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05/04/2008 Archived Entry: "Dominican Delights, Pork Fat and Pizza"

Let’s see what’s on my desk. I have this little pile next to the computer. It collects notes to myself on little chits of paper, some business cards, a few menus … reminders of things I want to tell you about in these letters. I have had so little time to write lately, what with my constant traveling around the New York metro area flogging “Jewish Home Cooking: Yiddish Recipes Revisited,” that the pile is getting scarily out of control.

So …

Here’s the business card from YEMARIS, a Dominican restaurant at 65 Fourth Avenue, at President St., in Brooklyn. That’s the edge of Park Slope, where I live. It’s one of my favorite seriously cheap neighborhood restaurants. I recently took Irene Sax of the Daily News there. She reviews cheap restaurants for the newspaper, the ones that are fun. She’s an old friend, and she wrote such a wonderful piece about me in the News, and on the Weight Watchers web site (yes, Shirley, there is Yiddish food that fits into your WW parameters), that I thought the least I could do was treat her to a bowl of Dominican chicken soup, full of pieces of the bird still on the bone, plus big chunks of vegetables and potato. Kidding aside, this place was a good find for her column.

I think the small bowl of soup, enough for lunch, is $3.95. I have never attempted the large bowl; it is that large. The chicken stew is always good, too. It comes with a choice of red or black beans and fluffy, steamy white or yellow rice, all of it super-fresh and very well seasoned – not spicy hot, just satisfyingly savory. Although I am not fond of the other fillings, the fried meat empanadas are good, too; just greasy enough. When I am a good boy I order the soup; that’s it. When I am a bad boy, I order the blood sausage, the fried, meat-filled potato balls, and maybe even a slab of chichiron, an item that sounds so much better in Spanish than in English, a language whose various words for fat – in this case fried pork fat – do not at all make it sound appealing. But oh do I have to use all my self control not to eat one of these beauteous strips of bacon, thick with fat that melts in the mouth and chewy, salty meat with crisp edges. I have never spent more than $12 for a complete meal here, including drinks and tip.

Speaking of fried pork fat, I have recently been to MOMOFUKU SSÄM BAR, 207 Second Ave., at 13th St.,. The double “s” is not a typo. Ssäm is a Korean word for “wrap,” when you wrap in a leaf – usually a lettuce leaf -- a piece of meat or whatever protein, with rice and condiments. That’s only one specialty of this place, which is certainly among the top 10 trendiest joints in town. If you don’t arrive when they open at 5:30, you’ll wait for a table, or, more likely, a stool at the long communal table/bar. You can’t reserve unless you are a group of six and order the $200 roast pork shoulder. In the scope of Manhattan things, however, it is not terribly expensive for this high level of quality unless you do multiple glasses of $9 or even pricier sake and actually order enough to eat for dinner. My bill for three for not quite enough food, two beers, a soda, and a single sake, was $55 a person, including tip. Seated at the bar, not a table. Although that was quite comfortable.

I, along with Bob Harned and my nephew Brian (Dr. Alexander), were placed at the end of that bar next to two couples from Stamford who were in town to eat at here and to see a play in the theater district. We started talking. One of the men ended up to be a very good cook. I could tell from the way he talked about food and cooking that he knew his way around the kitchen, that he doesn’t take all his meals in trendy restaurants. After dinner, we were both standing by the men’s room waiting to get in, observing the feasting at one of the large tables that you can indeed reserve if you order that hunk of pig. I looked at the fatty pork, its mahogany surface glistening, its substantial layer of fat nearly Jello giggly, just waiting to line your arteries. I remarked that I could buy that meat for 98 cents a pound in Brooklyn, and I could cook it similarly and effortlessly. “So they’re getting $200 for a $10 hunk of meat. Great markup,” I remarked. “And in Stamford, it’s only 99 cents a pound,” said my new friend.

My recipe (actually Suzanne Somers’ from one of her diet books, believe it or not) for 18-Hour Pork Roast is right here, on this website, since 2001. I didn’t know the Korean word ssäm back then, but Suzanne and I did suggest eating it wrapped in lettuce leaves.

I have to say that despite near negligent service, which also had an edge of arrogant attitude to boot, I enjoyed the food at Momofuku Ssäm, especially the various forms of pork fat. Yes, there are various forms on the menu, including chunks of bacon in steamed Asian buns, like the buns often used for Peking Duck. One of the many other fat weapons you can choose from, is something called a “torchon,” which is a word usually used in reference to foie gras that has been forced into a cylindrical shape by turning it tight in a cloth. In this case, some shredded pork (not much) and fat (plenty) are formed that way, then, I am supposing, the roll is chilled before it is sliced, breaded, and fried. Fried fat! Oh boy! That’ll get you notoriety, as it has chef David Chang who owns several Momfukus now – each with a different menu, noodles being the original concept – and gets incredible press. He was even profiled in the New Yorker. I felt I had to see what all the excitement is about. I think it is deserved. Aside from my jokes about the richness and the prices, aside from the bad service that somehow didn’t irritate me quite as much as usual (maybe pork fat is tranquilizing), I’d go back in a second to try more of Chang’s food. Truthfully, the place is haunting my food fantasies, which are plenty as I try not to indulge.

There seems to be no buzz at all for MARCO POLO TAKE OUT, 347 Court St., near Union St. , in Cobble Hill, Brooklyn. Why would there be? It’s the pizzeria and take-out outlet of the venerable Marco Polo restaurant, which, though it has its regulars and fans, doesn’t have a citywide reputation. Go know: Marco Polo Take Out is serving terrific pizza. The prices are pretty good, too. The amply sized, individual pies range from $9 to $14, with most $11 and $12. That it is just a few blocks from the two movie theaters that I go to most often. Naturally, I can’t resist good pizza, so this place has become one of my favorite hometown haunts.

The young pizzaiolo, who is right off the plane from Potenza, is making thin pies with a nicely puffed edge; only slightly yeasty. All the ones I have had so far have had first-rate topping ingredients, too, including a version of ‘nduja (pronounced: in-do-ya), a funky sausage seasoned heavily with hot pepper. This Calabrese specialty is made in the kitchen of the pizzeria/take-out’s mother restaurant next door, Marco Polo, owned by Joe Chirico, who is Calabrese. In Calabria, this fiery confection is made with organ meats and is more a paste in a sausage casing from which you can scoop out the soft paste, spread it or mix it into a sauce for pasta – you get the picture. But Joe’s chef uses only pork meat, no organs. I am not complaining. It’s the only ‘nduja in town as far as I know, and sliced into thin disks and placed on a tomato-mozzarella pizza, it’s divine. I haven’t yet tried the ‘nduja and pasta dish you can get in the main dining room. I know that Joe is making efforts with a new chef and new menu items. Given the quality next door, I am eager to eat in the main dining room.

I also haven’t yet explored the beautiful looking take-out food in the refrigerated display case. I’ve only tried the eggplant parmigiana, which was definitely on a higher level than any pizzeria version I’ve had – although, I feel compelled to say, it is not as delicious as mine. This is why I rarely go to Italian restaurants these days, except for pizza. I compare everything to my home cooking. In a way, it’s a curse. We home cooks always like our own food best.