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dear foodies & friends It is with happy hearts and loudly growling stomachs that we present to you the Winter 2020 issue of Bite Magazine! Join us on this journey to explore new foodie finds and culinary delights as we celebrate the upcoming warm weather—this winter may not have been as bad as the polar vortex last year, but it’s still been chilly enough for us. If you’re looking for some great spots to cozy up and sip on a steaming mug of hot cocoa, check out Cozy Spots for an Afternoon Sipping Hot Chocolate (10) for some deliciously warm experiences. Or, if you’re not about the cold weather, flip through Mercado Orgánica La Cosecha (20) and pretend you’re basking in the glow of 80°F weather in Oaxaca. If you’re looking to spice up your dining experiences, look no further than the reviews of Nha Hang Viet Nam (7) and Chicago Diplomat Cafe (6) for some killer Vietnamese or Georgian cuisine. Or, if you’re looking for some comforting and homey burgers or char dogs, check out the mouthwatering reviews of Fatso’s Last Stand (9) and JT’s Genuine Sandwich Shop (8). If you prefer to stay inside on these last chilly days of winter, pick up some ingredients and try making your own Red Curry Paste (26), which is sure to keep you warm! As you turn through these pages, we hope you enjoy reading it (and drooling over the pictures) as much as we enjoyed creating it! Don’t forget to tag us on Instagram (@uchicagobite) with all of your epicurean adventures!
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table of contents 4 Caravanserai 6 Chicago diplomat cafe 7 nha hang viet nam 8 JT’s genuine sandwich shop 9 fatso’s last stand 10 cozy spots for an afternoon sipping hot chocolate 13 Consider the oyster 16 a rat and his cheeze 18 nut butters 20 Mercado Orgánica La Cosecha 22 squash blossoms 24 salted honey pie 25 crispy lotus root 26 Red curry paste & Hor Mok Editor-in-Chief Melanie Wang Managing editor OLIVIA XIONG creative director suhasni singh blog editor alyce oh communications director michelle zhou programming DIRECTOR michelle gao designers elaine wan, emily her, Felix gonzalez, frances schaeffler, jihana mendu, QINGFENG CHAI, sophia koock writers ben miller, daniel simantob, ed schmeltzer, evan williams, henna nam, ian resnick, kate kaplin, lily mansfield, lily levine, maya Osman-Krinsky, michael shen, paige resnick, veronica chang, wendy zheng photographers angela sha, ANGELA FUNG, angelina torre, cameron lam, camille aguilar, grace peguese, jerry cao, lina hajnal, maya Osman-Krinsky, michael shen, octavia zhou, shreya Minama Reddy COVER PHOTO Grace peguese
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REVIEW
CARAVANSERAI
BY KATE KAPLIN PHOTOS BY CAMERON LAM
With its glass walled exterior and colorful interior, Caravanserai, Dark Matter Coffee’s newest outpost in Belmont, seems out of place surrounded by old, brick buildings.The cafe’s interior, with color blocked stools, potted desert plants, and large murals of Mexican monuments by Jason Brammer, highlights its Mexican influence and reflects the cafe’s goal to bring the experience of traditional Mexican drinking chocolate to Chicago. We arrived at Caravanserai around 1:30pm and were lucky to find that there was no wait. The cafe has two drink menus: the Jaguar and the Tortuga. The Jaguar is for coffee drinks, while the Tortuga is for drinking chocolates. They offer three types of drinking chocolate: bitter, which is 70% cacao with 30% sugar; semi-sweet, 50/50 cacao to sugar; and sweet, 35/65. We tried the bitter, semi-sweet, and Mayan Mocha, which is coffee mixed with drinking chocolate and a bit of cayenne. We waited for about five minutes while they brewed it and then picked up our goblets— yes goblets—and sat down at a nearby table. As the barista explained, drinking chocolate is ground cacao brewed with sugar and water. Something to note, however, is that it doesn’t taste a lot like chocolate. A better description would be chocolate-flavored tea. The bitter drinking chocolate reminded me of coffee mixed with unsweetened chocolate that later developed a hint of fruitiness. The tasting experience of the semi-sweet drinking chocolate was the opposite: the sweet,
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fruity taste hit first and the chocolate flavor followed. My favorite was the Mayan Mocha. The bitterness of the coffee and the fruitiness of the drinking chocolate were wonderfully balanced. The heat that the cayenne pepper added to the drink was the type that hits you in the back of the throat, and it gave the Mayan Mocha character. Caravanserai’s other offerings include their tamales from a local restaurant, Estrella Negra. While they are not directly advertised on the menu, if you ask about food options, the barista will happily tell you about their daily tamal options. When we went, the daily options were pork, spinach and cheese, and chocolate chip tamales. Generally, they were slightly underwhelming. While they all had good flavor and were well-seasoned, the pork tamal was a bit dry, and the spinach and cheese tamal was not particularly cheesy. Additionally, the masa was a bit thick for the amount of filling. The chocolate chip tamal, however, was fantastic. The deep, rich chocolate was doused with a simple syrup, which kept it from tasting too bitter. In conclusion, at about $5.50 for a 12oz serving of drinking chocolate and $3.50 per tamal, Caravanserai is definitely on the pricier side. Every once in awhile though, it’s a fun break from your usual coffee destinations.
>> NEIGHBORHOOD LOGAN SQUARE >> PRICES $$
>> DISHES TO TRY MAYAN MOCHA
MEXICAN DRINKING CHOCOLATE FROM LA RIFA CHOCOLATE CHIP TAMAL
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REVIEW
CHICAGO DIPLOMAT CAFE BY IAN RESNICK PHOTOS BY JERRY CAO
An attempted weekend lunch at Chicago Diplomat Cafe is a surprising experience. Less of a lunch and more of an early supper, as the restaurant opens at 3 on the weekends. You’ll likely find the place nearly empty at this hour, save for two parties of unknowing out-of-towners and a Georgian woman at the corner table who gnaws on bread and stares. The restaurant is long and lean with wood floors, brick walls, a bar in the left corner, wooden fans dangling from the ceiling, brown leather chairs with brass fasteners, a door in the back cloaked in curtains that must lead to nowhere. A large fish tank hugs the right wall, almost as desolate as the restaurant, filled with five moderately sized goldfish. Georgian Pop music plays through two hulking speakers across from the bar–an eerie mix of polka and techno that makes this place feel like a carnival with dwindling ticket sales. The single waiter at this hour has a thick beard and long black hair, with bushy eyebrows that rival my own. He is thin, with a nervous energy that is somehow disarming, encouraging you to order more food than needed. Chicago Diplomat Cafe is the sole ambassador of Georgian food in the city, a cuisine that has long gone overlooked. Yet, we are in the midst of a Georgian cuisine awakening. Last year, it was named “Cuisine of the Year” by the trend forecaster af&co, and for good reason. Georgian food is warm and comforting, made rich and flavorful with parsley, garlic, tarragon, dill, and coriander. It is a quiet walk up into the cloud-covered caucuses, and no dish better manifests this feeling than Khachapuri, a large oval piece of bread filled with cheese, butter, and topped with an egg yolk. The yolk, cheese, and butter is mixed at the table and torn chunks of the bread are then dipped into the yellow mess. The dish warms your bones on a cold day, burns the roof of your mouth just enough, and makes this life and the stares of the woman in the corner all the more bearable. Another mandatory dish is the Ojakhuri: thick, seasoned chunks of potato, lamb, and onions served in a gray clay bowl, releasing a fragrant steam that demands your attention. The trout is another favorite, served whole with a small, white ramekin of pomegranate sauce and flanked by slices of lemon, but its texture and bone content is tempermental on off days. Chicago Diplomat Cafe is the perfect introduction to Georgian cuisine. Going for a late lunch leaves you in the awkward silence of an empty restaurant, permitting an intimate relationship with the dishes placed before you. A dinner will bring a different sort of experience, the neon backlighting turned on and the long tables packed with boisterous families. It is a slice of a distant life that is hard to find, but well worth uncovering. >> NEIGHBORHOOD ROSCOE VILLAGE >> PRICES $$ >> DISHES TO TRY KHACHAPURI OJAKHURI
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Beginning in the early ‘70s, “Fat” Phil Ashbach had already opened his first hot dog shop in Skokie, Illinois, so he was no stranger to the business by the time he partnered with Lockdown Bar & Grill to open Fatso’s in Chicago in 2012. Famous for their charred Vienna beef hot dogs with natural casings, this hole-in-the-wall neighborhood snack bar has expanded to include innovative, indulgent takes on classic fast food, luring in families and late-night partiers alike. Situated directly across from the Ukrainian Cultural Center and the Ukrainian Catholic Church, this spot feels out-of-place yet inviting at the same time. The side exterior features a triptych of vibrantly-painted murals on exposed brick, while the front is a bold red with a bright yellow sign atop proudly reading, “Home of the Fatso burger and Chicago’s best char dogs and fried shrimp.” Stepping through the small door, we are immediately overcome by the powerful aroma of grease and smoke rising in a billow from the open grill. The interior is stuffy and cramped, yet cozy at the same time. There are neon signs and a wall boasting various accolades from Zagat, Time Out, and Best of Chicago. The seating is extremely limited, with only two four-tops, a small counter for stoolsitting or standing, and an outdoor picnic bench area. When we entered at 11:30 am, customers were slowly strolling in, but by noon, the place was bustling with families and singles sitting down to satisfy their Saturday cravings with a big, juicy burger. Popular rock and soul songs from the ‘60s, such as Build Me Up Buttercup and My Girl, set a relaxed, diner atmosphere, while the loud bang of a gong signified the
receival of a tip—a jovial Fatso tradition. Our names were called quickly and we eagerly picked up our food, which was wrapped in brown paper and placed on brightly colored plastic trays. The chicken tenders came as a three-piece with fries, and they were pleasingly crunchy on the outside with tender white meat on the inside, making it the ideal finger food. The fries were salty, greasy, and served straight from the fryer. The Ooey Gooey griddled burger featured two smashed patties stuffed with cheddar, Fatso’s sauce, lettuce, tomatoes, and onions. The meat was cooked medium and the burger tasted fresh, buttery, and deliciously cheesy. The creamy, savory, and sour pink Fatso’s sauce was unlike conventional condiments and made the burger memorable. Next was the Char dog, which was served Chicago-style with mustard, relish, onions, tomatoes, sport peppers, and celery salt, and while expectedly good, it was not spectacularly unique. The real show-stopper, however, was the Double Fatso Burger with cheese served on a toasted bun with Fatso’s sauce, lettuce, tomatoes, and onion. While there was double meat, it was still soft and not too thick. The lettuce added a welcoming crunch, and the Fatso sauce especially complemented this more substantial item, making it flavorful, rich, and cravingworthy. Packed with a wide array of salty, satiating foods, Fatso’s makes sure to deliver a satisfying meal with any of the items on their menu. The shop’s quaint and intimate environment welcomes all people of various communities to enjoy a burger or dog, making the Ukrainian Village your next foodie destination.
>> NEIGHBORHOOD UKRAINIAN VILLAGE >> PRICES $
>> DISHES TO TRY
CHICKEN TENDERS OOEY GOOEY GRIDDLED BURGER CHAR DOG DOUBLE FATSO BURGER WITH CHEESE
REVIEW
FATSO’S LAST STAND BY LILY LEVINE PHOTOS BY OCTAVIA ZHOU
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>> NEIGHBORHOOD IRVING PARK >> PRICES
$
>> DISHES TO TRY
ITALIAN PORK AND GREENS MAID-RITE
REVIEW
J.T.’S GENUINE SANDWICH SHOP BY BEN MILLER PHOTOS BY CAMILLE AGUILAR
Irving Park is one of Chicago’s most diverse and dynamic areas. Home to proud ethnic communities with long-standing ties to the area, the neighborhood boasts restaurants that draw on culinary traditions from Tegucigalpa to Transylvania. But as its historic Prairie Style architecture reflects, the heart of Irving Park is firmly rooted in the midwest. J.T.’s Genuine Sandwich Shop, which opened in Irving Park in November 2019, proudly embraces this tradition. Serving classic midwestern sandwiches on homemade bread, the restaurant succeeds in sharing the satisfying flavors and welcoming spirit of middle-American fare. When you walk up to J.T.’s counter and order off their retro-lettered menu board, it is difficult to find an unenticing offering. However, it is worth prioritizing the Italian Pork and Greens sandwich. Covered in just enough provolone, the thin-shaved pork loin is firm but still eminently juice. The broccoli rabe that accompanies it on the sandwich is even more impressive. Though acidicly marinated and grilled to a slight char, the rapini loses none of its color, texture, or crunch. Brought together on an exceptionally crunchy sesame roll, the pork and greens make for both a zesty and filling pair and a gracious introduction to this midwestern classic. Another of J.T.’s standouts is the Maid-Rite, a loose patty of ground beef that mimics the signature dish of its namesake midwestern restaurant chain. Lean and seasoned with little 8
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more than pepper, the Maid-Rite’s beef takes a backseat to the tangy mustard, onions, and pickles that top it, an ultimately successful pairing of rich and refreshing. And as with the Pork and Greens, these elements are united by a house-made roll, this time a jubilantly fluffy buttered bun that does what it can to hold the inevitably crumbly patty together. While the rest of the joint’s streamlined menu offers few ways to go wrong, pay particular attention to the Breaded Pork Tenderloin and J.T’s Special Burger, whose two patties and salty bacon are cut with the sweetness of caramelized onions and a Granny Smith apple slice. Beyond their sandwiches, J.T’s serves greasy favorites like Frito Pie and Fried Pickles as well as a respectable variety of salads. The interior of the Sandwich Shop is simple and sparse. Decor includes a few potted succulents, a framed review, and not much else. But in aesthetics as in sandwiches, J.T.’s straightforward vision belies its meaningful and authentic commitment to sharing the staples of midwestern cuisine. It is worth doing something as exotic as a trip up the Blue Line to experience the familiar but unflinchingly genuine dining that J.T.’s has to offer.
West Argyle Street has a particular smell; the brightness of fresh mint, the eyewatering sweetness and spice of bird’s eye chiles, the slightly rotten umami of fish sauce, the rich, fattiness of boiling pork bones. As you walk down the street, past 20 Vietnamese restaurants lined up next to each other, you might pass Nha Hang Viet Nam without stopping. Grey-white brick, bright cartoonish lettering with grainy photographs of menu items pasted to the windows, almost identical to its neighbors. At first glance, you might find it entirely unextraordinary. This would be a mistake. At 2:15pm on a Friday, half of the eight humble tables in Nha Hang Viet Nam are filled. A statue of Mary and baby Jesus looks down from over the cash register, nestled between a combination of both fake and real plants, their fresh and plastic vines intermingling. Christmas lights and light-up icicles hang from the ceiling, giving the customers a fluorescent glow as they spoon steaming soup into open mouths. The waiter, an older man with an ever-smiling face and a rugby-style shirt under his stained apron, immediately greets us, shuffling us over to an empty table crowded with cups of soup spoons and chopsticks, along with at least six different plastic squeeze bottles of chili paste. Fair warning, the menu will appear daunting. The laminated pages show over 200 items in a small, cramped font, all numbered for ease of ordering. A note at the bottom of the front page reads “Please feel free to inquire about dishes not on the menu,” encouraging daring ones to stray from the impossibly long list of options. We ask our eager waiter for advice, and he happily begins giving suggestions, throwing out numbers as we frantically hunt through the menu for each item. “Number 13, very good today. Number 147, very good today” he says, as if perhaps on other days this is not the case.
The man at the table next to us, a clear regular, shouts numbers over his shoulder, bits of bean sprout flying from his mouth, giving his own recommendations from the menu. We begin with 11. Bánh xèo: a Vietnamese pancake with shrimp and bean sprouts nestled in the batter, dyed yellow from a dash of turmeric. Next, 13. Bánh hoi nem nuong: a rice roll with grilled pork that you roll yourself at the table, the saltysweet pork skin melting in the heat of your mouth. The main dishes all come at once, filling the cramped table with shiny white plates heaped with food: 95. Com suon, trung op la, lap xuong; grilled pork chop, sweet Vietnamese sausages, and a yolky egg piled on top of white rice. 161. Bò lúc lac: “shaking” beef with onions and peppers. 157. Cá kho to: catfish simmered in a clay pot with hot peppers and a thick, sweet and spicy sauce. And of course, 147. Canh chua tôm: hot and sour soup with shrimp, pineapple, okra, elephant ear stems, and tomatoes, with searing chilies and liberal dashes of fish sauce floating in the still-steaming broth. The soup, strongly encouraged by our waiter, was the surprise highlight; second and third helpings were spooned into awaiting bowls, near empty ones held up to open mouths to slurp last drops. Fresh mint and basil lay in bunches next to every plate, enveloping the room with their herby aroma. A meal at Nha Hang Viet Nam is for those looking to travel beyond the simple classics. It’s for those who dare to traverse through a menu that is more like a dense novel, commanding patience and commitment. This is the kind of meal that requires the utmost trust in your waiter, the willingness to embrace flavor that screams complexity, and the knowledge that the funk of fish sauce is about to become your best friend. This is not just a bowl of pho from some fusion place around the corner. This is West Argyle Street.
REVIEW
NHA HANG VIET NAM BY PAIGE RESNICK PHOTOS BY GRACE PEGUESE >> NEIGHBORHOOD UPTOWN
>> PRICES $-$$
>> DISHES TO TRY
#13. BÁNH HOI NEM NUONG #147. CANH CHUA TÔM #157. CÁ KHO TO reviews
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Cozy Spots for an Afternoon Sipping
Hot Chocolate
By Lily Mansfield Photos by Angelina Torre
T
here are few things I like about winter, but there is one thing that is best enjoyed during these bone-chilling months and no other time: hot chocolate. There is nothing cozier than sitting inside with a warm mug of hot chocolate as you watch the snow fall outside. If you’re like me and need some melted, chocolate-y goodness to get you through these dark winter months, here are a few bright spots in Chicago where you can fulfill your dreams of a perfect, hot chocolate-filled afternoon.
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Katherine Anne Confections Located in Logan Square, Katherine Anne Confections can feel like a trek from Hyde Park, but it is well worth it. Stepping into the cafÊ, you are immediately greeted by a friendly staff member standing behind a counter that is piled high with small chocolates and jars of handmade caramels and marshmallows. A large chalkboard menu hangs above the counter, filled with a variety of hot chocolate flavors. You can decide whether you want milk chocolate or super dark chocolate in your hot cocoa, or you could go for one of their classic flavors like Salted Caramel or Mexican. Then, you can pair your drink with your favorite flavor of handmade marshmallow (Spicy Chocolate or Champagne among others). Once you’ve ordered, you can cozy up on one of the green velvet couches that fill the small space as they make your drink and toast your marshmallow. The first sip is magical, thick, rich and delicious. Their take on Mexican hot chocolate has a delicate spiciness that warms the back of your throat, and comes topped with a marshmallow sprinkled with red chili flakes. The small space is lit by big windows, through which you can watch the world go by as your marshmallow melts into a fluffy cover on top of your steaming hot chocolate.
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Along your walk from the 18th Street Pink Line station to Jumping Bean Café, you can stop in one of the classic Pilsen neighborhood panaderias, where you can grab a freshly baked Mexican pastry to enjoy before a warm mug of Mexican hot chocolate. As soon as you walk into Jumping Bean Café, you know you’re in a wellloved, family-run cafe. There are drawings for sale by a local artist on the bright yellow walls and the tables are colorfully painted with famous cultural figures like Frida Kahlo. If you’re getting your hot chocolate to go, you can walk up to the counter. Otherwise, you can sit down, soak up the atmosphere, and one of the staff members will bring you a menu. They offer both hot chocolate and Mexican hot chocolate. The Mexican hot chocolate is made from melted chocolate imported directly from Mexico. They can make their hot chocolate with dairy milk or an alternative nut milk (oat milk goes particularly well with the Mexican hot chocolate). Their Mexican hot chocolate is a comforting, milky drink with a hint of spice, whereas their regular hot chocolate is a more classic choice with a simple vanilla twist. If you’re looking for a place to get some work done with a friend on a chilly winter evening while sipping a soothing, warm drink, Jumping Bean Café is the place for you.
Jumping Bean Café
Cocoa + Co.
If you’re in the loop and looking for somewhere to grab a reviving hot chocolate, you can hop on the Red Line to Old Town where Cocoa + Co. is just a fifteen-minute walk away from Clark/Division. The walls are lined with chocolate bars with flavors from all over the world, from Venezuela to Madagascar, to Lithuania. If you have ever wanted to try unusual chocolate flavors such as porcini-flavored, Cocoa + Co. is the place for you. Your hot chocolate will come in a white mug and saucer, with a dollop of whipped cream and a sprinkle of chocolate powder. Their Parisienne hot chocolate—described as decadence with a hint of vanilla—is thick but not overwhelming, and rich but not overpowering, almost like a fluffy chocolate mousse melted into a cup. If you’re feeling more adventurous you can order Rock the Casbah, hot chocolate with a mix of 13 different Moroccan spices including turmeric. If you’re in the mood to treat yourself to a delicious chocolate-y drink, stop by Cocoa + Co. to warm your cold fingers and satisfy your taste for new flavors.
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CONSIDER the Oyster
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What do you think of when I mention oysters? Delicious, luxury snack with notes of brine and cream? Overpriced shellfish? Sea boogers? To be honest, it has always shocked me that oysters are as synonymous with luxury as they are today. I mean look at the things. Not to be cruel to the poor oysters, but they are literally a lake of liquid flesh sitting inside a mildly pretty iridescent shell. Come on! They aren’t even shiny!1 Yet, they still, apparently, warrant swollen, florid writing such as these gems, all fetched fresh from the bowels of the Whole Foods website for you; “Or try this tangy Raw Oysters with Sweet Pear Mignonette, an updated sweet-tangy riff of a Mignonette.” Wow. Did you hear that? It’s a sweet-tangy riff. Wow. A Riff. A riff of a Mignonette. Damn, that’s sophisticated. Color me impressed, Whole Foods. Both by your riffs, and by your poor use of metaphors. Indeed, both make very little sense to me. However, I am just a humble pretend-food-journalist/ occasional line cook when I need money. What do I know? “Grated fresh horseradish with lemon or lime granita. The sweet and tart combination of this classic icy Italian treat and horseradish is sure to impress.” I can imagine it now. I am in my New York penthouse apartment. All of my glitterati pseudo-friends are about to come over, and eventually end up spilling Grey Goose all over my bespoke Phillipe Starck couch.2 What do I have time to make my personal chef prepare for us? Oysters and Tabasco? Absolutely not. Tabasco is for peasants-I mean the less fortunate. I mean, where are we? Queens? Of course! A sweet and tart combination of a classic Italian treat and horseradish! What an innovative combination! Brendan will surely be impressed at the next board meeting. Thanks, Whole Foods! “Chopped bacon and finely diced jalapeño. Did I have you at bacon?” Ah, Whole Foods. Your references to salted, preserved meat products that were a meme ten years ago always crack me up. Bacon! What a riot. Alright. In all seriousness, as much as I enjoy taking the piss out of our shared corporate overlords, and to shake my metaphorical fist at this whole hyper-capitalist empathic charade that everything has become3, we should get
back to oysters. That is, apparently, what this article is supposed to be about.4 I should make it clear that I do indeed like oysters. Some get a bit aggressive in terms of their brininess, but as a rule I do enjoy them, especially with a good steak dinner.5 My question, really, is how it got to be this way.6 Oysters used to be the food of the people! And now they have been co-opted into this luxury that I can never afford because I’m a student and really don’t contribute anything to society except pretentious pseudo-philosophy and an affinity for overpriced beer.
Yes, I know I’m contradicting myself. Their shells are shiny. Live with my continuity errors. 2 The leather is from baby elephants (sustainably raised, of course.) Isn’t that amazing, Jessica? What do you
mean that I’m a pig? Wait, you won’t sleep with me? But I’m rich! 3 It’s been a tough week, ok. 4 At this point, even I’m not sure.
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This question first developed in the folds of my brain when I went to New Orleans, on a trip where I got scared of Voodoo and, since it was the middle of summer and I was a chubby thirteen-year-old, very sweaty. In any event, I remember learning that the original fillings for Po-Boys were fried oysters. This didn’t really click for me; the sandwich was (and is) literally called a Po(or) Boy! I mean, if anything screams American staple food, it is a sandwich filled with fried meat/seafood. It seems that the sandwiches have been filled with oysters since at least 1851, according to my research; indeed, The Daily Picayune7 defined the sandwich thusly: “A big loaf of bread is ‘dug out’—reserving a crust end as a stop—any quantity of delicious
fried or broiled oysters is piled in; the top is neatly put on; and a gentleman can carry home his loaf and his ‘dozen’—all hot—or have them brought home, for a lunch or a relish to dinner, without putting himself out of ‘tin’ to pay for ‘tin.’” I mean it’s a literal loaf of bread carved out and filled with fried meat. That’s the most un-luxury thing I’ve ever heard.8 Indeed, the Picayune went on to rate this sandwich: “The oysters at ‘Sam’s’ are not remarkable as fish, but as oysters they are ‘good’.” Look at how they talk about oysters! They are not a sweettangy riff9, they are just a foodstuff that is not as good as fish. Nowadays, they are written about lovingly in EAT LOVE SAVOR, a self-described
“International Luxury Lifestyle Magazine, To Learn About True Luxury, For Inspiration and Elegant Living”: “Oysters are a luxurious food. A delicacy, sophisticated and one of those things in life you must try at least once. To get the best experience though, definitely choose well to ensure you have the best experience with them. Of course serving them with Champagne Hypocrisy, I know. Even I am now a capitalist stooge. This article has been a rollercoaster. 6 I mean that’s my question about my entire life, but let’s focus on oysters for now. 5
would be a luxury lovers gourmet delight!” Goddamnit! Angela Tunner10 needs to be stopped.11 So, what happened? What happened to the humble oyster, champion of the oppressed proletariat? Did it sign a $30 billion sponsorship deal with an array of luxury brands? Unfortunately, it turns out that oysters aren’t really a sentient hive mind that can make their own decisions. In fact, I am not entirely sure that they have brains at all. Maybe more like a constellation of neurons?12 In any event, as usual, the good things in life were spoiled… by the British. Dramatic music is appropriate here. So, much like in Louisiana, oysters were a staple food across Britain. Indeed, our mildly damp island has had a history of oysters dating back to the Roman times; they were even shipped out across the Empire. In the 1800’s, they even earn a shout-out in Charles Dickens’ The Pickwick Papers: “’It’s a wery remarkable circumstance, Sir,’ said Sam, ‘that poverty and oysters always seem to go together.’ ‘I don’t understand you, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
street’s lined vith em. Blessed if I don’t think that ven a man’s wery poor, he rushes out of his lodgings, and eats oysters in reg’lar desperation.’” However, in a series of events that, to be honest, probably foreshadows how our whole civilizational party will wind down in the end, exploitation ruined oysters. As a resource, oysters were viciously overexploited. They were a seemingly endless, cheap resource that could feed the ever-hungry machine of London. London cleared out the oyster beds in the Thames, then those in Essex, then in Sussex, and on and on it went. Oyster populations collapsed, and demand lowered even further as oysters were planted near sewage runoffs. As they consumed the water, they became more toxic to humans. This, and stories like it from around the world, led to a decline in oyster popularity
in fact, they once fed huge numbers of people around the world. This may still not be the oyster’s final fate, however. Remember, earlier on this very page, how I said that oysters were planted around sewage runoffs? This was a purposeful move. Oysters are similar to kidneys in their role in the oceans. They filter out toxins and pollutants from water, including insecticides, as well as nitrogen and phosphorous. They create cleaner water and act as the baseline organism in many subecosystems. Turns out that we’ve realized that perhaps planting more oysters is not a bad idea; they are currently being planted in New York harbor in an effort to clean the notoriously filthy water. Oysters, despite being salty sea boogers, are a key part of both the oceans and our culinary history. They are more than a foodstuff for pretentious foodies, social climbers, and boardrooms. They should be for all of us, and for the environment around us. Hopefully, if we continue to move in the right direction, they can be.
References 1. https://www.businessinsider.com/why-oysters-are-soexpensive-scotland-loch-fyne-farming-2019-9 2. https://batterseapowerstation.co.uk/news/article/wrightbros-feature 3. https://eatlovesavor.com/all-about-oysters-a-true-delicacy/ 4. https://www.businessinsider.com/oysters-clean-oceanssolent-2018-12 5. https://www.nola.com/entertainment_life/eat-drink/ article_e009e97e-bbd3-566e-9cb9-154a2c80ff3e.html 6. https://www.wholefoodsmarket.com/blog/valentines-dayessentials-oysters
‘What I mean, sir,’ said Sam, ‘is, that the poorer a place is, the greater call there seems to be for oysters. Look here, sir; here’s a oyster-stall to every half-dozen houses. The My God, if that isn’t an 1800’s name I don’t know what is. 8 “Oh, English food is bland. English food is gross. English food is brown.” Says the country filling bread 7
until the mid 20th Century, when the muchreduced oyster population again began to be farmed and fished by humans in large quantities. However, this time, there were so few of them that they were reserved only for the plates of the wealthy—those who could afford them. This is the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise the oyster. Sites like EAT LOVE SAVOR, and companies like Whole Foods act like these animals have always been reserved for the wealthy and powerful, when, with fried oysters like popcorn at a movie theater. YES I AM STILL ON THE RIFFS! 10 The Author of the article 11 For endless entertainment, look at the website. It’s 9
equally horrific and absolutely a parody of itself. It’s like the black hole where content goes to collapse in on itself. 12 I was about to say that reminds me of myself, but I was thinking more about a constellation of neuroses.
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A RAT & HIS CHEEZE I spent much of my childhood at my gram’s motel, the Main Street Inn. She, being busy with room checks, laundry, and the logistical hassles of running a 27-room establishment in her mid-70s, encouraged my independence in feeding myself. To facilitate the growth of my self-sustaining maturity, she kept the fridge stocked with cheese. Not wheels of blue, nor even blocks of mid-level cheddar. No, we kept singles—those delectable pre-wrapped squares in Swiss, cheddar, and “American” flavors. Strictly speaking, these were cheese products, not real cheese, factory-produced, dairy-light and vegetable-oil-laden—more an art of chemical seduction than dairy-based artisanship, and seductive they were. Had I been brought up on pure dairy cheese, the real stuff, maybe today I’d own a beret and be able to grow a sophisticated moustache. Instead, I was, from birth, plied with semi-cheese, and have held in my heart of hearts, a deep affection for the mysterious wonders behind cheese that isn’t. It’s all very official, a sort of VIP farmer’s market wherein no one is a farmer and bouncers man the doors; flash a ticket on your way in, and off you go to see the hipster artisans. The Chicago Vegan Test Kitchen delivered an array of vegan vendors, ranging from an eclectic table chockablock with poisonous-if-eaten soap in the shape of frogs complete with extensive genealogy to the scrummy-if-eaten cinnamon buns and scones of plant-based bakeshops. For those like me who stalk vegan specialty shops planning their next seven meals, the floor of Thalia Hall on Saturday morning is something from a dream. Here, the organizers have gathered the city’s best pop-up goodies. Among them is Cheeze & Thank You (C&TY), a one-woman shop dedicated to crafting the paragon of plant-based cheese, or cheeze, as they call it—this is no coconut schmear for your morning bagel, this is the real-deal, concrete wedge any well-to-do middle-aged career-person has in their fridge for charcuterie night with their Sierra Club colleagues. Bounding up the stairs to Thalia Hall’s event space,
I scoured the landscape for C&TY’s telltale branding: letters that look like they themselves could be made of cheese, perhaps provel, a St. Louis classic, serpentine and slinking in appearance. From my stair-top vantage point I took in everything and zeroed in on my target, eyes fastened to the pink parcel paper secured artfully with twine around perfect triangles of cheeze amidst the buzzing clouds of lactose intolerants and vegans. I ran to C&TY’s table and introduced myself to Megan, the founder and operator whom I’d spoken with at length in the run-up to this event. She gave me a Midwestern hug and we talked cheddar— horseradish white cheddar. By the time I’d reached her—an hour and a half into the four hour event— they’d sold out of all but the one variety; I got the second to last wedge. After saying my goodbyes to Megan, I snuck off into a corner like any good rat with cheeze. Leaning over an empty bar, I untied the twine and unwrapped the wedge of cheddar from its pink parcel paper. Bound tightly in deli-paper, the startling red of the wax coating shone through, contrasting nicely with the off-white of the cheese itself, whose surface was so unblemished and smooth you’d think it’d been using proactiv for years. Using a plastic knife I’d scavenged from another vendor, I cut through the wedge, which was rather difficult; this was no schmear indeed. A work of art so visibly flawless, eating my cheese wedge felt like eating a Little Tikes kitchen set delicacy, only, in place of the hard plastic and synthetic taste, I was met with a Babybel smooth bite and tangy horseradish, phased out by a true-cheddar aftertaste. Spare me your Holland hero gouda, your bleating goat, your maggot ridden casu marzu. Give me not the stinky blue giants of French fame—I eat the bourgeoisie, but not what they eat! Give me your chemical singles, your cheeze, your delectably affordable cashew brie; send all your non-dairy delights to me—I lift my tiny cheeze fork o’er the charcuterie board!
BY EVAN WILLIAMS PHOTOS BY LINA HAJNAL
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Nut Butters by Veronica Chang / illustrations by Qingfeng Chai
Spread it on bread, use it as dip for fruits and vegetables, or just eat straight from the jar. Nut butters are ubiquitous, from the common man’s peanut butter, to its bougier cousin almond butter, to the sweetly indulgent cashew butter and more. Not only do they add variety to your diet, but also they provide nutritious value with their high monounsaturated fat and protein content. Originally known as a sweetener, with some nut butters being mixed with chocolate to overcome wartime shortages, advertising of nut butters has developed to promote their nutritional value, rising in popularity with trends for healthy and organic foods. Variety in nut butters has also increased, with alternatives such as sunflower and almond butter providing great options for people with nut allergies. So what nut butters should you add to your pantry?
Peanut
The OG staple of kitchens for people without nut allergies, and far and wide the most popular on this list. In 2017, the global peanut butter market was worth $3 billion, with Americans spending around $800 million on peanut butter and related products. Peanut butter even has its own holiday, National Peanut Butter Day, on January 24th. A spread made from ground, dry-roasted peanuts, traditional peanut butter contains loads of monounsaturated fats (the good kind!) and protein, is relatively cheap, and has even been linked to a decreased risk of heart disease and diabetes. However, most store-bought peanut butter nowadays contains added sugars and hydrogenated oils, so make sure your peanut butter meets your desired nutritional standards.
Almond
An excellent alternative for those with nut allergies, almond butter is peanut butter’s trendier and richer cousin. With a similar texture and thickness, lower sugar content and higher concentration of vitamins (including calcium, fiber and iron) than peanut butter, almond butter is like the Whole Foods of nut butters. It provides a similar product with greater health benefit, though often comes at a slightly higher price. For an option less likely to break your budget, try making your own almond butter. Soak, optionally roast, then grind your almonds with a pinch of salt for a homemade spread of your own.
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Cashew
Rich, creamy and naturally sweeter than many other nut butters, cashew butter is a special indulgence and fantastic twist to put on dessert (including some excellent cashew butter chocolate cookie recipes). Although not as nutrient-rich as most other nut butters, cashew butter still contains plenty of iron and Vitamin B. Our recommendation is to eat it raw rather than roasted to maximize nutrient levels, and to be wary of added sugar when buying.
Sunflower
Another alternative for those with nut allergies, sunflower butter has had a rocky journey to store shelves and pantries. Early attempts in the 1980s failed to account for the moisture in the seeds’ outer layer, resulting in a sickly green and bitter-tasting product. Luckily, by the start of the 21st century, researchers had figured out how to stabilize the process with cottonseed and grapeseed oils. Sunflower seed butter is also a great source of protein, fiber, zinc and iron, containing about twice as many vitamins as peanut butter.
Tahini
A staple ingredient in Middle Eastern and Mediterranean cooking, and a classic flavor in certain Chinese and Japanese dishes, Tahini is probably the most versatile spread on this list. Use it to make hummus to dip vegetables in! Thin it with water and have instant salad dressing! Add it to your next bowl of noodles! With almost no added ingredients, you can find this thin paste of ground sesame seeds at your local grocery store and do almost anything with it. Tahini is also a fantastic source of nutrition, with tons of calcium, iron, vitamin B, fibre and more. One word of caution, though: research suggests peanut allergies may overlap with sesame seed allergies. And there you have it: five nut butters to add flavor, nutrition and variety to your next meal.
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Mercado Orgánica La Cosecha By Maya Osman-Krinsky Photos By Maya Osman-Krinsky
20 bite | winter 2020
I
stumbled into Mercado Orgánica La Cosecha on a Saturday afternoon on an empty stomach. I nearly walked past it— the hand-painted sign out front isn’t as striking as the colorful plastic banners fluttering outside the taquerias on the same street. But through a small entranceway into a gravelfloored, crepe-canopied courtyard, there are twelve stalls surrounding a few rows of picnic tables, each serving uniquely thoughtful and delicious Oaxacan dishes. La Cosecha was founded in 2016 as an institution dedicated to carrying typical regional products. The market serves both tourists and locals with its wide array of produce, prepared foods, and artisanal products. My first stop was Tamales Mixes, a stall
immediately inside of the courtyard. Two huge steaming pots of tamales de frijol and tamales de amarillo de pollo simmered on an outdoor stove. I opted for the latter, and was handed a plate with a sweating plátano leaf holding a robust but delicate tamal that oozed shredded chicken and mole amarillo when I cut into it. Mole amarillo is a staple of Oaxacan cuisine, made from a blend of guajillo, chilhuacle, ají amarillo, and chilcostle chiles, usually less potent than the red or black moles and therefore more versatile, used as a companion to pork, chicken, beef, or vegetables. Next was La China Oaxaqueña, a stall headed by a comal-tending abuela, just two stalls to the right of Tamales Mixes. The blue corn masa specifically caught my eye, pressed fresh and
griddled to order. The memela de chapulines came out first, a three-bite-sized griddled masa disk with refried beans, cheese, and chapulines—crispy, acidic grasshoppers often used in Oaxacan cuisine. We couldn’t resist the empanada de flor, a larger oval-shaped tortilla with melted cheese and squash flowers. Not only did the bright blossoms retain their freshness instead of wilting in the oil because the empanada was so fresh, but they also provided a beautiful contrast to the salty quesillo and earthy tortilla. The next stall over boasted a chalkboard crammed with specials. The two most unfamiliar to us made their way onto our table: garnachas istmeñas and molotes de plátano. Garnachas istmeñas, a finger food originally
from the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, are thin, fried masa cakes with ground beef and a slaw of pickled cabbage and pasilla chile. The twobite crispy round is best enjoyed with tomato salsa, crema, guacamole, and queso fresco, but are quite addictive on their own. Wiping our fingers, we shifted our focus to the molote de platano, a round, lightly fried ball of plantain stuffed with crema and topped with quesillo. Walking counterclockwise, we stopped at Maravilla for jamaica, a hibiscus-flower agua fresca that you can order either sweetened or unsweetened. Directly across the courtyard is Tejateria, where we ordered horchata, a drink made of rice, milk, and cinnamon, and tejate, a cacao and maize beverage originating in pre-Hispanic times that remains very popular
among indigenous people in Oaxaca. Tejate is principally made with toasted maize, fermented cacao beans, roasted mamey pits, and rosita de cacao, a small flower that despite its name, is not related to cacao. Finely ground into a paste and mixed with water, the drink is ready when the rosita de cacao rises to the top in a foamlike paste. It is served cold in round-bottomed bowls, accompanied with a stirring stick. La Cosecha is a small, intimate establishment, but Oaxaca prides itself in its extensive mercados, such as the Mercado de Abastos, 20 de Noviembre, and Mercado la Merced. Exiting the market full and happy, we were eager to explore more of the city’s food market scene.
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Eating Abroad: Squash Blossoms BY MAYA OSMAN-KRINSKY | PHOTOS BY MAYA OSMAN-KRINSKY | ILLUSTRATIONS BY JIHANA MENDU Squash blossom empanadas, or empanadas de flor, are sold all over Oaxaca de Juárez, from street corners in the charming Centro to the bustling markets de Abastos and 20 de Noviembre. More often than not, a lady tending a huge comal, or a smooth, flat griddle, presses fresh blue or white corn tortillas in a tortilladora, dividing chunks of masa dough to order. The mild floral zucchini flavor from the squash blossoms offsets the fattiness of Oaxacan quesillo, a soft cow’s or goat’s milk cheese, similar in texture to mozzarella. These deliciously simple Oaxacan staples look more like what we know as quesadillas, but are on the menu as empanadas, retaining their traditional corn tortilla rather than swapping out for flour. The best corn tortillas are the freshest, but store-bought ones made with nixtamal (stone-ground, lime-soaked corn) such as El Milagro or Masienda work well too.
Empanadas
10 minutes cook 5 minutes makes 2 empanadas prep
GET 1 tablespoon olive oil 2 fresh corn tortillas, 9-10 inches in diameter 2 ounces Oaxacan cheese (quesillo), shredded into strings 6-8 squash blossoms, cleaned and trimmed
DO 1. Clean squash blossoms by submerging them in a bowl of water, removing any soil or insects from the folds of the flower. 2. Trim squash blossoms. Cut the bottom of the flower to gently remove the stem, and make sure to remove the stamen or pistil from the inside of the blossom. 3. Heat olive oil in a large cast-iron skillet over medium heat. When hot, toast tortilla until browned but not crunchy, about a minute. 4. Flip tortilla and arrange half of cheese over half of the toasted side. 5. Once slightly melted, arrange half of squash blossoms (three to four) over cheese and fold tortilla in half to cover filling. 6. Press down with hand or spatula to help cheese stick both sides of tortilla together until cheese is mostly melted. 7. Let tortilla crisp slightly on both sides, two to three minutes. Transfer to a plate and repeat with second tortilla and remaining cheese and squash blossoms. 8. Eat or serve as soon as possible. 22
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Salsa de Aguacate
From Pilar Cabrera, owner and chef at La Olla in Oaxaca de Juárez 10 minutes 5 minutes makes 6 servings prep
cook
Salsa de aguacate is a light, creamy, green sauce found on every taqueria table. Totally distinct from its better-known sister, guacamole, this sauce is smooth and uniquely flavored with tomatillos, meant to counterbalance spicier, bolder dishes. Paired with the more intense salsa de pasilla, it is a perfect accompaniment to many milder dishes as well.
GET 1 Hass avocado, seed removed ¼ small white onion ½ cup cilantro leaves 2 chiles serranos, stemmed and seeded, chopped 2 tomatillos, husked, rinsed, chopped 1 clove garlic, chopped 1 lime, juiced Salt to taste
DO 1. Scoop avocado flesh into a blender with onion, cilantro, chiles serranos, garlic, and lime juice. Add ½ cup water. 2. Pulse until a smooth, soft mixture forms. Season to taste. Adapted from Saveur Magazine 5 minutes 30 minutes makes ½ cup
prep cook
Salsa de Pasilla Oaxaqueña
GET 2 pasilla chiles (preferably Oaxacan, but regular pasillas work as well), stemmed and seeded 4 tomatillos, husked and rinsed ½ clove garlic Salt to taste
DO 1. Place chiles in a bowl and submerge in 1 cup of hot water. Soak until soft, about 10 minutes. Drain and reserve chiles along with the soaking liquid. 2. Place tomatillos in a saucepan, cover with water by 1”, and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Cook until slightly softer and dark green-brown, about 8 minutes. Set aside and let cool. 3. Place chiles, tomatillos, garlic and salt in a blender, and puree until almost smooth, adding some of the soaking liquid to help blend the salsa if necessary. recipes
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BY HENNA NAM PHOTOS BY GRACE PEGUESE
SALTED HONEY PIE:
A PERFECT AFTERNOON TREAT
prep cook makes
30 minutes 60 minutes 8-10 servings
Over the course of the last week, my roommates have texted me multiple times just to say, “THIS PIE IS AMAZING AHH”! Most simply, it’s a caramel honey custard filling in a flaky, buttery crust. Each bite melts on the tongue, bringing together the best of sweet and salty— like crème brûlée in a pie. It tickles at your memory—a lazy Sunday afternoon, gentle sunshine smiling through a window—and would pair perfectly with your afternoon espresso as a yummy pick-me up! It’s a pie that escapes description; the only way to understand is to try it! Best of all, it’s a quick and easy recipe, made with simple ingredients that you may already have at home.
GET 1 large pie crust 8 large egg yolks 5 cups heavy whipping cream 2 cups brown sugar 2/3 cups cornstarch 1 cup honey 1 tbsp salt 4 tsp vanilla extract
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DO 1. Heat oven to 375 °F. 2. Roll out pie crust (either store-bought or homemade) and gently place inside a deep, 9” pie dish. Crimp edges. 3. Separate the eggs and add yolks to a large, heat-proof bowl. Whisk briefly. 4. In a large saucepan, heat heavy cream, brown sugar, cornstarch, and salt on medium high. Stir constantly! And pay attention! As soon as the mixture becomes thick and homogenous, take off the heat. 5. Temper the eggs by slowly adding ladles of the cream mixture into the egg yolks. 6. Add honey and vanilla to the egg mixture, and then pour into the prepared pie crust. 7. Bake for 30 minutes, or until the edges of the crust are golden brown, then use aluminum foil or a pie shield to cover the edges. 8. Lower the heat to 350 °F and bake for an additional 30 minutes. The top should be bubbly and golden brown and should jiggle slightly when moved. 9. Let cool to room temperature before slicing. Eat!
BY MICHAEL SHEN PHOTOS BY MICHAEL SHEN
CRISPY LOTUS ROOT WITH SALTED EGG YOLK
5 minutes 30 minutes makes 2-4 servings prep
cook
GET 250 g lotus root (about one segment), peeled and thinly sliced 2 tbsp butter ¼ lb (about 5 springs worth) thai basil leaves, cleaned 3 cloves garlic, chopped 2 spoonfuls Lao Gan Ma chili crisp (or spice of choice) 4 cooked salted egg yolks, steamed for 7 minutes and mashed ¼ tsp salt 1 tsp sugar 3 tbsp rice vinegar ½ lime, zested Vegetable oil for frying Starch or flour of choice for frying
The first thing that comes to mind when thinking about cooking lotus root in winter is pork and lotus root soup, where it acts as a conduit for absorbing any and all flavors in the pot. This recipe combines it with salted egg yolk—an umami-rich, flavor-packed seasoning embedded in savory moon cakes, dusted on potato chips and crispy fish skins—as a testament to its ability to absorb strong flavors while providing a unique, crunchy texture. This recipe accommodates a wide range of personal tastes—the combination of chili crisp, thai basil, and lime zest is my personal favorite, but I encourage anyone trying this recipe to innovate and experiment!
DO 1. Add water and rice vinegar to a pot and bring to a boil. 2. Chop off ends of lotus root segments, peel, and slice lotus root thinly before blanching in water and vinegar mixture to partially cook and prevent oxidation. 3. Remove lotus root slices from the pot with a strainer and pat dry with a paper towel. 4. Coat lotus root slices with flour or starch of choice and deep fry in hot oil until crispy. I used cornstarch here, but other replacements like potato starch or tapioca flour can be used to great effect as well. 5. Place fried lotus slices on a paper towel-lined plate to allow oil to drain. Resist the urge to snack on the slices. 6. Add oil and butter to a wok or pan over medium heat. Add chopped garlic, thai basil, lime zest. Then add salted egg yolks, salt and sugar. Saute until fragrant and mix well. Optionally add spice of choice to fit your taste like birds-eye-chillies—I personally use a small spoonful of Lao Gan Ma chili crisp. 7. Add fried lotus root chips and toss until well-coated in salted egg yolk mixture. 8. Serve and enjoy!
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BY WENDY ZHENG PHOTOS BY CAMILLE AGUILAR
RED CURRY PASTE HOR MOK 5 minutes 45 minutes makes 5 servings prep
cook
For the longest time, I’ve wanted to make homemade curry paste using a mortar and pestle to see whether it was really worth the counter space, elbow grease, and money. Given the convenience of premade curry paste, it’s easy to turn to store-bought versions when looking to whip up a quick weeknight meal. After testing out this recipe, I can confidently say pounding homemade curry paste is not only a satisfying outlet for pent up aggression, but also the end product is way more fragrant and complex than the hyper-salty, premade versions you find in cans at the store. I ended up making Hor Mok, a Thai steamed fish custard, with some of the paste, but the possibilities for this flavor-packed homemade paste are endless!
RED CURRY PASTE GET 25 Chinese red chilis* 3 teaspoons white peppercorn powder (whole spices preferred) ½ teaspoon of cumin seeds ½ teaspoon of coriander seeds 1 head of garlic 1 tbsp. minced fresh cilantro roots (use cilantro stems if you can’t find them) 1 tbsp. minced lemongrass 3 tbsp. of shallot 1 tbsp. sliced galangal 5 kaffir lime leaves chopped as fine as possible ½ teaspoon of shrimp paste ½ teaspoon of salt
DO
1. Soak the dried chilis in boiling water for around five minutes or until pliable. 2. Grind the whole spices in a coffee grinder and set aside. 3. Peel and roughly chop a head of garlic and shallots. 4. Drain the dried chilis and squeeze as much water as you can out of them. 5. Add the reconstituted chilis and salt to the mortar and pestle and grind until the chilis break down and start to form a paste (around five minutes). 6. Add the chopped garlic, shallots, cilantro roots, lemongrass, galangal, and kaffir lime leaves and pound until it resembles a smooth paste (around 10-15 minutes). 7. Add in ground dried spices and shrimp paste and pound until smooth.
* Ideally, you would use Thai spur chilis, but they’re pretty hard to find. I’ve read that Guajillo chilis are a good substitute, but honestly use any mild-medium dried chili that you have on hand). If you use chilis with large seeds or if you want a milder paste, de-seed the chilis prior to soaking and pounding.
26 bite | winter 2020
HOR MOK GET 2 large banana leaves cut into 8 inch squares** ¾ pound of boneless, skinless white-fleshed fish (I used tilapia filets), chopped into small half inch pieces 3-4 tbsp. of freshly made curry paste 1 ½ cup of Aroy D coconut milk*** 1 tsp Thai palm/coconut sugar 1 cup of Thai sweet basil leaves 6 kaffir lime leaves, very thinly sliced 3 tbsp. of fish sauce 1 egg 1 tsp. rice flour 2 red bird’s eye chilis, thinly sliced
DO
1. To assemble the banana leaf cups, cut out a 6-inch diameter circle from each 8 inch square of banana leaf. Lay two banana leaves on top of each other, and make a 1 ½ inch indent (about the depth of your thumb) in the center of the circle. Staple the corner of the folded side. Repeat with all sides of the banana leaf circle until you have a small cup. 2. Make sure all your ingredients are cold prior to mixing the Hor Mok batter. 3. Add the curry paste, egg, one cup of coconut milk, palm sugar, fish sauce, half of the cubed fish, and four kaffir lime leaves to a blender. 4. Blend until you have a creamy, fluffy mousse-like consistency. 5. For the topping, heat ½ cup of coconut milk and rice flour over medium heat until it thickens. A line drawn on the back of a spoon with your finger should hold without dripping. Mix constantly while heating to avoid lumps. 6. Lay enough Thai basil leaves to cover the bottom of the banana leaf cup and put a thin layer of the remaining fish cubes on top of the basil. 7. Pour enough of the blended fish mixture until the cup is about 2/3’s full. 8. Top the mouse batter with a dollop of your thickened coconut topping, a few strands of shredded kaffir lime leaves, and a couple pieces of Thai chili. 9. Steam your prepared cups over medium heat for 15-20 minutes until the fish custard is set. The custard should pull away from the sides of the banana leaves and be slightly bouncy. 10. Serve immediately with freshly steamed rice and an optional squeeze of lime. **If you don’t have banana leaves, you can always make the hor mok in 6 ounce ramekins. However, the banana leaves add fragrance to the dish, so definitely take the extra step if you have the time! *** Coconut milk varies widely by brand. I find Aroy D to be the thickest, which is ideal for a light, fluffy custard. The amount of coconut milk needed will depend on the brand and thickness of the milk.
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28 bite | winter 2020