station, seeks to blend hearty American classics and a rustic, ski-inspired atmosphere with elements of elevated, gourmet cuisine. Spearheaded by executive chef Louie Yu, former executive chef of Sunda, the menu strikes a balance between well-known, familiar comfort dishes with bold, novel twists. Upon walking into the space, the inspiration for the restaurant’s name, Chalet, is immediate. The interior exudes a cozy, almost tavern-like feel through the heavy use of wood accents and earthy stone decorations. In addition, the restaurant transports diners to an alpine, ski-resort-esque environment through its prolific use of snowflake patterns and ski resort photographs decorating the restaurant. Even the servers wore literal ski goggles and hats to fully immerse diners in this alternate world– one that matches the current wintry season in Chicago but contrasts the bustling, urban character of the neighborhood right outside. Now looking towards the food options, we split all of the dishes we ordered to savor as many different flavors and dishes as possible. We were recommended the shrimp scampi skewers, which did not disappoint in terms of presentation or flavor. The three skewers were aesthetically laid out on a black plate paired with a grilled lemon and a lightly tossed arugula salad, giving the dish a colorful Mediterranean appearance. 8
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The shrimp was grilled to perfection– the slight char on the outside paired excellently with the juicy, bursting flavors of the soft interior. They were cooked just enough to develop the savory, smoky flavor of a good sear without sacrificing the tenderness of the meat. The salad and lemon pairing also allowed us to add a bit of zest to the dish’s flavor profile. We then dug into the duck confit poutine, which, unlike the lighter shrimp scampi skewers, was oozing with a hearty filling, giving it the feel and taste of the perfect comfort food for warming up on a frigid winter day. The duck confit was an innovative protein element to the otherwise cheese- and carb-heavy dish. It was actually our first time trying duck with the other ingredients of fries and cheese curds, but we were pleasantly surprised by the interesting and unique balance of flavors. The cheese added a gooey chewiness to the poutine that definitely made it more filling and savory, while the fries provided a nice crunch to complement the stringy profile of the cheese. Garnishes like chives and roasted red peppers added a light tang to cut through the heaviness of the dish so that it was not overpowering. Finally, we ended our meal with the bread pudding brulée, which was bursting with complex flavors and sugary deliciousness. The bread in the dessert was soft and melted in my mouth, with a consistency similar to French toast, which combined with the sweet cream
butter and sugar coating to create a rich and decadent initial bite. However, as the name brulée suggests, the chef also created a more diverse range of textures by adding a bulleit brown sugar glaze, as well as figs and cinnamon. The brown sugar glaze gave the dessert more of a bite and satisfying crunch, while also adding deep, rich hints of caramel. Meanwhile, the figs and cinnamon introduced fruity sweetness and spice to the dish’s profile, elevating its complexity and ensuring that the bread and butter did not make the pudding too soggy or simple flavor-wise. All in all, dining at Chalet was a highly enjoyable and worthwhile experience that left an impact through the cuisine’s complex textures and variegated ingredients.
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>> NEIGHBORHOOD EAST LAKEVIEW >> PRICES $$
>> DISHES TO TRY
POULET AU CURRY SOUPE À L’OIGNON GRATINÉE BANANAS SARA
REVIEW
LA CRÊPERIE
BY ESHA DEOKAR PHOTOS BY AMANDA HUANG
Nestled between an industrial city health center and a gramophone records store is an unassuming white building with a small blue sign that reads La Creperie. Had I not walked right past it, I may not have even noticed the quiet ashen exterior concealed within the restless neighborhood. La Crêperie, a charming, family-owned and operated French restaurant in East Lakeview, boasts itself to be the oldest creperie in the United States. Since the 1970s, La Crêperie has been pouring bold flavors into classic French cuisine, a gem suspended in time amidst the changing environment of Chicago. As the door closed behind me, the sounds of cars whirring down Clark Street disappeared into the background. The walls of La Crêperie are surrounded by dark wood paneling, accented with sepia-toned bronzes in the furniture and fixtures. The bar, which takes up a significant portion of the interior space, is finished with a burnished copper. The resulting browns and gold hues make the restaurant feel intimate in an inviting and comforting manner. The lights are dimmed slightly, and the walls are adorned with vintage paintings and posters. Each accessory and addition to the dining room makes the restaurant feel familiar and much cozier than the outside world. Before receiving the main course, I whet my appetite by tasting from La Crêperie’s extensive wine and cocktail menu. Their Château Recougne Bordeaux was incredibly intense, a rich red wine with a strong fruity aroma and almost pungent aftertaste. My favorite drink was the Kir Royale, made with Jules Theuriet Cassis de Dijon. The cocktail tasted like an elevated evening mimosa and the hint of currant flavor tempered the bite of the liqueur. The food was served shortly after, with strong aromas of coconut and onion dancing in the air. The first dish that I tried was the Poulet au Curry, a thin crepe stuffed to the brim with a chicken curry and served
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with a mango chutney. The taste and texture of the crepe itself connotes an extremely experienced hand. It was light and fluffy, with a slight eggy taste to complement the savory nature of the chicken curry. The dish itself was an imaginative twist on a classic grilled chicken crepe. The green curry cream sauce was rich and melded well with the sweetness of the mango chutney. La Crêperie is also known best for its French onion soup, or the soupe à l’oignon gratinée. It arrived with a thick layer of burnt cheese. The soft cheese pull combines with the flavors of the carmelized onions to create a hearty soup. The broth is clearly high-quality; while the large gobs of onion are the self-proclaimed champion of the soup, the meat stock used as the foundation for the dish added a much-needed richness to this French classic. Finally, I ended my night at the creperie with the Bananas Sara, a sweet crepe with bananas roasted in a brown sugar caramel sauce, and topped with rum and vanilla ice cream. This is the perfect menu item for sharing, as it punches strong with an intense syrupy sweetness. The robust banana flavor explodes within the confines of the crepe due to its caramelization. The warmth of the crepe paired well with the cool ice cream, but the dish was most balanced by the rum, which counteracts the cloying sweetness from the caramel. Although the dish boasted a litany of textures and sheer amount of ingredients, the crepe never buckled under the pressure, retaining structural integrity and a strong bite. Before I left for the evening, I took one last look at La Crêperie and listened to the soft French ballad playing on the stereo system. The food in this restaurant is made with extreme care, retaining the expertise and simplicity of home cooking with innovative flavors and a wide variety of menu items.
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loom Plant Based Kitchen is a new, fully-vegan restaurant in Wicker Park. This fantastic dining experience was imagined and created by the same individuals that started the popular, Pan-Latin restaurant, Amaru. Both places focus on high quality, in-season ingredients, with an emphasis on sharing plates. While Amaru is known for their slow-cooked pork shoulder and oxtail ravioli, Bloom is recognized for their crispy buffalo cauliflower and butternut squash noodles. By curating a handful of elevated dishes, Bloom has rightfully received heaps of admiration from Chicago’s biggest foodies. Abby and I dined at Bloom on a chilly afternoon during their weekly Sunday brunch hours. After exiting our uber and looking at the unassuming concrete exterior of the restaurant, we were pleasantly surprised by a lively and warm environment on the inside.
The mellow, smooth furnishings and carefully placed decorative flowers allow the diners to imagine that they have left the industrial city of Chicago and have entered a cozy home that is surrounded by farms and nature. As an appetizer, we enjoyed the buffalo cauliflower, which had an insanely crisp texture and the added bonus of a soft, turmericforward interior. It is the perfect way to begin your meal because it sends the message that Bloom’s chef is focused on a few key ingredients for each dish. Additionally, the chef cares about creating intense flavors, which make each item on the menu seem distinct. We then tried the most popular brunch item, the patty melt. The dish included the classic burger toppings of tomato, lettuce, and nicely caramelized onions, but the mushroom-based patty did not feel overly greasy. Instead, it had a nice umami kick from the addition of soy sauce. I have to admit that I expected both dishes to feel like
>> NEIGHBORHOOD WICKER PARK >> PRICES $$ >> DISHES TO TRY BUFFALO CAULIFLOWER, BUTTERNUT SQUASH NOODLES, PATTY MELT (FROM BRUNCH MENU)
underwhelming attempts at replicating the American classics of buffalo chicken wings and a cheeseburger. Instead, these dishes replaced the one-dimensionality that these crowd-pleasers sometimes are guilty of, with fresh and bold flavors. I also must mention that the bread for the patty melt was lacking in comparison to the rest of the sandwich, and could be improved. Furthermore, if the patty was crispier, the dish would have felt slightly more balanced. Our waiter emphasized how the chef constantly adjusts the menu, which allows for returning guests to have a completely different experience each time they walk into the restaurant. Overall, Abby and I were thoroughly impressed by the atmosphere, menu variety, and tasting experience at Bloom. This is a restaurant that does not cut corners and it creates a space for vegans and nonvegans to enjoy flavorful dishes at an attainable price.
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BLOOM PLANT BASED KITCHEN BY IAN HENDERSON PHOTOS BY ABBY STARR
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Food, Family, and Grief: A Review on
By Abby Yuhan Illustrated by Victoria Kielb & Abbey Piatt Price
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I first picked up Crying in HMart after it had maintained a spot on the New York Times Bestselling Books for months. The book had caught my eye for a number of reasons: the bright red hardback cover; the amount of attention it had received; its author, Michelle Zauner, a musician who goes under the stage name Japanese Breakfast; its relatability on the topics of identity and grief; and the title mention of HMart. But the experience of actually reading the book is what opened my eyes to Zauner’s story and my own personal reflection. Zauner was born in Seoul to her mother, Chongmi. She first emerged as the solo artist Japanese Breakfast in 2016, and her debut album, Psychopomp, worked through her relationship with her mother and the grief of losing her mother to cancer. When she published Crying in HMart as an essay on her experiences with food, culture, and her mother’s passing in the New Yorker, she gained a lot of recognition. The essay stood out for its poignant reflections on loss and grief, and eventually, Zauner released a whole book with the original essay as the first chapter. The motif of HMart throughout the memoir is a way for Zauner to translate the feelings of grief, comfort, home, and culture, all at once. Working through grief and cultural separation, she describes the uniquely comforting feeling of the “HMart complex”: shopping in the grocery store, passing by the cosmetics counter, and eating dishes like jjigaes and tteokboki in the food court (Zauner 2021). For context, HMart is a franchised Korean market with locations across America. There is something comforting, for every KoreanAmerican, about the familiar, organized rows of Korean produce, meats, sauces, dried foods, snacks, and packaged banchan that translates to any Korean market across America. Zauner describes a similar feeling in her move to Philadelphia, where a Korean market was a temporary replacement for her cultural attachment to home. Zauner’s writing and storytelling has the ability to speak to her readers in more ways than one. The book was written with the vulnerability and personal touch of a story shared between friends, and through that connection she builds with the reader, she
is able to translate how food can be a portal to home and identity. Her memories of her mother’s death are tied with vibrant and soulful experiences with food: making jutjak, eating yukgaejang, and pickling kimchi. She finds a way to continue her mother’s legacy through cooking the foods that are a reminder of her mother. Maangchi, a Korean cook who makes recipes for Korean dishes on her website, becomes a bridge between Zauner and her newfound sense of identity. As someone who has experienced a parent having cancer, the book allowed me to reflect on experiences that I never allowed myself to process. My experience with my mother’s cancer diagnosis was one of coming to an understanding about human mortality, and Zauner captures this idea beautifully. And as the daughter of two Korean immigrants, I also understand what it’s like to feel connected to my culture solely through my parents and food. I am reminded that I am Korean every time I take a sip of Korean stew or savor a bite of kimchi. I’ve learned to find comfort in this relationship with cultural food, but the process of achieving that comfort was not easy. Crying in HMart allows me to reflect on what it means to be second generation and how to hold on to bits of culture that I used to dislike. Zauner’s experience with Korean food ties her to her culture and her mother, and it allows her to develop new notions of family and culture after her mother’s death. She also reminds me that my individual struggles with identity are also a collective struggle, and food is a way for children of immigrants to come to terms with their identity. Her story recognizes and legitimizes the way that food individually connects me to my parents, grandparents, and all of my ancestors that came before them. Shopping at the Korean market or sitting down to a meal of doenjang-jjigae connects an experience between generations that I hope to one day be able to recreate with my children. That’s what Zauner’s writing captures tastefully (pun intended): the significance of food in the inexplicable bond of culture, identity, and family. It also leaves you insanely hungry.
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MY LOVE LETTER TO SPECIALTY GROCERS by Sofia Torriente photos by Jerry Cao
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f you’re anything like me, you’ve probably realized that—while it isn’t foolproof—there’s usually a good amount of magic in shoring up an otherwise questionable affect tolerance with a little bit of retail therapy. If you’re even more like me, you’ve also probably, hopefully, graduated from the “trying to change your entire style in one maniainduced online shopping spree” phase, to activities that are slightly more moderate. For me, there’s nothing that scratches that itch like a no-list, solo trip to a specialty grocer’s. Between having to justify a troubling snack-to- “real meal” ratio and knowing that there’s bound to be a few gut-wrenching, last-minute budget cuts, it’s the normal, weekly grocery runs that start to feel like pulling teeth. When I talk about the purpose of a specialty grocer, that’s not what I mean. We’re talking the kinds of places that reward the hunt—the stores that are teeming with the hard-to-find, back-home staples you didn’t know you could buy stateside or haven’t seen for years. Sure, some are fancy-schmancy, and there’s a time and place for that in the food world; but mostly what the local specialty food shop comes down to is a mood more than anything else. It’s the shorter aisles, but better than average quality. It’s the slightly dimmer, but markedly warmer lighting; the same, neighborhood-y clientele. Really, what these food paradises are about is taking pride in what they carry and finding
solutions, no matter how limited distribution might be. That’s why, when I think about the various field trips I’ve taken to places in the city like Joong Boo in Avondale, or Southport Grocery & Cafe in Lakeview—p.s. Props to any places slinging their own eats out of their market—the experiences could only ever be described as truly nourishing and joyous. Nothing against these mega chain supermarkets, but in a city as sprawling as Chicago, you’ll usually find that it’s those mom-and-pop shops that make grocery retail therapy a little more interesting. It’s these specialty food stores that bring together our most essential, primal need for food, and at the same time, ask us to exercise some of our most sophisticated cognitive processes of discretion and restraint. Sometimes it goes great, and you leave with the perfect accessory to your pantry or spice cabinet, other times you’re thirty dollars in the hole with nothing that even remotely resembles a cohesive meal. The way I see it, either way, I’ve usually gotten a couple of meditative minutes rifling through the different pasta shapes, or frozen dumpling options, which is more than can be said for most of my other hobbies. Whenever you’re next in need of a recharge, I’d recommend shuffling a good playlist or getting caught up on a podcast down the aisles of one of the following places: Mitsuwa, Kukulu Market, Sanabel Bakery & Grocery, Bari Foods, or The Spice House.
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CHALLAH RECIPE & ESSAY BY RACHEL SUGGS ILLUSTRATED BY ABBEY PIATT PRICE
35 minutes
prep
cook 40 minutes
makes 6-8 servings
GET 1 2½ ½ 1 3 7½
tbsp active dry yeast cups warm water cup honey tbsp kosher salt eggs cups fresh AP flour, plus more for kneading 4 tbsp good quality extra virgin olive oil Seasame seeds for garnish
DO
PREPARE THE DOUGH 1. Pour warm water into a large electric mixing bowl fitted with an electric paddle attachment. Sprinkle yeast over the water and let bloom (rest) for about 60 seconds. 2. Into the yeast mixture, pour honey, olive oil, salt, and two eggs. Stir gently to combine. Do not overmix. 3. Attach the dough hook into the electric mixer (the one shaped like a “J”). With the paddle on the lowest setting, pour in flour slowly, one cup at a time. A sticky dough should form. Do not overmix. You will know the dough is finished when the dough pulls off the sides of the bowl. 4. Once dough is combined and sticky, place it onto a floured surface. Knead the dough with the heel of the palm for approximately 2 minutes and form into a ball. 5. Grease a large mixing bowl (with enough room for the dough to expand) with a light layer of olive oil. Place dough into bowl. Take a washcloth and dampen with warm water until barely wet, not dripping. Place the washcloth over the top of the bowl, covering the dough (this acts as a humidifier). Let rise in a cool, dry space for 2 ½ - 3 hours, or until dough has about doubled in size. 6. Once the dough has risen and doubled, punch it down with a fist to release air bubbles. Place dough onto a floured surface and knead for approximately 2 minutes BRAID THE DOUGH 1. Divide dough into two equal loaves. Place one to the side. 2. Divide the loaf in front of you into 6 equal pieces. 3. Roll out each piece into a long, oblong strand using the “snaking” technique. 4. Place the strands vertically in front of you, and pinch them together at the top. 5. Starting with the far right strand, braid in the following pattern: over two, under one, over two. Braid all the strands in this fashion moving from right to left until the dough is fully braided. 6. Repeat braiding with the second loaf. BAKE 1. Preheat a convection oven to 375°F (or 350°F for a non-convection oven). 2. Grease two sheet pans with olive oil. Place each loaf onto its own pan. Cover with a dry washcloth and let rest for 1 hour. 3. After the loaves are done resting, uncover them. Beat the last remaining egg and brush the tops of each loaf with egg wash. Sprinkle sesame seeds on top (optional). 4. Bake for 30-40 minutes. To avoid burning the bottom in a non-convection oven, rotate which pan is on the top and bottom halfway through baking. 5. Remove from oven once golden brown and let cool for 1 hour before serving. 6. Please note that this recipe does not include the step of saying a Brucha and burning a portion of the dough. You may include this ritual if desired. 16
spring fall 2021 2021 bite | winter 2022
Few Jewish traditions are as special to me as Challah: the soft, sweet braided bread that we bless and eat on Shabbat (the Sabbath). While growing up in suburban Connecticut, I attended Camp Gan Israel during the summer. On Fridays, the counselors would send us home with plastic bags full of pre-made Challah dough that we were to braid and bake before dinner. During the car rides home, I couldn’t help opening the bag early to waft the refreshing, sweet scent inside. To this day, the smell of pre-baked Challah dough brings me back to my childhood and heritage. As a kid, I remember my grandmother bought Challah for our family from the Kosher bakery near her house. It was sufficient for our purposes, but often dry and flavorless. Every once in a while, I would be presented with a gourmet loaf from another bakery and reminded of what Challah was supposed to taste like– light, fluffy, and sweet. Fast forward to my teenage years, and I found myself stuck inside during a pandemic. Bored from the lack of weekend plans, I decided to undertake the journey of creating the perfect Challah recipe. I began the process by cross-referencing every Challah recipe I could find from reputable sources, (i.e. blogs or websites run by Jewish women rather than Food Magazine conglomerates), paying special attention to recipes that were family staples. While conducting this research, I was enlightened by and took note of all the variations that permeated even the smallest details. Some recipes called for all purpose flour, others for whole wheat, and a handful for a mixture of the two. Some recipes relied on electric mixers, and others solely on wooden spoons and elbow grease. The most confusing discrepancy was whether to use honey or granulated sugar as the dough’s sweetener. For my first attempt, I followed a recipe that returned to the basics, similar to the one provided in this article. To my surprise, the first batch was almost perfect: dense without being too heavy, sweet without being overwhelming, and nicely browned. I even tackled the six-strand braid on my first try. But nonetheless, something still felt off. It wasn’t until I went to Israel in August 2021, several months after that inaugural first batch, that I learned the secret to the perfect Challah. On Levinsky Street in Tel Aviv, widely regarded as the culinary capital of Israel, I found myself wandering into a spice shop (the only spice shop in Israel run entirely by women) with the intention of buying spices for stews and soups. While standing in line to pay, I wondered to myself if these women had any suggestions for my recipe. After showing the lovely cashier Natalie one photo of my Challah, she immediately told me to use one less cup of flour to help with the moisture and to sprinkle sesame seeds on top of the egg wash to cut through the sweetness. She also gave me Silan, date syrup, to use in my dough instead of honey. Returning home in time for the holiday of Rosh Hashanah, I implemented all of Natalie’s suggestions with high hopes of completing my journey for the perfect Challah. Succeeding was indeed a proud milestone, but not the end of my journey. It wasn’t until I came to the University of Chicago and started studying Torah with Chabad that I grasped the full meaning, purpose, and history behind the deceptively humble Shabbat bread. I learned how to say the Bracha (blessing) over the dough, as well as the way our Challah traditions descend from the Jewish people’s time in the desert after fleeing slavery. I was taught about the tradition of pinching off a tiny piece, burning it, and throwing it out or saving it for later use. Now, every time I eat Challah, I don’t just think of my journey for the perfect recipe. I am reminded of my people’s time in the desert, our longing for our homeland, and the struggle that we have gone through and continue to endure. Eating Challah is not just a treat; it is a history lesson and an act of pride. I will continue to bake Challah because of the story it tells of my people. L'chaim!
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Every day without fail as I walked home from school with my mother in lower school, dressed in patentleather black shoes and a ruffled lightblue jumper, I would get a scoop of chocolate gelato. The viscous treat swirled around my mouth as if it were a toddler at a birthday party, bopping around energetically while exploring every nook and cranny of the room. The explosions of sugar and cocoa always made me smile. Every day without fail, my mother would have to grab the tide stick and scrub off the dark stains that had dribbled down and plagued the light blue fabric. The jumper never stood a chance. Although my mother steered more to the side of remaining health-conscious when I was a child — pulp-ridden green juices, to my dismay, frequently appeared in my diet — she was never shied away from allowing us to dive into a bacon cheeseburger and grilled cheese, a banana split sundae with a chocolate milkshake, or chicken tenders with french fries. My sister and I were, after all, normal human beings, so we constantly craved a good ol chocolate chip cookie, a grilled cheese with bacon, or overall, American classics. Our GreekAmerican culinary upbringing did not render us impervious to the wonders and whims of American classic foods. As we grew, however, the comfort of these classics were not limited to childhood. Now, nothing screams New York comfort and binge-worthy more than a cheese slice and a bagel with lox. In a world full of uncertainty, we rely on
the stalwart to help us find our footing. What’s old becomes new again: this was evidenced by the steep increases in stocks such as Nestle, Kraft Heinz, and Unilever on the onset of the pandemic. Comfort foods were making a comeback; people wanted their DiGiorno Pizza, their Campbells Soup, their Kraft Mac and Cheese. These foods bring back the nostalgia of our childhood, times when we didn’t have a care in the world. They placate stress, calm the butterflies in
our stomach, and remind us that everything is going to be okay. When someone panics, they don’t turn to Sweetgreen, but rather to Haagen Daaz for a shoulder to cry on. We turn to the classics in moments not only of disaster, but also of laziness: it’s a blizzard outside in Chicago, you’re snuggled up under a blanket, and all you want is a Medici quesadilla and a hot chocolate with whipped cream. It’s important for us to step outside of our comfort zone, to explore and try new things, but it’s always crucial that we have a safety net to fall back on. Sure, that safety net may be loaded with salt, sugar, and fat, but the classics are there when we need them most. Oh chocolate chip pancake and veggie omelette, thank you for cushioning my stomach the morning after a long night out. Oh hot dog, thank you for making me smile as I cheer on the Yankees to just make it to the bottom of the 9th. Oh movie theater popcorn, thank you for claiming squatters rights in my mouth and hair during horror movies. You’ve helped me get through the ups and downs, the highs and the lows, and I’m excited for a lifetime together. When I return home to New York from college, I’m excited to explore the new and innovative cuisines that have proliferated while I was gone. Maybe I’ll try the new ceviche place that opened up across the street, or the fish-market style restaurant that’s now on my corner. But I know that I can’t go back to Chicago without eating my bacon, egg, and cheese.
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Spaghetti-O’s, Chef Boyardee, Lunchables, and Kid’s Cuisine – arguably the greatest American food monopolies to exist in the early 2000s among children. Despite growing up in a Korean household, where most of my food was homemade, these brands remained a staple in my childhood. Because of nostalgia, I’m still entranced by the names of these foods whenever brought up. However, they can easily be translated into their less appealing reality: canned spaghetti and ravioli, prepackaged cheese and crackers, and frozen kid’s meals. My parents saw their beauty in the convenience of preparation for a quick meal; heating up pre-canned spaghetti on the stove, or a frozen meal that was ready to go after two minutes in the microwave. I, on the other hand, would like to say that I appreciated them for their true culinary beauty. It was a treat to have microwavable chicken nuggets, as they always came with a perfectly undercooked brownie. Over our prolonged winter break, in the height of my boredom at home, I decided to test some of these foods that I remembered so fondly, to see if they still held up to all their glory. Although my local grocery store, coupled with a trip to Walmart, had a fine selection of prepackaged and canned food, Kid’s Cuisine was nowhere to be found and, thus, is missing from my empirical research. My two tasting assistants consisted of the most reliable in the field: my brother and dad.
20 bite | winter 2022
The first course was spaghetti o’s — canned, ring-shaped pasta in tomato sauce. The preparation process was simple: five minutes on the stove. At first glance, the pasta was not the most appetizing thing to look at: the meatballs erred on the side of dog kibble while the fluorescent orange sauce had the liquidy consistency of water. My dad was taken aback by the sweetness of the sauce, which was then followed up with a weird kick of tanginess that you would perhaps expect in sweet and sour sauce. With their famous noodles in miniature “o” shapes, it came as no surprise when the only texture consisted of chunky mush (apart from the eerily spongy texture of the meatballs). And the salty, flavorful goodness I once attributed to this Campbell’s dish was only overpowering: making me pucker my lips at the saltiness. Next came Chef Boyardee’s beef ravioli: individual ravioli squares in meat sauce. Having been in the can for so long, the ravioli fell apart upon heating it up, revealing the grey-looking meat paste inside. My dad, the biggest critic of the study, related it to having a “texture of lotion” whereas my brother found its sourness off-putting. Lastly, the pepperoni pizza Lunchables meal was the final course. Consisting of two hard tortilla-like disks, marinara sauce, and some shredded cheese; it had the fun concept of building your own pizza. The marinara sauce was thick, like jam, when we tried to spread it on the base. But it came in handy with its overpowering sweetness as it disguised the bitterness of the dry “pizza dough”.
My empirical study had disappointing results, culminating in the conclusion that my once cherished childhood foods were, in reality, lackluster, overpoweringly sweet, and straight-up bad. However, I think the worst part of my little research was not so much having to try bad canned food – but that my memory of these once-amazing meals was now soured. There are so many things we have fond memories of tasting amazing. In light of my recent scientific procedure, it makes me second guess my perception of my recollections. Yes, one can say that it doesn’t matter whether these foods are objectively good or not. I would agree. But either way, it unconsciously altered how I see them. My advice? Don’t test this yourself; sometimes, holding on to the memory of these amazing childhood foods is good enough for reminiscing.
by Zoe Kim
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BY KATE KAPLIN PHOTOS BY KARINA MAK
GRAPEFRUIT UPSIDEDOWN CAKE prep
50 minutes
cook
50 minutes
makes
8 servings
Upside down cakes are a rare gift amongst recipes because you get a stunning result for very little effort. All you have to do is arrange the fruit in a nice pattern, make a simple cake batter, and you receive an absolutely gorgeous cake as a result! While the technique works for almost any fruit, the caramel on the bottom of the cake pan is a perfect match for the forgotten child of the winter citrus season, grapefruit. Known for its bitterness, grapefruit receives a poor reputation, but it is actually one of the most subtle and mildly acidic citrus fruits, and this subtlety is perfect for caramelization in the cake. In fact, the grapefruit’s bitterness counteracts the richness of the cake and caramel leading to a cake which perfectly balances sweet, sour, and tangy. As a result, the cake is not too sweet, and the grapefruit’s many complexities are released from the confines of its bitterness.
GET 2 3 ⅔ 2
sticks of butter tbsp unsalted butter cups light brown sugar tsp lemon or grapefruit juice 2 grapefruits 1 cup almond flour
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1½ 1½ ½ 1 3 ⅓ 2
cup all-purpose flour tsp baking powder tsp salt cup granulated sugar large eggs cup yogurt tsp vanilla extract
DO 1. Heat oven to 350 degrees, cut a 9-inch round of parchment paper. Grease a 9-inch round cake pan, place parchment round inside, and grease paper. 2. In a small saucepan over medium heat, melt 3tbsp of butter. Add the brown sugar and lemon juice, stir until sugar melts. Transfer mixture into bottom of pan. 3. Zest both grapefruits, slice off tops and bottoms. Slice away rind and pith. 4. Slice each grapefruit crosswise into 1/4-inch thick wheels, discard seeds. Arrange grapefruit wheels on top of brown sugar mixture.
5. In a large bowl, whisk together half of grapefruit zest, almond flour, all-purpose flower, baking powder and salt until well combined. 6. In a separate bowl, cream together 2 softened sticks of butter with granulated sugar until fluffy. Beat in eggs one at a time, then add yogurt and vanilla. 7. Fold in dry mixture by hand, transfer batter to pan. 8. Bake for 40-50 minutes, until cake is golden brown.
9. Cool cake in pan for 10 minutes, run knife along pan’s edges. Invert cake onto platter, peel off parchemt paper 10. Cool completely before serving, garnish with grapefruit zest.
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PINSEQUES FRITOS
BY BEN MILLER PHOTOS BY ELIZABETH LI
For centuries, the Philippines has been one of the world’s most vibrant culinary crossroads. Beginning in the 1500s, the islands served as the focal point for trade between China and the Spanish Empire, and as merchants arrived in Manilla, they brought with them an array of flavors stretching across four continents. These tastes mingled with the culinary traditions of hundreds of ethnic groups that called the Philippines home, creating an unprecedented opportunity for fusion and innovation in the kitchen. Pinseques fritos, or Filipino wontons, are one product of this intermingling. They share the same basic premise as the Chinese classic—ground pork wrapped in a crunchy, deep fried wrapper—but with a distinctly Filipino blend of transnational flavors. This particular recipe tries to highlight the synergy of Filipino fusion by incorporating elements from many different cuisines that have left their mark on the islands’ unique food landscape.
prep cook makes
30 minutes 20 minutes 40 pinseques
GET 1 1 1 2 ¼ ⅓ 2 1 2 1 1 ½ ½ ½ ½ ½ ¼
24
lb ground pork package wonton wrappers egg cloves minced garlic cup minced carrots cup minced onion bay leaves (ground) tbsp cilantro tsp soy sauce tsp brown sugar tsp minced lemongrass tsp ground ginger tsp salt tsp pepper tsp cayenne tsp Spanish smoked paprika tsp Chinese five spice Peanut oil bite | winter 2020 2022
1. 2. 3.
4.
DO
Mince carrots, onion, garlic, and lemongrass. Combine together in a medium bowl. Add spices and soy sauce and mix. Incorporate vegetable and spice mixture into ground pork. Massage the meat until vegetables are evenly distributed. Spoon 1 teaspoon of filling onto a wonton wrapper. Dip a finger in water and move it along the edge of the wrapper to create a water line on the edge. This helps seal the wonton. Fold the wonton diagonally so two corners meet. If desired, roll water along the outside of the fold, and then bend the far corners in to form a crown shape. Repeat until wrappers or filling is exhausted. Heat peanut oil to 400 degrees in a deep pan, cast iron pot, or deep fryer. Make sure the oil is at least two inches deep. Drop wrapped pinseques into oil in batches of five to eight. Remove after 2-3 minutes, or when golden brown. Allow 5 minutes to cool, then serve with soy sauce and/or chili oil for dipping.
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prep
WINTER CITRUS SALAD BY HENNA NAM PHOTOS BY ELAINE WAN
10 minutes
cook
5 minutes
makes
2-4 servings
When I’ve looked outside my kitchen window this past week, all I’ve seen is gray skies, bare branches, and muddied snow. Although it’s gloomy outside, winter represents the peak of the citrus season. This citrus salad is bright in color and flavor. It boasts cheerful shades of orange, pink, and red that burst into sweet yet tart acidic sparks on your tongue. It’s the perfect antidote to winter blues. I love how customizable this recipe is; you can easily swap in whatever fresh herbs and greens you have on hand, add half a creamy avocado, or even throw some sliced chicken breast on top. Lastly, finish it off with a spicy caramelized honey dressing and a handful of nuts to add a warming, hearty crunch.
GET 1 head of Boston lettuce
(or an equivalent quantity of fresh greens)
1 1 1 1 ½ ¼ 2
blood orange Cara Cara orange navel orange Persian cucumber cup toasted pecans cup dried cranberries tbsp honey
2 2 1 ½
tbsp white balsamic vinegar tbsp extra virgin olive oil shallot, finely diced tsp crushed red pepper flakes kosher salt fresh ground pepper fresh herbs (e.g. mint, cilantro, parsley)
DO 1.
2. 3. 4. 5. 26 bite 2022 bite || winter spring 2021 26
Start with the dressing, so it has time to cool. First, pour the honey into a sturdy saucepan or nonstick skillet. Cook on medium heat with the diced shallot, swirling occasionally, until the honey turns a light brown and the shallots are translucent. Allow to cool slightly, then add the white balsamic vinegar, extra virgin olive oil, crushed red pepper flakes, and salt and pepper to taste. Whisk briskly, until it is light and frothy. For the salad, start by preparing a bed of lettuce or greens. Peel and thinly slice the Blood Orange, Cara Cara, navel orange, and Persian cucumber. Arrange the citrus and cucumber on the lettuce and sprinkle the pecans and cranberries on top. Gently tear the fresh herbs and add to the dressing just before serving. Drizzle dressing on top, and enjoy!
LEMON GINGER SOUP BY STACIA KONOW PHOTOS BY EMILY KIM
Whether you are in need of a sinus-clearing, palate-cleansing, or warming-up, this is the perfect soup to make. This lemon ginger is a recipe that has been in my family for many years now, and it has yet to fail to cure even the worst cold. The best part is being able to smell the ginger as its aroma fills the house and knowing that someone who cares about you is making it just for you. This soup is a bright and vibrant dish that will leave you, a friend, or a family member feeling uplifted and satisfied no matter what.
prep
15 minutes
cook
20 minutes
GET 32 1 1 4 2 ½ ⅛
oz low-sodium chicken broth bunch green onions, thinly sliced knub fresh ginger, grated (roughly 1 tbsp) cloves fresh garlic, minced lemons, 1 juiced and 1 sliced tsp kosher salt tsp cayenne pepper Combination of fresh herbs, see note
1. 2. 3. 4. 5.
makes
4 servings
DO
Pour chicken broth into a medium sized pot, let simmer on medium heat Add green onions, garlic, ginger, and lemon juice, stirring occasionally. Simmer for about 5 minutes. Add salt, cayenne pepper, and herbs. Stir thoroughly. Simmer for 5-10 minutes, until the soup is very aromatic. Ladle into bowls and add lemon slices. Serve immediately
Note: Almost any combination of herbs (you’ll want about 3-4 sprigs/leaves in total) works for this recipe. Read the ingredients of the chicken broth first to see what herbs are already in the broth and pick either the same or complementing herbs to the soup. My go-to combination is one sprig of thyme, a bundle of sage (five or so leaves), and a bay leaf. Putting the herbs into an empty tea bag is a great way to prevent any leaves from staying in the broth and for easy removal. FEATURES recipes
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