Recipe Note: Savory Bread Pudding

Most people think sweet when they hear bread pudding, but for many of us who are missing the sweet tooth, bread pudding can also be satisfyingly savory too. While in Brussels, we were lucky enough to have two wonderful Thanksgiving hosts from the UK; Thanks Al and Frances! While they weren't thankful like we are in the US for the introduction of western disease to North America and the stealing of native lands, they were thankful for my savory bread pudding. I read recipes by Ina Garten and Mark Bittman to come up with mine. By request, here is the recipe.

Ingredients

• 6 Cups of Bread cut into 1/2 Cubes
• 1/2 Cup of Pancetta
• 2 Cups of your favorite Mixed Mushrooms (I used black trumpets, porcini, white/brown caps)
• 1 Diced Onion
• 1 Diced Shallot
• 3 Cloves of Minced Garlic
• 2 Cups of Whole Milk
• 4 Eggs
• 1 and 1/2 Cup of your favorite Cheese (I used a local aged sheep's milk)
• 1 Tablespoon of Unsalted Butter
• 1/4 Cup Chopped Parsley
• Salt and Pepper

Spread out bread cubes onto a baking sheet and put into the oven at 350 degrees F, bake until slightly browned, about 15 minutes.

While the bread is browning, render the pancetta and set aside the crisp bits. You can pour off the pancetta fat, or be thankful for it. Reserve a bit of it for sautéing the mushrooms. In the rest of the fat, at very low heat, brown the onion, shallot, and garlic.

This will take a while but go slow, if you cheat with high heat you'll burn the garlic, scorch the aromatics, and just end up with a bitter mess. What you want is a soft, rich brown, caramelized pan of amazingness. Season with salt and pepper.

Sauté your mushrooms in the pancetta fat and butter until they are tender and add the parsley. Season with salt and pepper.

In a large bowl, whisk together the milk, eggs, and a cup of the cheese.

To the eggs, milk, and cheese, add the bread, mushrooms, browned onions, pancetta bits, and mix thoroughly. Let the mixture soak for a half hour at room temperature until the bread soaks up the liquid.

Stir well and pour into an oiled 2 1/2-to-3-quart gratin dish (13 x 9 x 2 inches). Sprinkle with the remaining 1/2 cup cheese.

Bake for 45 to 50 minutes. You want the top to be brown and the custard set. Serve hot.

Not About Food

I've been gathering my thoughts on my experience at noma a couple weeks ago and while it seems I should discuss the food, it was something else about the place that made it distinctive. Besides, there are a number of far more able food writers who have already done so and while I'd love to get into the subtle flavor of bacteria and kelp, the experience is hardly just about the food.

Sure, the pacing, service, flavors, and plating were superior; unlike anything I've ever had, but it wasn't until after I'd finished my meal that noma truly transformed the way I think about a restaurant and the way I think about working teams in general. At the end of the lunch service I overheard a few other guests were going to tour the kitchen. It was a long shot, but I figured it couldn't hurt to ask if I could tag along, I did not expect a yes. Our server tried to set expectations by letting us know that it wasn't something most people did.

A few minutes later, we paid our bill and that was that. I wasn't disappointed to not see the kitchen, it was honestly an experience that left a want for nothing. In fact, the worst part about eating there, aside from how much it costs (something for another post), is that it comes to an end and you have to leave. But that was actually not the end. Our server, who was on her own account amazing, returned with good news. WE WOULD GET A TOUR.

We were introduced to one of the chefs who like everyone there, greeted us with a sincere warmth and interest in our visit. I know this might sound like it's just good service, but either everyone at noma has gone to acting school or they truly love what they're doing there.

We are shown around noma's kitchens during their preparation for the dinner service. During my entire four years at university, I worked in the dining halls. When a kitchen is in full tilt, the last thing you want is someone standing in the middle of it, getting a tour. We were exactly that, that couple getting the tour in the middle of a working kitchen. We were not just in the middle, we were literally in the way of approximately 60 people who were working furiously to make this experience happen.

But the fact that I felt that way was purely of my own construction. For every "sorry" that I'd given for being in the path of a chef, there was a smile, a welcome, and a "don't worry about it." Again, it was this sincere sense of appreciation for you, the guest, that came from every person, chef or otherwise. I looked at them star-struck, but they made you feel like you were the celebrity. They were real people back there, not too important for you, but on your level despite the acclaim of their restaurant.

In the 17 or so years of my professional career I've worked with more than a dozen teams on projects of all sizes. There are definitely many of them that I'd work with again, and some where I'd prefer a sharp stick in the eye. Of the best of them, however, I'm not completely certain I've seen anything like what I saw at noma. The respect for each other results from a cross-diciplinary approach and shared tasks.

Everyone learns and does all the different jobs there, which means everyone literally appreciates walking in each other's shoes. They also work as a team on tedious tasks. Rather than one person peeling 300 potatoes, 15 of them will do 20 each. By sharing in the toil, they both break down tasks into easier stretches and share in the execution of what is produced. The result is higher quality execution and happier people; the kitchen was filled with upbeat chatter and smiling faces, not to mention perfectly peeled potatoes.

By the end of the tour through the kitchens, I got the sense that people there not only appreciated that they were working in one of the best restaurants in the world, but they appreciated each other too. They also appreciated me, not because I my meal pays their salaries, but because I was also somehow part of their small world of mutual respect and appreciation. To say the least, it was this, not the food, that left the biggest impression on me. It was a truly inspiring end to a truly inspired meal. If you are lucky enough to have this experience, I'd suggest you do it. It's not bullshit, it's a lot of passionate people trying to make the best food experience in the world and they are doing a damn good job of it.

Not About Copenhagen

I can't quite remember the first time I'd heard about noma. I vaguely remember a friend telling me about it, and then I saw interviews with René Redzepi in the movie Three Stars, a documentary about the Michelin Guide and the chefs whose restaurants come in and fall out of that prestigious distinction.

I remember the Redzepi interviews; they stood in stark contrast to the rather hubristic interviews with guide director, Jean-Luc Naret, and apart from the interviews with the other chefs. Redzepi had a realist's approach as a restaurateur, focus on the food, but the bottom line is about booze. He was frank about how success as a chef meant more than cooking, something that some of the other chefs either failed to mention, or didn't know how to articulate.

Fast forward a few years and noma has quickly grown into a global gourmet concern. Redzepi's Alice Waters approach mixed with his entrepreneurism and focus on innovative, maybe controversial, food caught the attention of many food writers, including a staple-favorite, Anthony Bourdain.

Last October I was up late watching an episode of his CNN show, Parts Unknown, where he visits Denmark. But the episode was, "not about Denmark, or Copenhagen," it was about, "one man, and one restaurant." Bourdain hangs out with Redzepi for the day, both exude a certain stylized cool, both carefree but with a underlying seriousness that propels them into the spotlight.

Before his meal at noma, Bourdain wonders if this is going to be a bunch of bullshit. I'm a fan of his low tolerance for bullshit, exemplified in a No Reservations episode in Italy where he gets shit-faced as a result of a tour he's foisted onto where his guides throw frozen seafood into water for the camera.

By the end of his episode on Redzepi and noma, however, he seems genuinely convinced that noma is, in fact, not bullshit. Frankly, I don't identify as a foodie, though I have been accused and labelled as such, but if Anthony Bourdain says it's good, I'd be inclined to believe him.

As the episode runs to the end, Bourdain dines with noma alum and chef, Alessandro Porcelli. Porcelli poignantly points out that Redzepi is out to change the world, but doing it with one restaurant that seats 35 guests at a time is quite a challenge. I thought to myself, I'd like to be one of those 35 guests at a seating so I headed over to noma.dk, and lo and behold, I find reservations for the next season OPEN IN AN HOUR.

So around 2a PST, I sat violently refreshing noma's reservations page until finally I was in. In a matter of minutes it was over. Two entire months worth of seatings were gone, but by some stroke of impulse, luck, and late-night delirium, I had managed to get one of them.

2x Ken

Recipe Time! Spam Musubi

Musubi is a staple of the Hawaii brown bag lunch. Over the last 30 years the Spam Musubi has indelibly stamped itself on the local Hawaii menu. They are great snacks, highly mobile, and filling.

Spam Musubi Fo' Real

1 Can of Spam. Has to be the real thing. No substitutes.
1 Pkg. Roasted Nori Sheets (any kine brand is okay)
3 cups white short grain rice (any kine brand is okay)
Shoyu
Sugar
Salt

Equipment:
Musubi Mold
Rice Paddle
Knife
Cup of water (not for drinking)
Beer (for drinking)

Start by cooking the rice perfectly, seriously, Spam Musubi is basically just rice and meat. Rice usually takes anywhere between 15 to 20 minutes to prepare. In this time you can drink beer, or start prepping your protein.

After your beer, cut the loaf of spam into slices with round corners. If you have square corners after you've cut your first slice you should start over, your Spam is ruined. Heat a frying pan on medium heat and fry slices of spam, do not add oil, you do not want to spoil the delicate flavors of your Spam. As your Spam cooks it will shrink, at this point coat with shoyu, sprinkle sugar over each piece, and flip. Let this sit for a few seconds to carmelize, but not for too long, if you burn your glaze it'll be bitter. Repeat the glaze on the opposite side, remove from pan, and place onto a paper towel. Open a new beer if necessary.

Prepare your station with your sheets of nori, your musubi mold, a cup of water, rice paddle, knife, and a level cutting board. The cup of water is not for drinking, it's to keep your tools wet so they don't stick to your rice. Your beer is for drinking. Fold about a teaspoon of salt into your rice while it's hot, once it cools it will set up and become difficult to mix. You don't have to add this salt, but it'll make your musubi last longer in your lunch bag without refrigeration.

Assembling your musubi doesn't require a college degree (if it did, it would never exist!), lay the mold perpendicularly across your sheet of nori, fill with a layer of rice, lay down the Spam, another layer of rice, and compress. Fold over the ends of the nori and use a little water to seal it shut. Cut in half or fourths and serve.

While I love Spam Musubi, its ingredients exceed my recommended daily allowance for sodium induced flavor subtleties. To make the recipe more sustainable in my daily diet I use a 2 to 1 ratio of short grain brown to white rice. The cup of white works well to give it enough body to hold itself together and make it feel more accepted. Instead of Spam, I use tofu, insert obligatory Trader Joe's joke here.

Wrap your tofu in a clean dish towel and press with something heavy. I use my cast iron pans for about 20-25 minutes. Cut tofu into Spam-esque slices. If you don't have rounded corners on your tofu slices you should make it so. The perfect corner radius is vital to evoke the subtle flavors of Spam. Slicing the tofu also speeds up your marination time.

Marinate tofu in shoyu for about a half hour or longer. Heat a frying pan and fry tofu in your choice of oil. I recommend bacon fat or left-over Spam drippings if you have them (I didn't say this was vegetarian). Create the same shoyu sugar glaze as described above with your tofu slices. Assemble as usual or with options.

You can add a number of things to modify your musubi:
Teriyaki Sauce
Furikake
Pickles
Thinly Fried Scrambled Eggs
Portuguese Sausage
Kalua Pig
Mac Salad

Spam musubi is a great way to pack a lunch or take with you on a flight, I'd take a Spam musubi over an iPod in my bag any day.



Update: There's some pretty hilarious commentary on BoingBoing about Spam Musubi. Who would have thought this simple favorite could be so polarizing. Thanks Pesco!

XL WUN TUN MIN

Tails

As seen on Fuck Yeah Cilantro.