Writing With My Mouth Full

Braised Pork Belly with Bok Choy

If I knew braising pork belly for three hours would keep me awake to help me get over my jetlag, I would have cooked days ago! I was having this insane craving for Chinese food since I came back from Tanzania. It was very specific, too: I wanted that Dongpo’s Pork taste that’s pan-fried and then braised for several hours to thicken the sauce, but with limited use of the stove as much as possible. I think my body is still asking for all the calories I burnt while I was hiking Kilimanjaro for six days; all I can think about is rice, food, meat. I’m ravenous–nothing new–and always feeling hungry even more so now.

You can use a Dutch oven here to braise as usual, but I felt like using my clay tagine just because I haven’t used it in a while. It’s smaller than any of my Le Creusets and I felt like it kept the pork all jammed in with all that braised sauce. The quantity of liquids may deter you here, but you can always add rice wine during cooking if you think it’s too salty–nothing some pickles and white rice can’t tone down while eating.

Ingredients:
2 pounds of pork belly
1 bunch of bok choy, thoroughly washed, separated
1 large ginger, peeled, thinly sliced
1 bunch scallions, chopped
1 1/2 cups of rice wine
1/2 cup of soy sauce
6 tbsps of brown sugar

1. In a large pot, cook the pork belly with enough water to submerge them. After the water boils, time for two minutes and then turn off the heat. Remove the pork belly to a chopping block and slice in 1-inch thick pieces.
2. Layer the bottom of a medium-sized Dutch oven with the scallions and ginger. Top with the pork belly. The scallions will keep the pork from sticking to the bottom when braising. Pour in the liquids and sprinkle in the sugar.
3. Cover and simmer for at least two hours, checking every 30 minutes to move the pork around. During the last 15 minutes of cooking, layer in the bok choy–they will wilt quickly enough for every leaf to fit–and cover to cook. Turn off the heat, mix everything together and serve with rice.

Fatty ‘Cue

91 South 6th Street off Berry in Williamsburg, Brooklyn
718/599.3090
$55 each for a group of 10, with drinks, with tip
♥ ♥

I donâ€™t think the ten of us overdid it at Fatty ‘Cue at all.

To celebrate the Dr. finishing residency, I organized several friends to get together and eat at Fatty ‘Cue in Brooklyn. Not a lot of people at our table were big fans of Zak Pelaccio’s first endeavor, Fatty Crab, but they were willing to try Fatty ‘Cue solely because of the promises the name â€œcueâ€ can offer. We spent about two hours eating and passing plates around to share family-style, and I can assure you, we all left pretty happy in food coma state.

The dishes were served as soon as they came out of the kitchen. We started with the pork loin, thinly sliced pieces of the best part of my favorite animal. They were soft and surprisingly light and were perfect with the green peppercorn aioli.

The coriander bacon was to die for. They had those perfectly burnt ends that were crispy. The crispiness prepared you for the fatty goodness that was underneath. If I only had to eat these, I’d be completely satisfied. The yellow curry custard, in my opinion, was almost unnecessary, but I ended up asking the waiter if I can keep the rest of it to dip the vegetables that were served later.

One of my favorites was the grilled mackerel. Iâ€™m already a big fan of the oily fish, but the way Fatty ‘Cue grilled it in banana leaves gave it so much more flavor. The chili-lime-garlic sauce was that Southeast Asian flavor that I was craving. I wanted to be in some tropical island, in a hut, ceiling fan quietly oscillating overhead, and patiently picking the fish bones.

Both the cucumber and celery salads were just the right side dishes for such a fatty spread. Cucumber chunks were tossed in brown rice vinegar, while the slivers of celery were dressed in yuzu and preserved cabbage.

Iâ€™m also going to have to get into my Malaysian recipes, as the Fatty ‘Cue version of nasi ulam was delightfully a high-blood pressure inducer. It was a little too salty for me, but I still couldn’t stop eating it. The anchovies and dried shrimp reminded me of my dad’s recipes from his hometown in Ilocos Sur in the Philippines.

Fatty ‘Cue offers the “whole pig” as a special only on Sundays, an $18 dish that’s a plate of different pieces of a pig, as opposed to a whole lechon. It was actually my least favorite out of everything we ate because it was on the dry side even though the pineapple curry added to the sweetness of the meat. The plate came with accoutrements perfect as beer food: chopped Chinese long beans, pickled red onions, lightly grilled garlic cloves and, oy, chili jam. I stuffed several pieces of everything in the steamed bun and went to town. The buns reminded me of what made Momofuku famous; you can basically stuff anything in those buns and people are not going to complain.

The lamb ribs didn’t come until we were all ready to take a nap, but when they did, no one hesitated to pick a rib and gnaw it down to its bone. The meat wasn’t gamey and fell off the bone with just the lightest bite.

All in all, Fatty ‘Cue is perfect for groups because you can order several things from the menu and share the dishes. Our bill included gratuity, which is to be expected when dining with a group of more than six people, but our waiter was attentive even though he didn’t really have to work for his tip. Food came in quickly and our glasses were refilled just as fast. With a few local brews while we waited for a table, standing by the bar was as difficult as it got at Fatty ‘Cue.

Sandwiches For Lunch, Downtown New York City

I had one day off between the old job and the next, so I planned a sandwich tour to make up for all those missed New York City lunches while I was in Connecticut. Three sandwich shops were recommended to me by my friend Josh; I needed his help because I’ve been out of the food scene for what I felt was too long. He told me to pick one and enjoy, but true to Cia-style, I went to all three and enlisted my friend Dex to help me put everything down.

Each sandwich shop occupied a sliver of a space, with Torrissi a tad more spacious to accommodate more than three tables. They all had short, straightforward menus, good unpretentious vibes and pretty damn good sandwiches. I give them all ♥ ♥

Rbbts
142 Sullivan Street between Prince and Houston

We ordered the jerk chicken sandwich, the most promising item on their menu. The fish tacos sounded good as well, but they didn’t have them the day we stopped by. The jerk chicken was on the salty side but it was full of flavor and they didn’t skimp on the chicken. A bowl of rice with it would have made me a very happy person, but I’ll take that fresh, crusty bread for lunch just fine.

Local Café
144 Sullivan Street between Prince and Houston

Next door at Local, we opted for the panini with fresh mozarella from Joe’s Dairy. You can’t go any more local than that: Joe’s Dairy has been a fixture of Sullivan Street for so many years even before SoHo exploded into the shopping mecca of downtown New York City. The contrast between the warm, toasty bread against the soft, giving cheese was incredible. The caprese combination is nothing new, but simplicity done well makes a good impression.

Torrisi Italian Specialties
250 Mulberry Street off Prince Street

We walked off the two sandwiches and headed east to Torrisi. Of all the shops we visited, Torrisi is the type of shop I dream of opening in my next life, complete with hanging sausages and aged meats. We kept a low profile and opted for three of their Italian antipasti: fried cauliflower, roasted rabe and roasted bell peppers.

Perhaps it was the time of day, but Torrisi was more bustling than the previous two and we had to wait fifteen minutes before we could eat. It got even busier when the clock hit 2pm and the line wrapped in front of the counter and out the door. I’ll definitely be back again for their sandwiches when I can spend more leisure time to wait.

And during my first week at the new job, I tried the following to add to this set of reviews:

Num Pang Sandwich Shop
21 East 12th Street off University Avenue

I couldn’t wait to taste Num Pang’s pulled pork sandwich after my other friend Caroline told me she thought about it days after she first tasted it. After a late night out, I stopped by to order one duroc pork sandwich with honey and added the ginger barbecued brisket to compare it with. Both smelled delicious and were very filling, but were essentially Cambodian stews in a sandwich. I could have easily eaten the filling with a bowl of white rice. It was humid outside and the sandwiches brought me back to those warm Southeast Asian nights.

Luke’s Lobster
93 East 7th Street off First Avenue

I waited in line for about ten minutes before I was able to order my lobster roll. I waited another fifteen before I actually got my order to-go. Such is the price you have to pay when you join the queue at the sandwich shop du jour and you’re competing with other customers who are also changing their status on Facebook, checking in on Four Square, reviewing on Yelp and, well, spooning on UrbanSpoon.

Luke’s lobster roll, albeit smaller than the rest of the east coast’s, was worth it because I can’t just walk around New York City and get a fresh and trustworthy lobster roll. Was it better than the other rolls I’ve had in Amagansett or Narragansett? It was comparable, but I’ll take it when the craving to spend $14 on a sandwich hits me.

Day 4: Saying Good-bye to El Cocuy

It was two days before Christmas and no one back in El Cocuy town could give us an answer, via Susima’s radio, as to whether there would be a bus back to Bogotá on Christmas Eve. We had a wedding to go to in Medellín the day after Christmas which meant we had to be back in Bogotá to catch our flight the morning of the wedding day. We decided to come down the mountain a day early. Another hike to one of the lagunas would take us a whole day and we just couldn’t muster the strength to camp elsewhere, much less hike back to Susima all in one day. We painfully accepted the fact that it was the day to go back to town to try to catch the night time bus so that we’re back in the capital the next morning.

We started off on the right foot. It was a beautiful morning–the kind of weather we would have appreciated the day before–and the trout were enjoying the running water as much as we enjoyed watching them. El Cocuy marked our third big hike, and even though the Dr. and I get along when traveling, I can’t say that everything runs perfectly smooth all the time. On our way down, a pick-up truck gave us a ride up to the fork on the road where we had started just a few days ago. The rest of the way would be the opposite of the lechero ride two days before, but because we were on foot, we knew it was probably going to take us at least four hours to get back to town.

Our adventure began when we saw the German hikers from a distance being escorted by several guys in military uniforms. The Dr. wanted to shout and wave and get their attention. Maybe they’re being shown a short cut! That was a nice thought but my thinking was that we were in Colombia, a country with ripe history of drugs and violence and that we probably shouldn’t be attracting the attention of armed men while in the mountains. Not to be defeated, the Dr. insisted to take his own short cut a few miles later. I was familiar with the road after watching it on our way up a couple of days before and I didn’t feel confident cutting corners in an unfamiliar territory. I shouted after him when he insisted on going down a different route but to no avail; I ended up on my merry way alone. We did meet at some point again, but I was livid that he insisted on going his separate way. For the remainder of the hike–about three hours–we were on our own. I was on my own.

I tried to enjoy the quiet time and the experience of being on my own. I asked a group slaughtering a cow for the holidays permission to take photographs. I said hello to a few pigs, cows and horses, and even rabbits. I waved to farmers staring down from a hill while I lugged my backpack. Motorcyclists stopped and inquired if I was lost; a couple offered me a ride. I stuck to my guns and swore that I would finish the rest of the trek on foot. I would finish it on my own without the stubborn Dr.! (I do recognize the fact that I was being equally stubborn, but hey, I’m the one telling you the story here.) I stopped a few times to ask some locals in my poor Spanish if I was going the right way and it was with their confirmation that let me gather strength to keep going. When the town’s church building finally revealed itself from where I was walking, I sighed a breath of relief: a few more miles and I will be back at the bus station.

Back in the town center, I sat in the park and waited for the Dr. I was hating him then, but I also realized that he had our money and that we would need to make up if I wanted to go back to the city. (Note to self: keep some local currency to myself in case of emergencies or…stubborn situations.) A few minutes later, he rolled in the park behind some guy in a motorcycle. I found out later that he was asking locals all over the mountain if they’ve seen someone who looked like me, and because I stopped a few times to talk to them, he kept getting confirmation that I was still alive and going the right way. (I also found out later that the Germans were indeed being escorted by the military to a short cut.)

The twelve-hour bus ride was more miserable than ever because I sat next to him with a heavy heart. I was about to reach a new milestone the next day and I couldn’t believe we still had to fight after all we’ve gone through in El Cocuy. The hot shower in our Bogotá hotel at 5am after the long bus ride did more than just cleanse our bodies, it also warmed our cold, cold hearts. We started the new leg of the rest of our trip nicely after that. Sometimes, a trip like El Cocuy is necessary to sustain a relationship like ours.

Where to Eat in Narragansett: Matunuck Oyster Bar

We spent a weekend in Narraganssett, Rhode Island to usher in Summer 2010. After a delayed departure from New York City and a four-hour plus drive to the Ocean State, our first order of business as soon as we checked our borrowed digs by the beach was to get dinner. There were a few restaurants recommended to us in the area, but we were looking for that quintessential New England scene rather than an easy stop by the mall. The Matunuck Oyster Bar won out after looking at their menu online: no veal scaloppini and no shrimp scampi specials.

It was packed when we walked in and button-down chambray shirts with shorts were the uniform. The wait for two was about an hour, but we hadn’t been standing at the bar with our Merlots and whiskeys for too long when we were called to be seated.

We started with a bowl of white chowder–chowdah, as they say in these parts–with potatoes. The Rhode Island style of chowder is my favorite kind because it’s more watery than thick; more seafood than cream. We balanced that with an arugula salad with white beans and onions pickled in balsamic vinegar. We ordered the local pond oysters with the fresh littleneck clams and split the cod sandwich to wrap up dinner. I neglected to note the oyster varieties, only remembering one as briny (our preference) while the rest were sweet and juicy. The cod was no different from other fish sandwiches I’ve had before, leading the Dr. to describe it as â€œa glorified Filet-O-Fishâ€–to no fault of Matunuck’s owners of course; it’s just the boring nature of cod.

We asked our waitress if the weekend was the first time the restaurant has been busy this season. She told us that it’s been busy for the last few weeks, but this official start of summer will steady business. The service was surprisingly attentive even for a front of the house staff made of mostly teenagers. The best part was the price: our entire meal cost less than $45 including the much lower state tax of 7%.

Matunuck Oyster Bar is at 629 Succotash Road, South Kingston, Rhode Island. Call to check how long the wait is before you leave the beach 401/783.4202.