Author: cia

Quickly Shabu-Shabu

237 Grand Street on Bowery
212/431.0998
about $50 for two, without drinks, without tip

We wanted to stay away from Canal Street to celebrate Chinese New Year and Jase suggested that we do hot pot instead of dim sum. Who am I to say no to soup even at 11am?

For about $20, one person can have his own hot pot of either vegetables, seafood, beef or both seafood and beef (“surf n’ turf”) in his choice of broth. The fee includes a bubble tea under $2.75 and a few dollars for gratuity. It’s a lot of food for one person and I prefer the Shabu Tatsu way of sharing one big pot, family style but when it’s cheap, you can’t help but eat.

Silkie Chicken with Pomegranate

The Chinese man and I understood each other with just hand signals. I waved my hand against my throat to ask for the head to be chopped off. I shook my hands so that he would understand that the legs also have to go. I had no clue what the gray chicken was in the store until another customer told me it was Silkie chicken. Do I cook it like regular chicken? I asked. Yes, she said, but it’s silkier inside; that’s why it’s expensive.

When my mother saw it this morning, she recognized it as the manok ng Intsik, Chinese chicken. They’re poofy and they look like they wear pajamas. She said that one of my grandfathers, the Chinese one from her cousin’s side, used to cook the black chickens all the time. Do I cook it like regular chicken? I asked. Yes, she also said, but the meat is moist and it doesn’t dry up like normal chicken. Oh, that’s what the man meant by sirr-kee.

I Googled it and sure enough, they are from Asia and they are white and poofy. Pajamas aside, Silkies are a rare breed because they have black skin and bones and their feathers look like hair. They are also able to sit (how cuuuute!) and they have five toes (aaaaw!). Because they’re docile, they make good pets.

Mario Batali had a recipe using game hen. After being convinced that Silkie is just like regular chicken, I went to the grocery store to buy sage, pomegranate and a bottle of Marsala. Never have I needed only three ingredients that took two hours to accumulate. It was almost 2pm when I got back home. I ate some prosciutto and baguette for lunch in between soaking the pomegranate seeds and preheating the oven.

The recipe was so easy to follow, it took less than an hour to cook. Too easy in fact, that I was skeptical it was going to taste good. I should never doubt my ability to cook because this turned out to be delicious and, well, sirr-kee.

Ingredients:
1 Silkie chicken, rinsed and patted dry
seeds of large pomegranate
1 cup Marsala
12 sage leaves
zest of an orange
1 stick of butter
salt, pepper and olive oil

1. In a small bowl, cover the pomegranate seeds with the Marsala. Set aside, covered, for 1 hour.
2. Preheat oven to 375º. Season the chicken inside-out with salt and pepper.
3. Drain the pomegranate seeds and reserve some of the liquid. Stuff the birds with half of the seeds. Tie chicken legs together with kitchen twine.
4. In a large ovenproof sauté pan, heat some butter with the olive oil over high heat. Add 3 sage leaves and cook for 1 minute. Add the chicken and brown on all sides, about 5 minutes. Lower the heat to medium and add the remaining 9 sage leaves and the rest of the pomegranate seeds.
5. Tranfer the pan to the oven and roast for 10 minutes. Remove the pan from the oven and drizzle 3 tbsps of the reserved Marsala liquid. Dot the chicken with some more butter and baste with the pan juices. Roast for another 15 minutes or until the juices run clear when a thigh is pierced.
6. Meanwhile, in a sauce pan, melt the remaining butter over low heat. Add the zest and cook for 5 minutes so that the zest absorbs the butter. Remove from heat.
7. Transfer the chicken to a serving dish. Sprinkle with the zest and drizzle pan juices with pomegranate seeds over it.

Nobu

105 Hudson Street at Franklin
212/219.0500
$200 for four, with a few drinks, without tip

I went back to Nobu five years after my first time. Nothing has changed except that maybe Leonardo’s posse doesn’t stop by anymore. Their black cod with miso is still very delicious and their yellowtail tartar with caviar still kick my sinuses. Their sushi and sashimi are still worth holding for–they still had four ladies answering the phones during lunch peak next to coat check–but with numerous sushi restaurants in New York City, you can skip Nobu especially if you’re not using your boss’ expense account.

But if you’re like me and you’re still hungry after a $200-bill for four, the warm apple tart topped with ice cream and served with honey sesame sauce will make your eyes roll. The chocolate soufflé cake with shiso syrup and green tea ice cream is also a great way to end your meal.

Oui, Oui, We’re Going to Paris

Last September, I did something I’ve always wanted to do for my parents: I bought them tickets to France. They’ve never traveled outside of their New York-Philippines route and Paris is one of those places a person has to go to at least once in their lifetime. (Others say that’s Disneyland, but we can have a long discussion about that.) My parents have always wanted to go to Paris but they’re not very adventurous in terms of traveling and spending. My mother just turned 58 and my father is 59 today. I can’t think of a more perfect time to give them, and myself, a treat.

There was an affordable non-stop flight via Air France to Charles de Gaulle, but I couldn’t help but pick the flight with a stop over at Reykjavik. Our layover is only forty-five minutes each way, but for my own selfish reasons, I’m already thinking of how many vacuum-sealed fish I can buy, duty-free, at the Keflavik airport! Crazy, right? But you’d understand if you were also the type who’d spend $74 on cab fare to eat barbeque ribs from the Houston airport.

My father is what Filipinos would call maarte. I can’t think of a better English translation than “coquete.” When I first told my parents about going to Paris, my father did not even bat an eyelash. My mom squealed in delight (like mother, like daughter) but my father just pursed his lips, probably still figuring out where the hell Paris is in relation to Manila.

My father is like your father. He is not mean, but tact has never been his strength (like father, like daughter). From when he refuses to taste anything I cook to saying that he doesn’t really want to see Paris, it doesn’t occur to him that how he reacts or what he says would hurt his daughter’s feelings. My father is of the male species, after all.

So the last few months, he has refused to read any books about France or look at the Paris map I’ve bought to get them oriented. My mom has been reading the guide books I gave her and she’s been checking off tourist spots she wants to see in person. (In the movie Constant Gardener, one of the characters said, Adam was God’s prototype; he got it right with Eve.) But my father has been saying things like I’ll just take the next flight back to New York if I don’t like it. He kept his mouth shut after I suggested that he might want to look at the metro map to get his aSs back to the airport without us.

The other day, my mom told me to be nicer to my dad. That in fact behind closed doors, he has been asking my mom if I am making reservations at some fancy restaurants and if he needs to pack his suit. My mom reminded me that whenever we go anywhere together, even in the city, he’s the first one to pose for a photograph. He’s just being maarte, she said.

So we’re going to Paris and we’re traveling as a family–sans my older brother–for the first time in our lives. I just want my parents to enjoy the trip and know that their daughter is thinking of them.

Barney Greengrass

541 Amsterdam Avenue, corner of 86th Street
212/724.4707
about $40 for two, without drinks, without tip

An institution more than just a trendy brunch place, Barney Greengrass serves the best smoked sturgeon in the city. The fish is perfect with scrambled eggs and onions even at $14 a pop. It’s probably the only place I’d actually enjoy salmon and lox with potatoes and not cringe at the $44 bill for two at the end. (No worries, that includes coffee and orange juice plus toasted bagels and cream cheese.) If you like your caviar, this is the place to order them. They even deliver overnight to your house in the Hamptons, you know, if you actually have a home in the Hamptons.


Matzo ball soup


Cameron’s salmon with eggs and onions

They don’t need your business at Barney Greengrass. They do well with just the upper west side residents lining up outside during the weekends. The service is too hasty but attentive in that New York City kind of way; don’t expect to be buttered up here unless you’re a regular or if your name is Richard Dreyfuss. (I only name him because I’ve seen him eat here during one of my visits.) The maître d’ screams to get your attention when it’s your turn to be seated but the food is too good–and the day is too early–to pay attention to such trivial matters.