OK so this is the second old post I am re-posting. Yeah I’m a lazy ass bum, But, but but but, I feel morally obligated to disseminate some at least semi- authentic kimchi info across the tubes upon hearing of Bette Midler’s recently becoming a kimchi ambassador of sorts. A friend told me she saw Ms. Midler on the Today Show demonstrating how to make something she claimed was kimchi. It apparently involved stacked cabbage leaves with some seasoning in between. Mysteriously, the google cannot seem to locate any evidence of this incident. Anyway here’s a video of Better Midler preaching the kimchi gospel to Kelly Ripa. Pretty surreal shit, man:

Whoa. So anyway, I guess I can’t really complain about the motherland’s greatest gift to the world getting some press, but I dunno, it all just seems very, very wrong. Original post follows.

So I finally broke down and wrote a Citypaper piece about kimchi. It’s tantamount to, I dunno, someone from Iowa writing about corn. Actually that’s a terrible analogy, point is it just seems a bit cliche, but I know that’s irrational. In any case, in my defense it was under duress and I believe it to be interesting to Korea-philes if nothing else. Anyway the full text can be found here. Below are some hopefully helpful pics.

Korean cucumbers are a bit more irregularly shaped than hydroponic, pcikling, or slicer cukes, and also have small bumps and a yellowish cast. They can be found at most any Asian market, and are generally around $2/lb:

Cut into 2″ lengths – make sure to trim the ends, apparently there is an enzyme in the flower bud end that causes the cucumber to become mushy, so trim both to be safe:

Carefully bisect the sections lengthwise, leaving about a quarter inch intact – use the standard bagel slicing method:

Rotate and repeat so that you end up with a mostly quartered section:

Place the partially quartered sections into a bowl and salt thoroughly, making sure to salt the cut flesh. Allow to sit for at least two hours (sorry no pic). In the meantime, combine the seasonings to form a fairly thick paste:

After a couple of hours of salting, the sections should be a bit more pliable. Brush off any excess salt (do not rinse!) and discard any collected liquids. With a teaspoon, fill the sections generously with the seasoning paste:

You should end up with sections that look like this:

Pack as tightly as you can in the closest fitting containter you can find:

Rinse the bowl you used to mix the paste with a bit of fresh water, perhaps a 1/4 cup. This will be used to submerge the kimchi, and should taste quite salty – add salt if necessary:

Cover cucumber sections with brine and cover with plastic wrap, making sure they are packed down well. Use a weight (e.g. soup can, brick) if necessary:

Leave out overnight at room temperature and taste – if the kimchi still tastes too fresh, give it another few hours, up to 24 total. Then refrigerate. Final product:

Alternative preparation – my mom tells me that the following is actually the more proper way to make this kimchi. It consists merely of a diffierent cutting technique. The above semi-quartering method is more convenient and quicker, while the method below yields more attractive results. Instead of quartering the sections, make a deep score, about a third of the way through. Repeat 4-5 times evenly spaced around each section:

After salting, fill the scores with spicy paste and proceed as directed above. Final product:

Recipe:
Sue Hong’s Easy Oh-Ee Soh-Beh-Gee (Cucumber Kimchi)

Ingredients:

6-8 medium Korean cucumbers* OR
8-10 Kirby or pickling cucumbers OR
3-4 seedless hydroponic cucumbers
1/2 cup Korean red pepper powder
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 cup finely chopped scallion or chives
1/4 cup coarse sea salt, or slightly less to taste (table or kosher salt will yield mushier kimchi)
2 tbsp fish sauce (Three Crabs brand is very good)
1 tsp sugar

Cut the tips off both ends of cucumbers (this will ensure crunchiness), then cut into 2-3 inch segments

Quarter the segment lengthwise, cutting almost but not all the way through, leaving four spears attached at one end

In a bowl, salt the pieces thoroughly with sea salt, and allow to rest for 2 hours

In another bowl, combine all other ingredients and enough salt to make the mixture quite salty, but overpoweringly so; add just enough water to make a thick paste

After the salted cucumber has rested, wipe off any remaining salt and discard any collected liquid

For each segment, using a teaspoon, generously smear the spicy paste in between the cucumber spears (should still be attached, but a bit more flexible now)

Pack tightly in a glass or stainless steel container, vertically if possible

Add fresh water to the bowl that contained the spice paste, swirl and rinse any remaining paste into the water, and pour over cucumbers, adding only enough to barely cover

Cover the container and allow to rest at room temperature overnight or about 8 hours, then taste for sharpness and acidity; if desired, leave out for a total of up to 12 hours before refrigerating for up to a week

*Note: Do not use the smooth, dark green “slicer” cucumbers, as their skin is too thick and seeds too hard. All ingredients listed above can be found at Hanareum or Lotte Asian supermarkets, both on Rte. 40

-Henry Hong

BBQ season ‘09 foodnerd-style has officially commenced! In what was surely a personalized message to me from the universe (or Safeway’s marketing dept., whatever) I trekked to the supermarket at 10:00 p.m. to placate a serious Stouffer’s French Bread pizza craving when I happened across a truly beautiful bit of signage:

99 cents a pound for spareribs?!? Suh-weet! They only had 3 boxes left, so I grabbed those and because it was the last day of the sale, indeed the last couple hours, I then drove 20 minutes to the next closest Safewaw and got 2 more.

50 pounds of ribs for 50 bucks! To put that in perspective, spareribs from Whole Foods are 6 bucks a pound, or $300 for the same amount of ribs. But of course the big difference is that while flavor and texture are comparable, Whole Foods’ ribs are beautifully trimmed, as has been documented in this space in the past. So I thought it might be helpful to post about trimming up ribs at home.

Rib Trimming Tutorial. Begin.

Here we see a couple of racks from a box of the sale ribs (which were imported Danish fwiw). These are actually not so bad, since although the floating rib meat flap thing is still attached (highlighted in yellow), they have been been trimmed of the extra layer of tough meat and fat that’s sometimes left covering the actual rib bones. A notable example of this totally untrimmed style of ribs is Chaps Pit Beef, and their thoroughly disgraceful ribs.

In any case, you can see that this flap has small cartilaginous rods running through it at an angle to the rib bones.

And at one end there are typically some larger bones to contend with, but the whole section is relatively easy to cut away from the ribs.

Simply locate where the cartilaginous rods and the rib bones meet, both visually and by virtue of that fact that the flap will bend easily at the interface, and starting at the non-bony end, carefully and slowly run a very sharp knife right down the seam and if you’ve found the sweet spot, it should cut with minimal effort.

When you get to the bony part (can’t think of a relevant Napoleon pun sorry) lay the rack down flat and cut forcefuly through. Not too much force is required again if you are cutting through the correct area though, so move the flap around and again locate the joint before cutting.

Here’s what the two pieces look like separated. Now you’re left with what’s referred to as St. Louis style ribs above, and what’s sometimes referred to as “tasters” below. This is because that scrap meat is useful for testing seasoning and doneness when smoked along with the ribs.

Next turn the rack over and you’ll notice a semi-opaque whitish membrane covering the underside. The thing about this membrane is because it’s mostly collagen, it breaks down at a higher temperature than is employed for smoking. So in properly barbecued ribs, it remains tough and leathery – if this layer is soft and tender, you’re probably eating baked ribs, and should thus promptly go stand in the corner and wallow in shame.

The stuff has to go, so starting at a corner slowly peel this layer away. You may have to use a knife cut to get the layer off the bone initially, and using a paper towel will help with grip since the membrane can be slimy and slick.Also, it may not all come away in one piece, but peel away as much as possible in any case.

You may then notice there is yet another membrane below the one you just peeled away, and this is in fact what holds the ribs together as a rack (you can see some cross-grained filaments that give it an appearance similar to that of packing tape). Now this shit is really difficult to get up, in fact I’m not sure it’s possible without seriously damaging the ribs, so I cheat and simply cut through the layer between the ribs.

As you can see, though you must be careful to cut into the meat as little as possible, it’s important to cut through the membrane completely, and it will be fairly evident when you do because the cut edges will retract away from each other slightly.

By doing this, it appears to me that the membrane shrinks in toward the bone during cooking, and when eating the ribs, it is completely not noticeable. Mission accomplished.

So in this particular ten pound box, you’re left with 4 1/2 racks of trimmed ribs…

…and this amount of tasters. I was curious as to the final usable weight, and found that the ten pound box actually contained 11 pounds of meat – 8 pounds of trimmed ribs and 3 pounds of tasters. That comes out to a still paltry $1.24 per pound of trimmed ribs, not counting labor – it took me exactly fifteen minutes to trim the whole box for the record. Bottom line, awesome deal. I should’ve gotten more, because 4 racks is really only barely enough for one cookout. Oh well.

I’m totally making excuses, but yes the ribs are as dark as they appear in the pic above. It was a shitty, rainy, cold Saturday morning, and I was hungover, and didn’t regulate my fuel properly. The ribs were thus subjected to too high temp and were overcooked, resulting in texture and moisture deficiencies. Guh, when will I learn to always follow my own mantra – “You cannot half-ass ribs. Ever.”

And now for your viewing pleasure, a gratuitous drunk Rock Band video of my cousin Jerome trying to pull off the rare singer/drummer act a la Night Ranger, and a DAS BOOT (capitalized because you cannot just say “das boot”, you must yell “DAS BOOT” – this is a rule apparently) video from that cookout. Enjoy.

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[There is a video that cannot be displayed in this feed. Visit the blog entry to see the video.]

Lately I’ve been lamenting the seeming proliferation of fake pit beef, which I believe is actually roast beef that’s been charred before serving. So I finally got around to trying pit beef at home to see just how hard it is. Conclusion: easier than pie, since we all know pie isn’t actually very easy.

On a 1-10 scale of difficulty, I’d give it a 3, only because you need to wait for the beef to marinate and be able to start coals – recipe can be found at the end of this post.

There doesn’t seem to be much out there in the way of background information. The resource that seems to keep popping up is this NYT article written back in 2000. This is totally unacceptable! First of all, it’s New York, secondly it’s almost a decade old, and lastly the whole premise is flawed. Pit beef as nothing to do with barbecue as far as I’m concerned, and thus should ne be referred to as “Baltimore’s answer to barbecue”. What an insult! It’s really a very straightforward grilled beef sandwich, chracterized by a highly charred crust. And no offense to the guy quoted in the article, but gas grilling just ain’t gonna cut it hoss.

I’ve driven by the place mentioned in the article countless times, but have never had a chance to stop by. I plan on going this afternoon, but from the signage I think it may have changed hands, since I see so mention of “”Big Fat Daddy’s”, and only signs that read “Little Texas” and “Cookout” (the latter in magic marker). In any case, though I have yet to actually taste it, the recipe included in the article just seems to be wrong. I’ve never had pit beef with oregano, ’nuff said. As I’ve mentioned before, I think the important factors are using top round, a good, thorough, thick charred crust, medium rare doneness, slightly bloody runoff, and a good kaiser roll as the vehicle. And really, it’s pretty easy.

Instead of ordering a whole top round from my meat guy, I figured it’d be a lot more useful to see what was available at Safeway, which was a cut they labeled as a “Top Round Roast”, which was about 4 pounds at $4.50 per. That’s pretty pricey, but it’s good for 8 decent-sized sandwiches:

I left it as is since it was pretty thoroughly trimmed, and a bit of attached fat is always welcome. I used a very simple rub of salt, black pepper and minced garlic. The garlic is probably non-traditional, but it pretty much disappears into the background in the final product. After rubbing the seasoning in to the meat well, wrap in plastic and let it sit for at least a couple hours, and up to a day:

Now, again, I don’t think pit beef has anything to do with barbecue as we know it here in the US, it’s really grilling since it’s cooked directly over coals. And for grilling, using real lump charcoal is essential – it burns much hotter and cleaner than briquettes, thought not for as long:

Form a deep a crust on the broad sides first – this also accomplishes most of the cooking. To replicate a pit somewhat, arrange the coals in two rows, as far apart as the meat is wide. Then place the meat int the middle and let it go for 15 minutes:

Then turn once to get the other side, and give it another 15 minutes:

Now as you can see, there are still uncharred surfaces, and this is the major flaw in cooking pit beef on a grill, as opposed to a proper pit:

So after you’ve cooked the second side, rotate the beef onto all uncharred sides until the entire surface is nice and crusty. At this point, my 4 pound cut (which was about 4 inches thick at its thickest point), had reached rareness in the center:

If you desire medium-rareness, give it another 5-7 minutes on the grill, with the top closed and vents wide open. Here’s a cross-section of mine:

As I mentioned above, it helps tremendously to have access to a meat slicer, but a very sharp carving knife will suffice. In either case, let the meat rest for about 10 minutes before slicing. Letting it rest for a bit longer may make it easier to slice if you’re doing it by hand:

Note the pool of clear red meat juice. Now for pit beef, I like my roll soaked with this fluid (which isn’t actually blood, rather water with in this case intact myoglobin. As more heat is applied, the myoglobin denatures into larger molecules and stays behind in the meat, leaving the “juice” clear. This will be on the final exam. Anyway, I like the stuff soaked into the roll, but you could go old-school and make a blood and butter sauce by collecting the juice and warming it through over very low heat with fresh butter:

Here’s the final product, and what a proper pit beef roll looks like:

And that’s it, authentic, real pit beef made the way it should be, umm except minus the pit. My pit beef recipe is exceedingly simple, the key is in using the right cut, forming a good crust, and slicing thin against the grain.

Homemade Pit Beef Recipe

1 Top Round Roast, 3-4 pounds

salt (not kosher, unless it’s fine-grain like Diamond), black pepper, garlic (optional)

1. Season the beef thoroughly, wrap with plastic, and refrigerate for a few hours or overnight

2. Over two rows of hot lump charcoal, grill the beef on one side for 15 minutes

3. Turn over and cook for another 15 minutes

4. Char any undercooked surfaces using tongs

NOTE: This pit beef recipe yields rare doneness for a 3-4 lb. piece of top round. Cook longer for a larger piece of beef or for more well done temperature. A whole top round weighing 15-20 lbs. should take about and hour and a half total on a flat-top grill for rare-medium rare. Use a probe thermometer to monitor doneness.

5. Allow the meat to rest for at least ten minutes before slicing

NOTE: When slicing, be sure to slice against the muscle grain

6. Serve on kaiser rolls for added “correctness”

7. If you must, add bbq sauce or horseradish/horseradish sauce – I will post my recipes for both later today

NOTE: I cannot condone the use of ketchup, mustard, or mayonnaise in conjunction with pit beef.

-Henry Hong

This week my article about deviled eggs ran in Citypaper! The edited version can be found at CP online here – please leave a comment if you’re so inclined. The recipe can be found following the article. Below is the full version, after a couple of bonus pics:

The yolks, after having been pressed through a sieve:

The homemade mayonnaise and spiced butter/milk mixture, with some very finely grated lemon zest (use a Microplane) and finely chopped chives:

The full text of my article:

The Sunday before Memorial Day we inaugurated cookout season ‘08 with the customary orgy of fire, meat, and booze. But this year, a friend brilliantly suggested a deviled egg competition, and I was ready to battle. Mostly because her eggs were reputed to be “the best”, but partly because it would address a common cookout flaw: deviled egg deficiency. With five eventual contestants, I figured there’d be 144 deviled eggs – surely enough to squelch any deviled egg guilt. You know the feeling – on an overflowing table, there’s that one tray of deviled eggs, which works out to like 1.3 eggs/person, and you want five but dare not take more than two, lest ye be judged a greedy bastard.

The amount of labor involved in making them no doubt contributes to their scarcity at get-togethers, and relegates them to the class of foods that are usually better homemade. I’ve never been able to find a store-bought deviled egg that didn’t suck – cold, rubbery egg white, that no matter how long you chew just divides into ever smaller yet distinct – fractal, if you wil – chunklets, until you finally concede defeat and swallow the bland, gravelly mass. And the filling has too much mustard, but still smells faintly of fart. This is what happens when the most important ingredient is omitted – love. Or in my case, love’s slutty cousin, ambition.

Some claim deviled eggs originate in Ancient Rome, but Apicius(the ur-cookbook of the western world) mentions nothing about stuffing halved eggs. We know for sure that such preparations appear in the 13^th century Spain. As a kid I assumed deviling (two l’s in England) something meant mashing or pulverizing the hell out of it, mostly because of my dad’s post-divorce reliance on canned meats for sustenance. Along with the ubiquitous Spam and Vienna Sausages were little white cans with a red devil on them, that contained pink meat ground into a coarse paste – deviled, or so I thought. In fact, deviling indicates spiciness, because in 18^th century England, spice=heat=hell – duh! Today it seems the spice aspect is secondary to the later association of the term with ground-up mixtures. I think the implication of evil inherent in the destruction of meat is much more badass.

To keep the field level, I imposed a no-lobster-and such rule, and after all isn’t a better test of skill to work within constraints? Besides, we want the eggs themselves to star, not act as mere vehicles for some other food. traditionally I think what most people expect in a good deviled egg are a tender white, creamy filling with acid and complexity, but still mostly eggy. You’re basically building-in a sauce to prevent the caulk-like consistency a standard hard boiled egg takes on after some mastication.

A properly cooked egg is critical – in order to achieve a resilient but not rubbery white, and a fully set but not discolored and not sulfury yolk, the egg can’t be overcooked. I use a method that is a bit time consuming, but is really easy and conserves energy to boot, developed by the great Julia Child. Simply cover eggs in cold water, bring to a rolling boil, boil for two minutes, then turn off the heat, cover, and let sit for 20 minutes. Yet as straightforward as this method is, on this occasion I still ended up with the what’s really the only potential kibosh in deviled egg making – hard to peel eggs. Anyone else who has sheared this calamity can attest to how much it sucks – the shell, instead of slipping off the albumen with the membrane attached, remains stuck fast, taking bits of egg off with it, at best resulting in a pockmarked egg, at worst an egg rent asunder.

The problem: too fresh eggs, which when boiled are harder to peel. In my zeal to stack my entry with uber-ingredients, I done played myself. One way to mitigate freshness (how’s that for a rare sequence of words) is to add a little baking soda or salt to the water, which favorably changes the alkalinity.

The stuffing, however, is really where the battle is won or lost. Recipes vary wildly of course, but the standard complement of ingredients seems to include mayonnaise (for creaminess), lemon juice and/or prepared mustard(for acid), and spices – cayenne pepper, dry mustard, and/or paprika (the “devil”, as it were). Notably, there exists a splinter group of relish fans (the repugnant “sweet” or “bread and butter” variety to be precise), who seem to think it’s a required ingredient in authentic deviled eggs. This clearly misguided belief did however prove to be the reason I ended up winning, as most tasters preferred a smooth texture. In any case, the ingredients are simply mashed together with the cooked yolks until smooth, and re-deposited onto halved whites.

I use a variant of the French ouefs durs farcis, wherein the yolks are made creamy with bechamel sauce. I don’t go that far, but I do start with a pan of butter over low heat, which offers a window of cooking absent in the usual method. When the butter is melted, I add cayenne pepper and sweet paprika. The hot fat becomes imbued with the pepper flavor, enabling more even distribution in the stuffing, while also cooking out much of the cayenne’s heat, leaving behind the smoke and fruit components. I also add some very finely grated lemon zest, which adds a clean high note, and finely chopped chives, which add onion flavor with minimal crunchiness.

After about thirty seconds, the heat goes off and a bit of milk or cream goes in. By using this mixture, the yolks can be moistened with less mayonnaise, and I think this makes for a more “pure” tasting final product. Re-deposit the yolks into the whites and you have my competition-winning recipe.

Tip: To stabilize the white halves, you can either slice a thin strip from the bottom of each one, or for the lazier among us, just set them atop some greens or parsley sprigs.

Back to the cookout – when all the contestants finally arrived, my eggs were obviously the odd man out. I prefer mine completely unadorned, stealth if you will, while the others had the ubiquitous sprinkling of paprika (or – gasp -chili powder, in one case). One set even had each egg meticulously garnished with a perfectly trimmed parsley sprig. Curse you Alvina. Also, turns out I’m the only person in Baltimore that doesn’t own a deviled egg platter.

We picked the six most sober people and sequestered them away for judging. After much deliberation, and even a recount, yours truly emerged as the winner! Woot! In fact, although the overall margin was slim, it was texture and appearance that won it for me. Alvina came in second mostly due to tricking out her eggs with chopped bacon – in a rare case of backfiring use of bacon, the crunchy texture turned judges off. Other entries had non-traditional seasonings like curry powder and horseradish, which hurt their scores. Like I’ve always said, sometimes less is more.

My high appearance scores were baffling, but I was told later that it was because my yolks “looked all piped-in and swirly”. A Zip-Loc bag with a corner cut off is my filling tool of choice. Heh heh, filling tool. I gotta give credit to my nemesis for having the strength to ask me for my recipe afterwards. I would have been way more bitter.

I must admit however, I prevailed by one mere point, and I gotta give love to my nemesis for having the strength to ask me for my recipe afterwards. And keep the Febreeze handy, because as they say, “Huevo duro, pedo seguro.”

Henry’s Deviled Eggs Recipe:

1 dozen eggs, not too fresh

2 tablespoons mayonnaise (homemade if possible)

2 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons milk or cream

2 teaspoons dijon mustard

1 teaspoon very finely grated lemon zest

1 teaspoon finely chopped chives

½ teaspoon cayenne pepper

½ teaspoon sweet paprika

salt, white pepper, and lemon juice to taste

1. Place eggs in a large pot and cover with cold water, adding ½ teaspoon of salt or baking soda if the eggs are very fresh

2. Bring to a rolling boil

3. Boil for 2 minutes

4. Cover pot and turn off heat; after 20 minutes, carefully drain and allow eggs to cool(submerge in icy water if time is a factor)

5. While eggs are cooling, melt butter in a small pan

6. Heat cayenne and paprika in butter for 30 seconds

7. Add milk, zest and chives, and heat for 30 seconds, allow to cool

8. While butter/milk mixture is cooling, peel and carefully halve eggs, reserving yolks in a mixing bowl

9. Press yolks through a sieve using a wooden spoon or spatula, producing very fine particles; if you don’t have a sieve, mash yolks thoroughly with a fork or stiff whisk

10. Add butter/milk mixture, mayonnaise and mustard to yolks, and combine until smooth

11. Adjust yolk mixture for seasoning, adding salt, pepper, and lemon juice to taste

12. If desired, slice a thin strip off the bottom of each egg half so it will stand straight; otherwise arrange egg halves on a bed of greens or parsley for stability

13. Spoon yolk mixture into a pastry bag or ziplock bag with the corner cut off (1/4”)

14. Gently fill egg halves, squeezing from the top of the bag, as you would toothpaste

15. Garnish with additional chives and paprika if desired (I like mine nude)

-Henry Hong

Despite the myriad uses of the word in modern English and regional squabbling over the topic, the etymology seems to be pretty concrete.

I guess the Spaniards kept decent records of their decimation of indigenous populations in the West Indies. In any case, “barbecue” derives from the Spanish barbacoa, which in turn comes from the Taino word barabicu(?), which is the word for a structure of sticks used to elevate stuff off the ground, including meat for cooking or drying. The Taino are also credited with inventing the hammock, and indeed the raised stick structure was also used for sleeping. So the classic image of a suburban guy chilling in a hammock while steaks are working on the grill is a surreal replay of a pre-Columbian scenario. Cool!

Eventually the word and practice spread and morphed – in Mexico, barbacoa refers to meat (usually a goat) that’s cooked elaborately in a buried pit, sort of a combo of steaming and smoking (it looks like the term may have been applied to an existent method of cooking). In southern Texas, the same term is used for steamed cow’s head. Barbecue has been practiced in the US since the 1600’s, brought along with settlers to the East Coast and Florida. It seems originally the term could be applied to the awesomely fun occasion that is the consequence of cooking and eating an entire pig. Virginia passed a law outlawing the firing of guns in the air during barbecues in the late 17th century, an eerie portend of July 4th celebrations in Baltimore.

The US seems to be the only country in the world where barbecue indicates long and slow cooking instead of direct-heat grilling. It saddens me to conclude that the barbecue-as-grilling usage may be considered more authentic, or at least closer to the original meaning of the word, if this drawing is to be believed:

This sucks because I’ve spent most of my adult life cringing when folks use “barbecue” and “grill” interchangeably. But there is no question that in the US, barbecue, both as a term and practice, is far more involved. Regional variants share major similarities, most importantly that the cooking is indirect and extended. The differences lie mainly in the type of meat used, seasoning, and sauce.

I am currently engaged in getting good at making ribs, and I prefer a sort of hybrid Memphis style. I use spare ribs, which I believe to have better flavor, and a sweetish rub.There is a sentiment out there that using back ribs is kind of cutting a corner, because they are generally more tender to begin with. I feel however that the trade off in flavor is not worthwhile. Some contend that back ribs are “higher on the hog” and thus better, but I need only one word to rebut that assertion: BACON. Spare ribs, well trimmed, all the way.

What I look for is ribs that are most, well seasoned, and tender but not too tender. Also, and this is just a personal preference, but I’ve always associated BBQ with a strong sweet component as far as seasoning.

I smoke with unseasoned apple and/or cherry wood whenever possible, for which I have a pretty reliable and reasonably priced [secret]source. I find hickory and mesquite to be way too strong,and have found pecan and oak to be a bit too mild. I think the apple/cherry diad is ideal (apple on left, cherry on right):

More coming soon….

-Henry Hong

Hot, no? When I pulled the ribeye off, I put my ribs on which had been brining overnight. I got six gorgeous racks of spareribs from Whole Foods yesterday – now, before you scoff (as I surely would), they were on hardcore sale. Normally they’re $5.99/lb, buy this weekend they were $3.99, plus n extra $10 off any meat purchase of $40 or more for their “Fill the Grill” special for the holiday. Sweet! In addition to all the included upscale pork options (no antibiotic, all natural etc.), i must admit that the Whole foods spareribs are immaculately trimmed:

Amish butcher only had back ribs, and J.A. Regan’s spareribs were around the same price, so the choice was obvious. Here they are after 4 hours, ringed by my homemade boudin blanc:

Updates forthcoming homeys.

God I suck at the interweb. To compound my general aversion to perform web related tasks, I am apparently emitting some sort of EM field that causes computing devices to keel over and die. Anyway, this week Citypaper ran my pastrami article, of course drastically edited down for space. Here’s a taste (nyuk):

If you live in Baltimore, you eventually resign yourself to the fact that certain food joneses just aren’t going to get resolved. That’s why it pays to have transplant friends, who you can wheedle into being grub mules when they visit home. So thanks, Reuben, for taking the train all the way to New York to get pastrami from Katz’s, and then not eating it on the train ride back here.

The pinnacle of pastrami artistry for me is Katz’s in New York. Theirs is really transcendent – smoky, spicy, tender yet with a compact grain, well-lubricated with rendered fat and hewn by hand into thick slabs. But it’s $24/lb. not including the 8 hours travel time, and the grub mule (my term for friends that bring me food during their travels) system is unreliable. I once considered pastrami too holy, too mystical, too difficult for one as lowly (and lazy) as I to attempt. But emboldened by a string of smoked/cured meat successes last year (due in no small part to acquiring a massive Tiernan “Son of Brisket” smoker), I decided to suck it up and give it a go.

Two factors needed to be addressed initially, the cut of beef and the curing process. I searched high and low for the so-called plate cuts, i.e. navel plate or pastrami cut, favored by hardcore enthusiasts for higher fat content. Wasserman’s kosher butcher on Reisterstown could get some special order, but the price I was quoted – $7.99/lb. – convinced me to stick with the more readily available brisket.

Butchers usually carry fresh brisket, with the dependable JA Regan in lexington market on the low price end with $3.79/lb and Whole Foods/Cierello’s/Eddie’s on the high end at 5.99. Yet again, Amish butcher guy was the best solution to my meat quandaries, with his grass-fed local brisket priced at $4.39. Be wary of prepackaged supermarket briskets, since they are almost always pre-brined with a nitrite solution, that typically accounts for a fifth of total weight.

As far as cuts, generally the “first cut” of flat brisket is what is most readily available. This is the typical flat, rectangular cut with a cap of fat on top. Preferable is a whole brisket, which is the flat with the cap or “deckel” attached. This piece of beef is very savory and has great texture – some feel it’s the best cut of the cow outright. Then there is the point cut brisket, which comes from further up (towards the head) of the cow, and generally includes both cap and flat, and is more irregularly shaped. Some pre-packaged briskets use this cut, which has more fat than a flat cut. I also believe grass-fed to be particularly tasty for brisket.

Anyways, here is the full, uncut, overly long pastrami project, with lots of pretty pictures of meat. Enjoy!

Two whole briskets from my trusty Amish butcher:

This is the meat cure available at Bass Pro Shops. It’s actually sodium nitrite, as opposed to nitrate, but really these produce the same result – a brief explanation:

The brine, with kosher salt added until a raw egg floats (about 12 cup for 1 gallon):

Flavoring agents, in this case bay leaves, pepper, coriander, garlic, and thyme:

This is the traditional wet cure, which was injected once a day:

This is the wet cure under vacuum, using a standard home model Foodsaver:

(Note that the vacuum must be in a rigid container, otherwise it’s not a vacuum at all, as far as atmospheric pressure)

Injecting the beef (nudge nudge wink wink):

This is a pre-packaged brisket – you can kinda see how the grain is ‘looser’, perhaps due to the inclusion of papaicin, a fruit-derivied enzyme that breaks down portein, as a tenderizer:

The label – as you can see, much cheaper than fresh brisket, but then about of a 1/4 of the weight is simply added water:

Curing beef array – must be a band’s name somewhere:

After curing, the briskets are purged in fresh water to remove excess salts:

Aromatic spice coating:

Dry cure on the left, wet on the right – big difference in color:

A rather homespun solution for weighing the meat down before cooking:

Into the maw of my Tiernan smoker:

(Note the strips of fat on top of the meat – this is a trick I started using on smoked brisket last year. Instead of leaving a thick cap of fat on the meat, I trim it and then use the fat to self – baste. Since the meat surface is exposed, it gets more smoke and browning, while still retaining the benefit of increased moisture from the rendering fat, which I reposition periodically.)

Hour 1:

Hour 3, about the upper limit for smoke ‘absorption’ for beef:

A few river rocks for lift:

Meat in the steamer:

Here is the unsmoked brisket, sitting atop some crumpled foil:

The unsmoked after 3.5 hours:

The smoked after about 4 hours:

A sampling plate of 5 homemade, Katz’s, and Attman’s pastramied beef:

Deep concentration:

Some pastrami portraits, first the great Katz’s:

Attman’s:

And my own Dry/Smoked:

I use a modified version of the popular and widely cited “Senator Mikulski Recipe”, which in turn closely resembles the recipe printed on Old Bay Seasoning cans. Oddly, there used to be an original, slightly different Mikulski recipe, published in the “Maryland Way” cookbook, but I can’t seem to locate it. They all share the most common seasoning component: mustard. I’ve found Dijon adds unnecessary complexity, and dry mustard lacks the balancing acid component of prepared yellow, which I prefer.

My recipe yields a pretty loose mixture that’s a bit difficult to work with, so I’ve developed some extra steps designed to bolster cake structural integrity. I highly recommend frying over broiling, since broiling seems to lead to dryer, blander crab cakes at home. Depending on the output of your stove, you may need to adjust burner strength or broiler distance, so note any deficiencies and adjust accordingly the next time.

The full, super-long crab cake article

1 lb. jumbo lump crab meat (domestic > imported)

1 tsp. yellow mustard

1 egg

1 ½ slices Wonder bread (or any soft commercial white bread)

2 tbs. mayonnaise (use light or fat free at your own peril)

2 tsp. Old Bay

1 small dash Worcestershire sauce

A little milk

Optional: a little ground white pepper, no more than 1 tsp. chopped parsley*

1. Open and invert the container of meat onto a cutting board and tap firmly, releasing the meat. This minimizes potentially harmful handling. You’ll be left with a container-shaped mound of meat, a la canned cranberry sauce.

2. Very gently separate the meat, making every effort to keep lumps and lump clusters intact, and look for shell pieces (discard). Each individual lump need not be separated, just do a cursory inspection.

3. Gently transfer meat to a large mixing bowl. Using a knife, scrape any residual meat and liquid into the bowl as well. Sprinkle ½ of the Old Bay onto the meat and fold, using your hand to scoop from the bottom of the bowl and lifting, gently mixing in a vertical motion t(fig. 1).

4. Tear or cut bread, including crusts, into small pieces, about 1” square. In a small bowl, combine bread with enough milk to soak.

5. In yet another bowl, thoroughly mix the egg, mustard, mayonnaise, Worcestershire, remaining Old Bay, white pepper and parsley.

6. Squeeze excess milk from bread pieces and add them to egg mixture. Taste for seasoning, add salt or Old Bay as necessary. A little raw egg won’t kill you, but if you must, nuke a small bit for 30 seconds, then taste.

7. Pour the mixture over the crab meat, and fold to incorporate. Try to be thorough, but be extra careful not to break up the lumps. Go slow.

8. If the crab cake mixture is very pretty loose, cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for about 20 minutes to tighten it up.

a) To fry, carefully shape into 4 flat cakes (I’ve found the shape and size should correspond closely to that of a White Castle slider, if that helps). If they aren’t keeping their shape well, place the cakes in pairs on a piece of plastic wrap (fig. 2), then wrap securely. Go to step 9.

b) If broiling, then shape into 4 cakes, place on a plate, and cover, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes. Go to step 12.

9. Refrigerate for at least another half hour, turning them over once halfway through. This helps flatten both sides of the cakes.

10. Heat a nonstick or well-seasoned cast iron pan (doesn’t seem to make a difference) to medium-low, and add either butter or a neutral-flavored oil like canola or safflower. Do not use olive oil. Unwrap the cakes and slide them into the pan, two at a time (a crowded pan makes flipping more difficult).

11. Fry uncovered until a brown crust has formed, then carefully and slowly flip (leaving them uncovered helps the cakes to self-heal if damaged during flipping). If the cakes break, gather them back together and knock on wood. When the second side is browned sufficiently, remove to a plate. End.

12. To broil, carefully transfer the cakes to an oven-safe pan or baking sheet, and place on oven rack fitted to the highest rung (i.e. closest to top). Keep the oven door open and broil until browned, turning the cakes to allow for even cooking. If you have an oven-safe pan, you can lightly fry the cakes (just the bottoms) before broiling them, thus achieving more complete browning. Endif.

* I recommend using curly instead of the more intensely flavored flat-leaf. It’s hard to use an entire bunch of parsley before it goes bad, so try the following:

Curly parsley is generally grit-free, but if you get a dirty bunch, rinse under running water. Remove as much stem as possible from the parsley by either cutting with a knife or pulling the tops off by hand.

Chop the leaves finely. Place in the center of a clean kitchen towel, then grasp the corners and gather the parsley into a ball. Twist the ends of the towel so the bal gets tighter and tighter, and eventually you will squeeze water out of the parsley. When you’ve squeezed the parsley relatively dry, fluff it up a bit and place in a lidded container. It’ll keep a whole lot longer this way.