You Deserve a Better Steak.

Steak. Let’s talk about it.

You brag about how you cook a mean steak at home, but deep inside, you know you don’t. You overcook it. You undercook it. The seasoning is never quite right. It’s not seared—it’s charred. You just pretend that’s the way you like it because your pride gets in the way.

There are two issues at hand: first, you’re just not a very good cook. Secondly, you don’t have a grill that gets as hot as a restaurant’s.

Leave it to Kenji Lopez-Alt, the mastermind behind Serious Eats, to show the way. Reverse searing meat—letting it cook at a low temperature until desired doneness then searing in a ripping pan—is the way to go. But even then, you’re not getting flavor of cooking over coals and fire.  And you’re getting your house all smoky.

Leave it to Kenji Lopez-Alt, the mastermind behind Serious Eats, to show the way AGAIN. Sous vide ribeye (if you don’t have an Anova, you don’t belong here)—123F for 1 hour—grilled directly over the grill’s chimney starter. It’s like cooking on a jet engine.

It’s simple: about midway through the sous vide process, go light your chimney starter in your grill (see the 17 min mark of the video). I found that using letters from my ex worked as a great fire starter, so if you have any of those left in your closet, use them. Place a smaller grill grate over the starter so it can get extremely hot.

Pull the steaks out of the water bath and season with salt and pepper on both sides. You’re probably going to only be able to cook one steak on the chimney at a time, but that’s okay, because sous vide steaks don’t really need to rest—plus, each steak takes just about 2 minutes to grill TOTAL (if you’re going for a perfect medium-rare, that is).

Like Kenji, I kept the steak moving every 15 seconds or so, including rotating it onto the edges. When each steak finishes, you can pull it off the grill and onto a baking sheet, lightly tented with foil.

As you can see below, it worked perfectly—especially when paired with my grilled maitake mushrooms. Or a nice, hefty pat of Bolyard’s steak or bacon butter.

I’m never going back to cooking it the old fashioned way.  Thank you, Kenji.

Get those coals hot

boom.

Salt + Smoke's Brisket

There are a lot of things to like about Salt + Smoke, like owner Tom Schmidt's sultry voice and his Leonidas beard, dense as Germany's Black Forest, dark as night. And chef/pitmaster Haley Riley, who not only cooks meat that can't be beat, but once won a Jon Snow lookalike contest at West County mall. But what I like the most about Salt + Smoke is the brisket.

I've written about their burnt end t-ravs before, but I've never written about the brisket itself.

Brisket is my smoked meat of choice. I would pick fall-apart-tender, Texas style brisket over ribs and pulled pork any day. At the time of writing, there are three places that can quash my qraving for it in St. Louis: Salt + Smoke (obviously), Big Baby Q, and The Stellar Hog.

Before being smoked over white oak for the better part of the day, the brisket is rubbed with a simple salt and freshly ground (pre-ground stuff is for people that don't like flavor) pepper mix. Then it goes in. That's it.

The result is brisket that manages to stay together and fall apart all at the same time. It's smoky. The bark is crunchy. It's juicy, like a meat Starburst. I love it.

You can get the brisket either as a platter, which comes with two sides (I'd probably get the garlic and herb fries and white cheddar cracker mac) and a cheddar-bacon popover, or you can get it as a sandwich with burnt end mayo and tobacco onions.

When you order it, you'll get the option of lean, fatty, or burnt ends. You should order the lean—that leaves more of the good stuff for me. Oh, and I don't want to forget: Salt + Smoke has William Larue Weller bourbon in right now. Treat yo' self.

Brisket

Sunshine Dust Ginger Cookies

Let’s just call these rustic cookies, okay? I simply do not possess the finesse needed to make beautiful desserts. I require years of training. I don’t think I’d last 10 minutes at La Patisserie Chouquette, unless they needed someone to mop or do dishes.

Ginger cookies run in my blood—in fact, my last name, Pernikoff, means gingerbread in Czech. We Pernikovs probably owned the La Patisserie Chouquette of a Slavic shtetl, known for miles as the place to get all things ginger. Hell, maybe one of my ancestors was like Dominique Ansel and was the first to take boring old gingerbread cookies and use them for architecture models. 

When the team behind Big Heart Tea Co. (formerly Retrailer Tea) and I touched base about doing a recipe using their new Cup of Sunshine dust—a finely pulverized version of their Cup of Sunshine tea—a fiery blend of turmeric, ginger, lemongrass, and peppercorn, this is what came to mind. A chewy ginger cookie, chock full of crystalized ginger hunks, finished with a Cup of Sunshine dust glaze. Voila!

Sunshine Dust Ginger Cookies

---

YIELD: ABOUT 40 COOKIES

INGREDIENTS

GINGER COOKIES

RECIPE ADAPTED FROM BON APPETIT

2.5 C AP flour
1 C minced crystallized ginger
2 t baking soda
1/4 t salt
1.5 sticks unsalted butter, room temp
1 C brown sugar
1 egg, room temp
1/4 cup light molasses
1.5 t ground ginger
1 t ground cinnamon
1/2 t ground cloves

GLAZE

1 C + 3 T powdered sugar
2 T milk
1/2 t Cup of Sunshine dust

METHOD

You can bake two trays per oven—put one tray towards the top, one towards the bottom. Preheat to 350F. 

Combine flour, crystallized ginger, baking soda, and salt in a bowl. In a mixer, beat butter until creamy; about 2 min. Slowly added the brown sugar and continue mixing until well incorporated; about 3 minutes. Add egg, molasses, ginger, cinnamon, cloves, and beat until blended. With mixer on low, slowly add flour mix.

Line trays with parchment. 

Scoop out tablespoon side balls of dough, roll into a ball, then flatten slightly on the parchment. They won’t spread much. Bake for 8 minutes and check doneness—you want them to be slightly firm. Place on a rack to cool.

For the glaze, simply mix together the glaze ingredients in a bowl until well incorporated. Apply glaze to cookies however you see fit. I’m sure you’ll do better than me.

Taqueria Durango's Torta Ahogada

I do my best not to do the standard Food Network reaction when I eat something delicious (you know the one: they take a bite, then simultaneously roll their eyes and their head in a circular motion, then say something like “Yummo!” or “holy moly, this is money!”), but there are times it just happens.

Most recently, it was brought on by the torta ahogada from Taqueria Durango, a football-sized behemoth, drowned in sauce. Which makes sense if you speak Spanish, because a tortais a Mexican sandwich and ahogada means drowned. If you really want to impress the staff, say, “Uno torta ahogada, s’il vous plaît!”

I went years without trying this sandwich, choosing instead to focus my eating on Durango’s tacos—which are some of the best in St. Louis—because I am a dumb person. Ian Froeb has talked about this sandwich for as long as I can remember, and I just ignored him. Sorry, Froeb. You were on the money with this yummo sandwich.

The oversized bolillo roll is sliced in half, filled with carnitas and grilled onions, then doused with a smoky and mildly spicy red chile sauce. This is clearly a knife and fork sandwich (does that negate it from being a sandwich? Discuss below). It reminds me of something I’d come up with late at night, drunk, using all my leftovers from the previous night’s tacos—but much better. The sauce is so good, and the way the outside of the bread soaks that up, while the inside picks up all the char and pork fat from the carnitas and onions…it shivers me timbers.

This is one of the best sandwiches I’ve had in St. Louis. Maybe even in the top 10. It is a little spicy, so if you’re a weakling, order something else.

Torta Ahogada

carnitas, onions

Nduja Stuffed Brie

I was hesitant to post this recipe, not because it isn’t delicious, but because you really don’t have to do much. It’s slightly more challenging than Rachael Ray’s famous Late Night Bacon, only because you’re required to use a knife and fold puff pastry.

The morning after the Super Bowl, I laid in bed, perusing Instagram and Twitter to see what horribly wonderful creations everyone had eaten. Nachos, pizza, dip after dip after dip. Then I saw a baked brie.

Baked brie is one of life’s greatest joys, but it seems like everyone does the same thing—some kind of chutney or jam, maybe some dried fruit, or, occasionally, mushrooms. I’m bored. I need more excitement in my life. I had spicy cheese dip on my mind, then I saw the brie, and it happened.

I’m going to stuff brie with ‘nduja then bake it, I yelled to no one.

And so I did.

Nduja stuffed brie

SERVING DEPENDS ON HOW FAT YOUR FRIENDS ARE

INGREDIENTS

1 wheel of brie
1 log of ‘nduja
Puff pastry

---

METHOD 

Put your wheel of brie in the freezer for 30 minutes or so to allow for easier cutting.

Cut brie in half, then spread as much ‘nduja as you’d like on it. Don’t be cheap with it.

Wrap the brie with puff pastry—it doesn’t have to look pretty. I followed The Kitchn’s guide. Bake according to the puff pastry brand’s instructions, something like 40 minutes at 400F.

Drizzle it with Mike’s Hot Honey for some sweetness. Serve with crackers or something.

Oaxacan Mole Braised Beef

I’m not a butcher, but I’ve hung around Bolyard’s Meat enough to consider myself a meat journeyman. I’ve learned by watching, not doing. Can I break down a cow? No. Can I stand over your shoulder and tell you you’re doing it wrong? Yes.

In my almost-expert opinion, there seems there are three basic groups that exist when it comes to buying and cooking meat: Grillers, Slow Cookers, and Sausage Lovers (like your sister).

I’m a Slow Cooker. I’ve grilled 3 steaks in the last 3 years, and I’ve ordered steak at a restaurant once in that same time frame. It bores me. I find that braised (or BBQed) meats, on the other hand, tend to be more flavorful and harder to screw up. Plus, most of the cooking can be done unattended in your kitchen. Oh, and the cuts are way cheaper.

Alex Welsch, one of the Bolyard’s meat men, recently guided me to beef neck, a tender, well-marbled cut of beef perfect for braising. Jewish Santa delivered me a package of La Guelaguetza mole. Combining the two, I got one of the most flavorful braised beef recipes I’ve made yet, all thanks to Alex. What a guy.

This recipe doesn’t use up the entire amount of mole each Guelaguetza jar makes, so you’ll still have some left over for nachos, enchiladas, or protein shakes.

I pulled the neck apart into hunks, then served it over grains. The leftovers went into enchiladas. If you have a big family, there will be no leftovers.

Oaxacan Mole Braised Beef

---

Oaxacan Mole Braised Beef

SERVES: 4-6

INGREDIENTS

3 lbs beef neck (or chuck)
2.5 C beef stock
0.75 C La Guelaguetza Mole Negro sauce

METHOD

Make the La Guelaguetza Oaxacan Black Mole according to the package instructions. Alternatively, buy a different mole or—if you’re really going for it—make your own. Check out Alex Stupak’s recipe in Tacos cookbook. Let cool.

Preheat the oven to 500F.

Put the beef on a rack over a baking tray. Rub or brush the beef with the mole on all sides, then sear in the oven for 15 minutes.

Lower oven temp to 300F.

Combine mole and stock in an oven-safe braiser or Dutch oven. It won’t look like much liquid, but as Kenji taught me: the more liquid in there to start, the more you’ll have to reduce later. If you’re really concerned, feel free to add more mole and stock. Bring to a boil, then set in the beef, put on lid, and place in the oven.

Bake covered for about 2 hours, then about 1 hour uncovered.

Remove from the oven and pull apart or chop. If needed, simmer the sauce to thicken. Season with salt, if needed.

Union Loafers' Pizza

Hey Spencer, didn't you already write about Union Loafers' pizza? I sure did. Back in the old days (this summer), Loafers only made pizza once a week. If you were busy on a Wednesday, you missed out. Lines were long. Life was hard. Then pizza stopped all together. Ted giveth and Ted taketh away.

After installing a new walk-in fridge and perfecting his already perfect pizza, Teddy Wilson and BMan have re-launched pizza night—and now it's Wednesday through Saturday. Lemme walk you through this menu.

You're going to start off with BMan's Italian salad. It's the only non-pizza item on the dinner menu, so you don't have much of a choice, but it's worth your dollars. This is another salad from the inventor of their lunch time Little Gem. Have faith.  BMan loads it up with garbanzo beans, fennel, olives, pickled peppers, fior di latte (no provel ropes, sorry), and a delightful vinaigrette. Pair that with some bubbles or beer.

On to the star of this show: the pizza. They're wonderful. They're enormous. I've yet to have a single person tell me they didn't enjoy them, and this includes other chefs who own pizza joints. I'll go so far as to say that if you don't like the pizza at Union Loafers, you're probably better off eating Lunchables at home.

You have six options for pizza, excluding any potential specials. First up, the Classic: tomato, mozzarella, basil & extra virgin olive oil. It's a classic for a reason. 

Next, the lactose-intolerance friendly Marinara. Tomato, garlic, basil, oregano & chili oil. It's like a more grown up version of their pizza rossa, available at lunch. 

Pepperoni, the love of my life, is paired with Calabrian chilis, tomato sauce and mozzarella. 9 times out of 10, this is the pizza I'm getting.  LOOK AT IT.

The sausage, a simple herbs, tomato & mozzarella pie.

For the more adventurous, try the mushroom. Pickled shallots, Tuliptree Creamery's Foxglove, mozzarella & oregano. Foxglove is a funky, intense cheese, so if you can't handle that, don't order this. Weakling.

Last, but certainly not least, is the spinach pizza. This is probably my second favorite, behind the pep. Maybe it's my favorite. I don't know. As I look at this picture, I think it's my favorite again. Thick cut bacon, garlic, lemon, parmesan, mozz, and a mountain of spinach. 

Go eat it. You can call it in and take it to go, you can sit there, whatever. I don't care what you do, as long as it involves Union Loafers pizza.

italian salad

classic pizza

marinara pizza

pepperoni pizza

Sausage pizza

Mushroom pizza

spinach & bacon pizza

Cookbook Picks: Winter 2016

We are living in a digital world, and I am a digital girl—except when it comes to cookbooks. I'm a cookbook collector (and possibly a burgeoning hoarder). Last winter, I put up a list of 5 cookbooks I'd used the most in 2015, but seeing as my collection is growing at a rapid pace, I'm going to start posting quarterly recommendations. Unless I get bored and decide not to. No promises. I present to you: the Winter 2016 collection.

Plenty: Vibrant Vegetable Recipes

Yotam Ottolenghi

About 5 years ago, I went on a trip with my college friends to New Orleans. When I got home and they started posting pictures from the trip, I came to the realization that I was not the svelte panther I thought I was. I looked more like late 1970s Elvis Presley than 1950's Elvis. I went to a dietician who, in short, told me to stop eating garbage and start eating more vegetables.

But vegetables suck, I thought to myself. Ottolenghi's Plenty (and its follow up, Plenty More) changed the vegetable game for me. With these two books, I've become the vegetable master. I am the inspiration behind L' Arpége and Blue Hill.

Amazon link

Zahav: A World of Israeli Cooking

Michael Solomonovand Steven Cook

I'm Jewish, but I'm not a cool Israeli Jew. I'm not even a tan Sephardic Jew. I'm just a boring ol' Ashkenazi Jew. My Russian family recipes all involve beets, potatoes, and cabbage.

I bought the Zahav cookbook partially because it won a James Beard award for Best Cookbook, but mostly so I could cook Israeli food and pretend I was the Zohan. It worked. I blew everyone away at our Thanksgiving dinner with Solomonov's braised lamb shoulder with pomegranate molasses and chickpeas. Every single dish I've made so far has been a winner. I give this book 5/5 yarmulkes.

Amazon link

Greek

George Calombaris

Most Americans won't know who George Calombaris is, which is a shame. He's a good natured, extremely talented Greek-Australian chef from Down Under, and also the co-host of Masterchef Australia. Unlike its American and Canadian relatives, MC: 'stralia is not a giant stinking heap of bullshit drama. It's a great show.

Calombaris' new cookbook, Greek, isn't even being sold in the US. I don't know why. It's an incredible book full of modern—yet home cook friendly—Greek recipes. The photos are stunning, the writing is great, and the recipes work. It's a lot like this blog.

It keeps popping up at the Amazon link below for a variety of prices. I got it for $28, but now it's at $81. Keep your eyes peeled. If I find it somewhere cheaper, I'll let you know.

Amazon link

Singapore Food

Wendy Hutton

The best Singaporean cookbook I've found. Originally published in the 1989, this cookbook has been my link back to the food I love so much. For many of the recipes, Hutton went to the hawker stalls or restaurants and straight up asked how they made their signature dishes. If you're at all interested in the real flavors of Singapore, get this. Alternatively, you can get The Little Singapore Cookbook, which is kind of like a "best of" from the larger book.

Chili crab will change your life.

Amazon link: Singapore Food or The Little Singapore Cookbook

Thai Street Food

David Thompson

This book is huge, just like your mom. If you're into coffee table books, this might as well be one with its enormous, bright street photography from all around Thailand. The shots of the food are equally beautiful. Thompson doesn't dumb down or simplify the recipes either: if you want to make authentic Thai food, you're going to need to buy a lot of ingredients. Make it a team effort. Get the kids chopping lemongrass.

The results are worth the effort.

Amazon link

Nathaniel Reid Bakery

Goodies Shelf at Nathaniel Reid Bakery

Entremet Case at Nathaniel Reid Bakery

I went to France for 2 weeks in 2006, which makes me uniquely qualified to discuss lespâtisseries viennoises, entremets, and baguettes. I see myself as a cross between Mary Berry and Pierre Hermé. When I heard Nathaniel Reid Bakery opened in Kirkwood, I wanted to make sure he knew who he was dealing with. I showed up looking Parisian as hell in my black and white striped shirt, tight black pants, and smug attitude. I peppered the staff with important questions, like where is your beurre from and do you have free samples. I don't want to brag, but they know me there now.

I've gone to Nathaniel Reid Bakery (NRB) close to 10 times now, I think. "Stop eating so much sugar and butter," my doctor would say if I had health insurance. But I do this for you people. I needed to try as much as I could so I could soundly recommend items. My altruistic, selfless nature never ceases to impress me.

When you walk in, before you even look at the display case, head to the far wall, a Willy Wonka-esque treasure trove of chocolates, nougats, caramels, meringues, chocolate pearls. The last two are perfect for prettying up that pathetic attempt at a cake you just made for your kid/spouse. My two favorite jarred goodies: the Spiced Caramel Spread and the strawberry-poppy flower jam. I'd never had poppy flower before (I hoped it would give some sort of opium buzz, but all I got was hyperglycemia), which I found out taste just like cotton candy. And I secretly love cotton candy.

If you'll kindly turn your head to the right, you'll see the display case. This is what you came here for.  Colors. Glazes. Shapes. Ooh. NRB typically has 6 to 8 types of macarons in their case, each with a pronounced flavor but a texture that's fairly different than La Patisserie Chouquette's. I don't know if one is more French than the other because I didn't eat any macarons in France during that trip a decade ago. I would happily eat both, Nathaniel's in my left hand, Chouquette's in my right.

The viennoiserie options vary depending on the time of day, what's in season, etc. What I'm trying to say is that you might see a picture of an apple pastry today, but next week, when you go, it'll be pear. And you'll inevitably tweet at me about it, whining. You snooze, you lose.

If you're a NRB rookie, grab an assortment of breakfast pastries. Below, you'll see their pecan cinnamon roll, a croissant, and the love of my life: their twice baked almond-chocolate croissant. The croissant, decked out with dark chocolate, is sliced open and slathered with almond paste, topped with more chocolate, then baked until extra crispy. I like to bite into it while staring directly into Nathaniel's eyes and tell him "good bake" a la Paul Hollywood.

I've been watching a lot of Great British Bake Off lately.

NRB has delicious sandwiches (and salads, but salads are too healthy) available for lunch, with my favorite being the roast beef. It's a simple sandwich, the kind I'd buy on my morning stroll back when I was living in France for those two weeks, made with tender roast beef, slivers of red onion, a slice of cheese, and horseradish aioli. Though, to be honest, it's the bread that wins me over: brioche (aka butter) bread with a sprinkling of shaved parmesan on top. Molto Bene! as the French say.

Where NRB really shines is with their entremets, also known as "them fancy cakes" if you're from St. Charles. Reid's creations are incredible, undoubtedly some of the most delicious entremets I've ever had. And the detail work that goes into ever component is mind-boggling. Here's the recipe for the Amber cake below. Are you going to attempt that at home? I didn't think so.

He's so good, in fact, that the Nathaniel Reid you see in the picture below isn't even him. That's 6 feet of spun sugar. He's that good.

Almost all of the entremets are available as full sized cakes, or in miniature form. The Amber is all about pecans and caramel. For something more tropical, the tangerine-colored Polynesia is a banana-passion fruit cream and coconut mousse cake. Not pictured, because I ate it without thinking, is the Sambava, a mix of chocolate, hazelnut and vanilla. My current favorite, being that I'm addicted to pistachio, is the Jarmo pistachio cake with a berry gelée and pistachio cream.

Before we go, I have to give special kudos to Señor Reid, for he has done the impossible. He has taken up the challenge of improving the much maligned, oft ignored fruit cake and turning it into something people actually want to eat. I guess opening a bakery and having a baby in the last 4 or so months wasn't hard enough.

I'm pleased to say that I enjoyed his fruit cake, which he tells me took nearly 7 years to perfect, immensely. It doesn't feel like you're eating a spiced brick, thanks in part to a proprietary technique he developed. He soaks and candies all the the fruits and nuts himself. It's a labor of love and you can taste it.

I know it's hard to believe, but your friends and family will actually thank you for bringing it to their [Insert Holiday] party.

Jams

chocolates

macarons

breakfast pastries

Chocolate Almond croissant

Roast beef sandwich

Amber

buttery shortbread, salted caramel mousse, pecan caramel

polynesia

coconut mousse, mango and banana cream, moist almond cake

jarmo

pistachio cream, pistachio cake, strawberries, raspberries

fruitcake

Aged Egg Nog

Growing up in a pseudo-Kosher, moderately Jewish household, I missed out on all the fun parts of Christmas: the gifts, the ham, the egg nog. I’d sit and spin my dreidel (maybe a euphemism), waiting to hear from all my Jesus loving friends.

My first time tasting egg nog came when I was in 8th grade. I was at a friend’s house the day after Christmas, getting ready to play hour upon hour of Halo whatever when his mom brought us each a big glass of egg nog. My excitement was palpable. I took a big swig—disgusting. Utterly disgusting. Egg nog was dead to me. I’ll stick to Manischewitz, thank you very much.

It wasn’t until a couple weeks ago when Randolfi’s [RIP] head barman, Jeffrey Moll, invited me over to try his aged egg nog. Very intriguing, Jeffrey. His eggnog follows the style of George P. Hunt, sans the party—unless you pay more.

The approach to this nog is to start it on the weekend that proceeds Thanksgiving. In the four weeks that follow, it mellows out a little and thickens up. I have obviously screwed that up already, seeing as it’s December 7th, but I’m sure it’ll be good by Christmas. OR you can make it now and serve it next year—because of its alcohol content, it’s very stable so long as its refrigerated.

Aged Egg Nog

by jeffrey moll

---

YIELD: 1 BATCH

INGREDIENTS

12 egg yolks
2c sugar
8oz half & half
32oz whole milk
32oz Four Roses Single-Barrel (or Buffalo Trace) bourbon whiskey
8oz Camus VS cognac
4oz El Dorado 12 year rum
salt (a couple pinches)

METHOD

Start by whisking together the yolks and sugar until the sugar dissolves. The mixture should be creamy. This will take ten minutes or so. Drink some bourbon while whisking to get in the mood.

Once ready, work in all the dairy and salt.

Finally, add all alcohol.

Pour the final product back into empty bottles and place in refrigerator for 3-4 weeks, shaking every couple of days. It will be ready by Christmas.

Don’t forget to top with freshly grated nutmeg!

The Cold, Dark, Stirred Bitter Truth

In an ideal world, I’d spend every evening at Randolfi’s [RIP]. I’d walk in with my glorious beard, impeccably tailored peacoat, and shawl collared sweater, brush the snow off my shoulders, and take a seat at the bar. The fire crackles in the Ferrara pizza oven. Tom Waits is on the radio. Head barman Jeffrey Moll would look at me, nod, and get started on my drink. I wouldn’t have to say a word.

I’d stare off into the abyss, thinking of something important. Moll would hand me The Cold, Dark, Stirred Bitter Truth. It’s bittersweet and rich—just like me.

In actuality, I will make this at home in my pajamas, then drink it at my kitchen counter while watching Property Brothers. And you can too!

The Cold, Dark, Stirred Bitter Truth

by jeffrey moll

---

The Cold, Dark, Stirred Bitter Truth

YIELD: 1 COCKTAIL

INGREDIENTS

1.5 oz El Dorado 12 Year Rum
.75 oz Ramazzotti Amaro
.5 oz Campari
.5 oz Suze
Appr.x 10 drops / 1 squeeze of Bittermen’s Xocolatl Mole Bitters (they’re in a dropper bottle)

METHOD

Place all ingredients in a stirring vessel and fill with ice. Stir for approximately 25 seconds. Double strain into a coupe glass.

Cut a thin, round piece of orange peel and express [squeeze] the oils from the peel into a match flame across the top of the cocktail (this may take some practice, but playing with fire is fun!).

Enjoy while listening to something equally cold, dark, and bitter.

Jeffrey Moll on Amaro

Here’s what I know about amaro: it’s Italian, and Randolfi’s master mixologist, Jeffrey Moll, likes loves it.

That’s it.

I asked Moll to give me the run down on 5 of his favorite amari so I can add them to my bar and impress my friends, and now you can too. Or you could just go over to Randolfi’s, pull up a seat at the bar, and learn something from the master himself. Plus, his name fall cocktail menu just arrived, and it is immense. [Randolfi’s has since closed, but you can still find Jeffrey slangin’ drinks around town]

Averna Amaro

“This amaro was my very first experience with amaro and certainly one of the more recognizable brands. It’s definitely on the sweet side in the spectrum of amari. I get a big hit of rich cola and bitter orange from it. Because it’s one of the more sweet, thick, and ‘chewy’ amari, it’s really nice neat as as an after dinner libation, much like a port wine. It really opens up with a generous amount of soda water and I strongly recommend replacing the sweet vermouth in your next Manhattan—with Averna, it’s known as a Black Manhattan.”

Luxardo Amaro

“This is the amaro that made me fall in love with amari for the first time. I went to Taste with my friend Seth, who was running the bar at MEDIAnoche at the time. I saw it on the shelf and asked for a pour. Right out of the gate, I got a ton of black pepper on the nose. My tasting notes consisted of black pepper, menthol, and cinnamon, if you look a little deeper. I begged Seth to pick up a bottle for the bar at work and it remained a staple throughout MEDIAnoche, Little Country Gentleman, Good Pie 2.0 and currently at Randolfi’s. It has made its way into several drinks and I found that it lends itself best to mezcal drinks, champagne cocktails, and drinks with a healthy measure of oloroso or P.X. sherry. I recommend this amaro neat or over ice. If you throw any sort of bubbles at it, make sure you do it with tonic, or as a spritz with a dry cava and a touch of soda water, garnished with some mint sprigs.”

Amaro Sibilia

“I would call this my “Amaro Graduation Exam”. It’s nothing terribly extreme, but it’s an amaro that’s not for everyone. It’s very dry, very bitter and very expensive. It’s finished with honey from Mount Sibillini, so you’re provided a small window to the local flora where it’s produced.This is the one that I had to try the hardest to find its nuances. Its aroma is very fragrant and floral. At first the taste is dry and bitter gentiane. That way fresh churned earth smells, it’s that. The honey is the hard one to find if you don’t know it’s in there, but once you do, you get it every time. If you can break this one down, you can break pretty much any other amaro you come across. I often use this amaro as a way to put sweeter cocktails in check. Aside from that, my opinion it to drink it neat or over ice, but it does work really nicely with big scotches like Lagavulin 16 and with nocino.”

Lazzaroni Amaro

“I don’t have any sort of romantic story to offer for this amaro. It came into our market and I really enjoy the rest of Lazzaroni’s lineup, especially their amaretto, so I picked this one up for the restaurant bar. Lately, this is the amaro I am drinking the most of at home. Aromatically, it is similar to Cynar, Zucca, or Amaro Sfumato: smokey veg. The taste is spot on for a dark chocolate peppermint patty. At work, this amaro has only made it’s way into one cocktail called “May All Your Days Be Gold” (I’m a bit of a Sparklehorse fan), but at home, I am drinking this as a 3:2 amaro to soda water over ice. I can guarantee that it will find it’s way into at least a few hot chocolates.”

Fernet Amaro

“People who don’t usually drink amaro are usually pretty taken back by fernet. The fernet that most of us are familiar with is Fernet Branca. I often describe it as tasting like Christmas tree-flavored Listerine. Fernets are a special subcategory of amaro. They are much drier, more bitter, and extremely mentholated. Fernets are nothing to trifled with, but they’re nothing that deserves to be feared. I can tell you that in the case of Fernet Branca, I have had three regionally different versions.

The one we get here is my least favorite because of its extreme nature. I have had this same brand from Europe and Argentina and the differences are night and day. The latter two in comparison to our American version are a lot more amiable. They’re still dry, bitter and mentholated, but to a lesser extent, so you get more of the bitter herbs and aren’t overwhelmed like ours. THIS is why I love Lazzaroni’s Fernet so much more. Its just easier to drink and a great introductory fernet-style amaro. I often use this to make Fanciullis and to settle my stomach after I’ve over-eaten. I recommend this one over ice to mute a little of its intensity—definitely with an equal part of soda water and a lemon or orange peel expressed across it.”

Maketto

Queenstown, New Zealand. Tia Carrere. The White Stripes.

All things I fell in love with instantly. There haven’t been many moments in my life where my first impression was “I love this place/person/thing.” I’m tough to impress.

In fact, I’m not sure there’s been a casual restaurant that has grabbed my attention and held it like this since I was at Candlenut in Singapore last year. The kind of restaurant that hits me so hard I need to go back the next day.

But Maketto did.

---

I still remember when Maketto opened just over a year ago—not because I went, but because my brother kept talking about it. The front was a clothing store, the back was a restaurant, upstairs was a cafe. There was a courtyard. You could sit at the chef’s counter. The food was modern Southeast Asian. Every meal sounded like the dishes I dream about when I’m alone.

This trip, I needed to go.

We make our way past the clothes, past the dining room, through the courtyard, into the adjacent building that houses the kitchen. We take our seats at the counter. I smell fish sauce and meat grilling.

The menu is relatively small—11 items—but I would eat any of them. I defer ordering to Logan and Kathryn, since they are the experts, and wait patiently.

Cambodian ground pork curry comes first. Not the most appetizing looking dish in the world, but the smell is unbelievable. That glorious mix of meat, coconut milk, and fish sauce funk isSoutheast Asia to me. The dish tastes like the what I ate in Siem Reap. As always: if a dish can transport me back to a place, it’s a dish I hold near and dear.

A ‘cheffy’ take on cumin lamb hits the table and once again, the smell wafts up and we’re all drooling. The meat is juicy, but still has a nice outer crunch. Mixed wild mushrooms and a Szechuan peppercorn mala oil pump up the earthy flavors, but they’re sliced through by a vibrant dill puree. I’m reaching over to steal the last bite when the waiter puts a plate in front of me…

This is where I decide that I will forever trust chef Erik Bruner-Yang. I make the waiter repeat his description of the dish. I try to quickly come up with a scheme to keep my brother’s hands away from it.

Six golden, crunchy, gruyere-cheese filled dumplings sit in front of me. Pillows of cheese, resting on a bed of Chinese beef chili and fermented greens. It’s everything I’ve wanted in life. I don’t deserve it. I love this dish. I tell Logan we might need another, but he tells me I need to wait. The star dish hasn’t even arrived.

A downside to seeing into the kitchen is knowing what’s coming next, and it is becoming obvious what Maketto’s finisher is: Taiwanese fried chicken.

You don’t understand. In Taiwan, you can get this street ‘snack’ that’s just these comically large pounded out chicken breasts that have been heavily spiced and deep fried until the crunch factor is turned to 10. I’ve been begging Tai Ke St. Louis to do it. I still fantasize about going back to Taipei’s night markets just to eat more.

This dish is up there with the best fried chicken I’ve had—anywhere. The crunch, the five-spice caramel, the crispy shallots…by this point, I’m not even talking. What is there to say? I’ve just fallen in love and I know it won’t be months until I see them again. I’m living in a Richard Linklater film where Julie Delpy is replaced by a modern Asian restaurant.

The chicken comes with grilled bread, which we use to mop up the bowl. We throw in the towel and head home. I wish I had gotten more chicken to go.

Cambodian Ground Pork Curry

Cumin Lamb

Gruyere Dumplings

chinese chili

Taiwanese Fried Chicken

I just couldn’t stay away. I kept thinking about you all night, Maketto. I had to come back for lunch before my flight.

We grab a matcha-cream filled donut and some coffee in the cafe upstairs for ‘breakfast’, then immediately head downstairs and order lunch. One Cambodian pork shoulder sandwich—a Cambodian variation on the banh mi, basically—one order of curried leek buns, and one order of pork buns.

I leave, and take one last look at the restaurant. I’ll miss you. But I know I’ll see you again.

Matcha Donut

Dumplings

Cambodian Sandwich

The Partisan

“So where else do you want to eat while you’re in D.C.? We could go to The Partisan—it’s got really good cocktails and the menu is almost entirely meat and charcuterie. It’s Red Apron butcher’s restaurant.”

“BOOK THAT SHIT RIGHT NOW.”

---

That, dear friends, is how we ended up at The Partisan (or, as I drunk texted Chris Bolyard:“I’m at your future restaurant”).  And we hit it HARD.

You walk into the space and have the butcher shop to your right, the dining room to your left, and the bar in the back. We arrive early, grab a cocktail or three, then make our way to the table.

We have two menus to order from: the first shows 30 or so dishes, ranging from small bites, like $5 lupini beans with pickled ramps, to entrees, like a $120 Ancient White Park Bone-in Ribeye. The second menu is one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen, something I’ve dreamed about but never knew existed. It’s a sushi-style menu (you fill in the quantity then give it to your server) full of 39 types of charcuterie and cheese. How do I choose? Should I just get one of everything?

I put the decision in my brother’s hands and order us two light starters: crispy chicken skins with hot sauce and tallow fries with garlic and rosemary, plus a side of ranch aioli. And then the sun dried duck—basically duck jerky—with sriracha, just for good measure.

The charcuterie and cheese come out and they are glorious. I don’t even know which we had, aside from the ‘tete de pho’, a pho-braised pigs head, pulled apart. We each take a toasted tigelle, the Italian cousin to an English muffin, and go to town. The tray is cleared in under 5 minutes.

Not yet satisfied, I demand more meat. Nduja! More tigelles! Kung pao sweetbreads! House made spam musubi? Give it to me. A masa and ground pork cake? I’ve never seen such a thing, so I must eat it. Half a chicken, cooked on the rotisserie then deep fried? I have room for that.

45 minutes later and I am slowly slumping into the booth. I am food drunk, or concussed, or something. Last night I was at Pineapple and Pearls. I have pushed my body to its limits.

I watch as my friends demolish a basket of chocolate cake donut holes (if these are donut holes, then the donuts themselves must be the size of innertubes) with chocolate pudding, then move on to the buttermilk panna cotta with pineapple and (white chocolate) pearls.

The Partisan is certainly worthy of a spot in my D.C. dining rotation, though next time I go, I think I’m going to try to see how much of the charcuterie I can get through.

Fried Chicken Skins

Tallow Fries

Duck Jerky

Charcuterie Board

Nduja

Kung Pao Sweetbreads

Spam Musubi

Fried Chicken

Donuts

Pineapple and Pearls

I try to limit my word count in posts these days, but occasionally, a lengthy piece is warranted. Pineapple & Pearls opened in D.C. earlier this year and is already rocketing into the upper echelon of American restaurants.

Months ago, Pat Noonan, the man behind Pat Likes to Eat and the only food blogger with a six pack, convinced me that that missing out on a meal at Pineapple and Pearls in D.C. would be a huge mistake, even with it’s $250 per person price tag. Pat knows food, and we both loved chef Aaron Silverman’s sister restaurant, Rose’s Luxury, so I figured, “Be like Pat.”

I'm crammed in the shittiest Uber in D.C. with my brother, Logan, and his girlfriend, Kathryn, anxiously wondering what the meal will have in store. None of us have read any reviews. We're going in blind.

We pull up, point and laugh at the plebs waiting hours to eat at Rose's, and make our way through P&P’s matte black door into the bright white, gold, and wood interior—it's classy A.F. Don Draper would fit in here. We check in with the hostess and are presented with welcome drinks: a Kir Royale for me, soju and shiso the other two.

We're taken into the intimate 20-or-so seat dining room and told that, like Catbird Seat in Nashville, we won't be getting menus until the end of meal, so we’ll have no idea what each course will be—aside from peeking at our neighbor's plates.

Drink pairings, gratuity, and tax are included in the price of the meal—L&K went with the alcoholic pairings, but I wanted to see what a non-alcoholic pairing would be like. We toast our prosecco (and my pear cider), then the avalanche of food starts.

Fennel absinthe bonbons hit the table first, an emerald marble resting on an absinthe spoon over some kind of absinthe cocktail—I miss the details because I'm staring at my own reflection in the bonbon. I pop the yogurt-filled bonbon in my mouth and take a drink. We all nod in agreement. Baby Mexican street corn elotes served over a tiny smoker come next. Give me 11 more servings of those and I’ll be good.

And the winner for most beautiful palate cleanser I’ve had at a restaurant is...The oysters and vodka course comes out on a stunning tower that a slob like me doesn’t deserve, with the lower level's faux oyster shells holding pickled oysters with cucumber granita, fennel, and borage flowers, and the upper levels holding shots of vodka, cucumber syrup, and fennel bitters. The last time I ate oysters in D.C., I had the worst food poisoning of my life and I still haven't mentally recovered 100%. Still, I press on with no regrets.

Chef Silverman himself brings out our next course, which appears to be a bamboo box. He turns it outward and unveils three tiers hidden inside, like some kind of Russian matryoshka doll. The bottom tier holds a sour cherry compote, followed by a foie gras mousse with toasted hazelnuts.

At the pinnacle are three small squares of bread, which Silverman downplays as a mix between brioche and a biscuit. I split my biscuit in half and take a bite without any toppings. Oh god. I think I let out a guttural moan or a high pitched squeeee. It's flaky. Moist. Buttery. And even more buttery when I spread the foie gras mousse on. All three of us try to make it last as long as possible. We would all agree this was the best bite of the entire meal.

We're given a few minutes before the entrees commence, which is good, because my food refractory period is in full swing. Plus, I'm terribly depressed the pan au lait is gone.

Silverware at Pineapple and Pearls (1 of 1)

Before we continue, let me tell you why the non-alcoholic pairings are even better than the traditional ones: the alcohol throughout the meal was primarily wine, with a cocktail and beer thrown in. My drinks were unique and, quite frankly, amazing. The Thai basil and lime soda was like gourmet Sprite; the smoky Arnold Palmer was the first time in my life I could enjoy lapsang souchang tea; the ginger beer in the coconut made me feel like I was at the beach; the peanut milk cherry cola melted my face off. Get the non-alcoholic pairing.

Entrees make their way out, starting with a petite charred Sungold tomato and peach broth bowl, an appropriate ode to the end of summer. The Fairy Tale eggplant caponata tart that follows looks like someone with far more patience than me spent a half hour delicately placing the basil, garlic chive flowers, mint and golden raisins. It's beautiful, and the flavors are balanced. I would happily eat it again—this coming from someone who isn't an eggplant fan.

The next two courses hop from Italy to Thailand. We're brought cardboard boxes, which open to reveal double-fried sweetbread stuffed chicken wings, accompanied by a watermelon hot sauce and a lime fish sauce. It's like the lunchbox you always dreamed your mom would pack you.

Our plates are cleared and a...what the hell is that? Our server sets what looks like something out of Walter White's lab onto the table, and tells us it's a Japanese coffee siphon—the bottom holds a summer red curry broth and the top Thai aromatics. As the pressure builds from the heat, the broth shoots into the top, picks up all those wonderful flavors, then settles back to the bottom. I immediately order a coffee siphon on my phone.

The curry is poured over crispy enoki mushrooms, shrimp, and coconut and the smell is absolutely intoxicating. I want to lift the bowl up to my face and drink every last drop.

We miscount what course we're on and assume we're moving on to dessert, but no. There's more. The entrees close out with a trip to a D.C. steakhouse: mini-popovers filled with chanterelle mushrooms, a crispy potato terrine, and two slices of meat from a retired dairy cow. I wish I was less full so I could appreciate it more, but the flavors are solid—I make room for as much of the popover as I can.

The parade of desserts kicks off with a blueberry shortcake paired with whipped Brillat-Savarin cheese, a fairly light but immensely satisfying dish. I give the win to the roasted fig crostata, though. Straight out of the oven and into my mouth. The crostata is bursting with end of the season figs, one of my all-time favorite fruits, and paired with a 'sundae bar' made up of toasted coconut, macerated figs, and three flavors of ice cream. It's a decadent, blow-out finish to the meal. Kathryn crushes me and Logan on this dish, finishing off almost every single ice cream herself.

Our guts busting, we've completed our meal. Wait, no, we haven't. Not until we finish off Logan's "freedom from a shitty job" Italian cake and gelato. Not until we polish off the Chartreuse, Campari, Grappa, and Nardini donuts. It's only then that we are allowed to raise the white flag of surrender and roll out of the restaurant.

As we headed towards the front door, the hostess gave us each a bag to take home with breakfast for the next morning: a bottle of iced coffee, shortbread cookies, and a thank you note from chef Silverman.

I had almost given up on high-end tasting menus years ago, after an extremely boring, extremely expensive meal at JAAN Singapore. This meal has brought me back. Truly, the food, the drinks, the service—I won't forget any of it. Silverman and his team know how to make people happy. It's not overly formal, there's no stuffiness that tends to go with high-end dining. The food isn't all foams, gimmicks, and molecular gastronomy. The meal was fun. And for me, that makes it worth the money.

Next time you're in D.C., go for it. Get a table at Pineapple and Pearls and have a meal you won't forget.

Eating Around D.C.

Regrets. Late night orders of McDonald's delivery in Singapore. That yellow crewneck sweater I wore senior year of high school. Getting so drunk in Korea that I was too hungover to visit the DMZ.

Picking Boston over D.C. for college. I don't know what I was thinking, choosing the suburbs of Medford/Somerville over Georgetown or Foggy Bottom. I never grew to love the angry Bostonians, the horrible drivers, or the consistently late, terribly run T.

My first visit to D.C. was in 2009, when my brother was a freshman in college there, and I've found myself visiting annually since then. Even with the horrendous traffic and bullshitting lobbyists, I've found myself growing fonder and fonder of it. It feels alive, and it feels like it's moving in a positive direction—particularly when it comes to food.

I don't know if it's a new generation of D.C. chefs rising up or investors drawing talent from other cities, but their restaurant scene in the last 5 or so years has become amazing. Last year, I hit up two of my favorite restaurants, Little Serow and Rose's Luxury, and this year I did even better (including Tail Up Goat, The Partisan, Maketto, and Pineapple and Pearls), though not every meal deserves its own post.

For breakfast, sister restaurants A Baked Joint and Baked and Wired served me well. The latter, in Georgetown, is known for its cupcakes—and they have a lot of them—but I couldn't resist the huge, golden caramelized onion and goat cheese biscuits. At A Baked Joint, it was matcha lattes and sriracha peanut butter toast.

Another morning was at Slipstream, where my brother's girlfriend insisted that we order chai lattes and various toasts (#BasicBitches).

Coffee at Baked and Wired

Biscuits at Baked and Wired

Bread at A Baked Joint

Sriracha Toast at A Baked Joint

Matcha Latte at A Baked Joint

Slipstream

Chai Latte at Slipstream

Blueberry Toast at Slipstream

Butter and Jam Toast at Slipstream

Across from Dean & Deluca in Georgetown is Olivia Macaron, where I indulged in a pistachio macaron (I always need to try the classic), a Fruity Pebbles mac, a s'mores mac, and a Cinnamon Toast Crunch, which was easily my favorite. This was immediately following that giant biscuit, so I did my best to walk it off before we hopped in the car and drove to Union Market, maybe my favorite place to hang in D.C.

Union Market is packed full with food stalls ranging from arepas to bagels to local cheeses to rare spices. And it's only about 10 minutes from where my brother lives! I couldn't resist Neopol Smokery, getting a smoked whitefish sandwich my first visit, then the smoked salmon BLT and smoked mussels when I returned. Plus some Thai iced tea ice cream. And a donut. Oh, some chocolate bars too. And also a couple Korean tacos.

Macarons at Olivia Macaron

Georgetown

Entrance at Union Market

at Union Market

Smoked Whitefish at Union Market

Ice Cream at Union Market

In N Out Burger

Besides being close to Union Market, my brother's also within walking distance of Shake Shack, so I had to sneak over there. Cheese fries, I can't quit you!

Tail Up Goat

I plan trips around food. For years, I'd scour over menus and reviews before and after picking a restaurant, but I found that going in with all these preconceived notions was ruining the experience. If they didn't have a signature dish, or it wasn't as good as I expected, I was let down. I decided that what I'd do is look for places that showed up on multiple "best of whatever city lists" or places recommended to me by friends/bloggers I trust, and just go. No reading the menu. No reading reviews. Tail Up Goat was my first stop in DC and I knew two things about it: Bon Appetit mentioned it in their Washington D.C.: Restaurant City of the Year article, and the team behind it came from Komi and Little Serow, the latter being one of my favorite restaurants I've ever been to.

Situated at the northern edge of Adams Morgan, Tail Up Goat has an almost beachy vibe, with pale blue walls and warm wood tones. It has a similar vibe to Rose's Luxury—it's comfortable enough to be a casual neighborhood spot, but could easily work for a business dinner or date night spot.

The menu is meant for sharing; the waiter recommended two dishes per person and, for the first time in my life, we three all agree on the same six dishes.

Crispy salt cod fritters nuzzled in a bed of smoked cauliflower puree start the meal off on a high note, taking us back to the trout beignets we had at a gut-busting epic meal at Niche last winter. Following close behind is the cucumber + melon plate, though after a few bites I wish the melon wasn't there at all—the rest of the plate, potato, smoked trout roe, pepitas, and dill, works better without it, in my opinion.

Jill Tyler, one of the owners, told us the bread courses—I'm hesitant to call them toast or bruschetta—couldn't be missed. I've been living off Union Loafers bread for almost a year now, so I consider myself the Jim Lahey of bread eating. I cut into the seaweed sourdough, making sure not to lose any of the pickled mussels, whipped lardo, or sea beans on top, and take a bite: pure gluten bliss. The brown rice bread is an umami bomb with summer squash, yogurt, black garlic, and benne seeds. If I could turn back time, I would just order 3 orders of each of these.

Tail Up Goat in Washington, DC

Jalapeno Watermelon Water at Tail Up Goat in Washington, DC

Cucumber, Melon, and Potato at Tail Up Goat in Washington, DC

Crispy Salt Cod at Tail Up Goat in Washington, DC

Cucumber & Melon at Tail Up Goat in Washington, DC

Seaweed Sourdough at Tail Up Goat in Washington, DC

Brown Rice Bread at Tail Up Goat in Washington, DC

I'd later find out that Tail Up Goat's lasagna is a "must try" dish, but I had no idea at the time of ordering. Instead, we pick the sweet corn ravioli, finished with sungold tomatoes, fresno peppers, and caper breadcrumbs, a summertime dish that's gone in seconds. I appreciate there being a lighter option on the pasta side (which is the main reason we didn't get the goat lasagna).

It's not a Whiskey and Soba family meal if there isn't a mountain of meat at some point. In this case, that mountain is made up of grilled lamb ribs—my favorite fatty cut of lamb when I'm feeling like a glutton. I particularly enjoy them when they're prepared with Middle Eastern flavors, like sumac and dukkah.

Corn Ravioli at Tail Up Goat in Washington, DC

Lamb Ribs at Tail Up Goat in Washington, DC

I would consider my first foray into somewhat blindly picking a restaurant to be a success, and I'm convinced that by the time I visit D.C. again, this place will be nearly impossible to get into. Get in while you can.

[one_third id="rcp"]

Tail Up Goat

Address

1827 Adams Mill Road NW Washington, DC 20009 202.986.9600 [/one_third]

Kitchen Kulture

I can't recall if it was last winter or the winter before it when I first encountered Kitchen Kulture, but I remember it like it was yesterday: I was at the Tower Grove Winter Farmers Market, contemplating if I should attempt to eat the Rebel Roots caramel apples I had just purchased on my drive home, when I turned and saw their booth. I'd followed them on social media and seen their Sump lunch menus, but I'd never managed to actually eat their food. I wandered over and perused the menu, when chef/co-owner Mike Miller and co-owner Chris Meyer offered me a sample of their Mofu Tofu Saag Paneer. I'm pretty sure my response was something along the lines of, "Why is this so good?" I sampled everything they had to offer and left with pounds and pounds of Kitchen Kulture food. Soba noodle salad, Khao Soi curry, vinaigrettes, whatever. If they were selling it, I was buying it. Weekly Kitchen Kulture purchases became part of my life.

Flash forward to summer of 2016, and Kitchen Kulture (the restaurant is known as Kounter Kulture) has moved into the former Pint Size Bakery shop off Watson. You can still find them at the weekly TG Farmers Market, of course, but the take-out only restaurant, open Monday-Friday, 4:30-9:30pm, offers a totally different menu of food cooked to order.

Kounter Kulture St. Louis

Kounter Kulture st.louis interior

Kounter Kulture st.louis mike miller

Chris Meyer Kounter Kulture St. Louis

If I'm passionate about any type of food, it's Asian food—a cuisine that continues to disappoint here in St. Louis. I've tried to explain it before, but there's this whole wide world of Asian food, ingredients, flavors, cooking techniques, etc. that just aren't being tapped into here. Mike Miller gets it. Seriously, no other chef in St. Louis has been able to grasp modern Asian flavors—particularly Southeast Asian and Japanese—like he has. And he's doing it using locally sourced produce.

On the lighter end of the spectrum, there are dishes like the White Peach and Pepper salad with a creamy miso vinaigrette and crunch coming from a sesame-togarashi brittle that shatters like sugary glass. The seasonal greens spring rolls, packed with rice noodles, cilantro, mint, and mango, come with a carrot-ginger sauce, and remind me of a meal I had just outside of the Angkor Wat temple complex in Cambodia.

A Mofu tofu green curry with summer vegetables and ramen noodles gives Reeds American Table a run for their money as far as authentic curry goes—a pungent curry paste, made from scratch, mixed with coconut milk, fish sauce, and all those other funky Thai flavors delivers a Muay Thai elbow to your tongue.

ari ellis Kounter Kulture st.louis

Kounter Kulture decor st.louis

Kounter Kulture st.louis tofu curry

Kounter Kulture St. Louis spring roll

On the heartier side of the menu, there's a Korean BBQ chicken rice bowl that makes your Chipotle burrito bowl look like it's child-sized. Crunchy, spicy, and sweet, the bulgogi chicken combined with heirloom tomatoes, fresh avocado, and a lime-cilantro dressing doesn't disappoint.

People typically generalize Japanese food as healthy, but believe me, the Japanese love fried food just as much—if not more—than Americans. They just don't eat buckets of it. The ping-pong ball-sized shrimp and pork gyoza tossed in tsume—a sweet, seafoody sauce—are perfect. The braised beef gyudon bowl is equally delicious.

I could write a book on my love of okonomiyaki. These Japanese pancakes are tied with takoyaki (basically grenades made of pancake dough and octopus) for my favorite Japanese food. Kounter Kulture's is kind of like if an okonomiyaki knocked up a Korean jeon pancake. Or maybe a frittata. Possibly a Dutch Baby? It's basically a puffed up egg-based pancake stuffed with your choice of kimchi, bacon, squid, and/or mushrooms, then topped with a sweet bbq sauce and mayo. It will feed you for days.

But their buns...their buns are out of this world. If Kounter Kulture only sold buns, I'd still tell you it's one of my favorite places in St. Louis. Do you go for the pork with smoked onions, chile-mustard sauce, and jalapeno slaw? Or the tofu bun with sesame cabbage, homemade kewpie mayo, and Japanese BBQ sauce? It doesn't matter, as long as you also get the catfish bun.

If I make a "Top 10 Dishes of 2016" list, there's a 95% chance this will be own it. Togarashi-spiced catfish is fried until as crunchy as possible (without overcooking the fish!), then tucked into a bun with a shishito pepper and cherry tomato remoulade. This is one of those bites where if you don't like it, you're wrong.

Kounter Kulture st.louis kitchen

chicken salad Kounter Kulture st.louis

Kounter Kulture st.louis beef gyudon bowl

tofu bun Kounter Kulture st.louis

gyoza Kounter Kulture st.louis

catfish bun Kounter Kulture st.louis

okonomiyaki Kounter Kulture st.louis

Scenes from Companion Bakery

Behind the Scenes Companion Baking

West St. Louis Campus St. Louis, Missouri July 2016

Josh Galliano and the Companion team were nice enough to let me spend the day with them on the bakery floor at their new (41,000 square foot!) West St. Louis Campus. Being in a room full of breads baking non-stop had me so hungry—I think I ate an entire baguette on my drive home. Oh, and I didn't even steal any of the pretzel baguettes/rolls/buns/sticks when no one was looking, even though the temptation was STRONG. I just love those damn pretzels so much.

Take a look at what it takes to make a lot of bread at Companion St. Lous:

croissants Companion Bakery

deck ovens Companion Bakery

The West St. Louis Campus is also home to another Companion Cafe, so if you live or work nearby, you're in luck! They offer a full selection of their breads, pastries, and lunch items (great sandwiches and salads), plus the occasional speciality item from a test run the bakery. One of the coolest parts of that cafe is that nearly half the walls are actually glass, looking straight onto the production floor—you can watch them mix, proof, shape, and bake. I like to stand outside the window with a pad of paper and pretend to be grading them.

If you enjoy cooking classes, you should check out their Companion Teaching Kitchen schedule here. I took the pretzel making class with longtime Companion Price Barrett, and not only did I leave with like 30 pretzels (poorly shaped, ugly pretzels...but still, pretzels!), but I'm now pretty sure I could open my own pretzel store. I won't, because it's time consuming, I'm lazy, and Companion's already nailing them, but I could! Look for classes with Companion's founder, Josh Allen, and chefs Cassy Vires and Josh Galliano.

Byrd & Barrel Nugz & Tots

Many moons ago, I wrote about Byrd & Barrel. And, since the time of publishing, I've returned a number of times. Unexplainably, it wasn't until three weeks ago that I finally decided that I should try the chicken 'nugz'. Even though the staff, friends, and other reviews specifically lauded the buttermilk fried nugz, I did not heed their guidance. I was foolish. I've been back to Byrd three times in the last three weeks and had the nugz each time. You order them in sets of 5, and for me, 5 was plenty. You can choose between dark and white meat, and I'm pretty sure the dark meat are just deboned chicken thighs—meaning each nug is significantly larger than the nuggets you're probably familiar with.

It's hard to make any sort of fried chicken dish that I don't like, but I think it's fair to say that my relationship with these nugz is more than platonic. I have a crush on them. They're just so damn alluring. That crunchy, heavily seasoned exterior...the juicy chicken inside...their formidable size. I'm not sure you can ask for more in a chicken nugget. On the boneless fried chicken front, these slide up just behind the Sportman's Park chicken strips for me (which will likely never be topped due to nostalgia, if I'm honest).

This is probably blasphemous, but I was never into tater tots, nor hashbrowns (and no latkes, either!). Onion rings and French fries were more my speed. These spiced tots are something, though. I wouldn't have even gotten them if I wasn't pressured into it by the server, and thank god for her. They're spiced with what tasted like a hotter version of the nugz rub, and served with a cooling house ranch dressing.

My recommendation: get the sweet chili honey or the BBQ sauce. Both have a mild sweetness to them that balances out the spice. Or, if you're feeling fatty, get the provel cheese whiz.