Grace Garden

410-672-3581

1690 Annapolis Rd, Odenton, MD 21113

Holy crap it looks like these images are from June 23rd, I know it’s been a while, but I didn’t think it was that long ago. Anyway if there is anyone left still reading, you’ll have noticed that I’ve been on something of a hiatus. This can be mostly attributed to major Godaddy problems, but I suspect it’s also related to the malware problem on citypaper.com a while back. Anyway it seems I was infected with a keystroke logger and some asshole bot screwed up my hosting account. Long story short, I’m back and now posting about Grace Garden seems almost passe. But thanks to Dmnkly over at donrockwell.com, I managed to check out this place quite a while before it more or less blew up, having been reviewed recently in citypaper and in the Sun, I think.  The praise is deserved I gotta say, although some of the more gushing reports may be a bit exaggerated.

It’s located in freaking Odenton of all places, which up til just a few years ago I only knew of because my grandfather used to take multiple buses from Baltimore to get his hair cut out there. Never understood why he went to all the trouble, until a) I realized later in life how important a good barber is; and b) there is apparently a mini-Korean business area in Odenton, the current remnants of which consist of a liquor store, restaurant, and a night club, I think. Anyway, driving west on 175 from 95, you’ll pass by the prison and then by a high school, directly across the street from which is Grace Garden on the left.

The dining room is spare but clean, and after all you don’t drive to Odenton expecting ambience. TIP: Ask for the “real menu“. Dmnkly was immediately recognized and we got the VIP treatment as it were, so in addition to the entirely excessive amount of food we ordered, we were treated to some extra goodies, such as taro soup, which was pretty subtle and clean tasting, but a bit substantial for a first course:

the classic stir-fried kai-lan, or Chinese broccoli:

and what turned out to be by far the best dish of the night, a trio of bovine anatomy: tongue, tendon, and tripe that the chef had not yet named and called simply “Lovely”. Now I love tongue, and his was amazingly well prepared, an excellent balance of tenderness and recilience. I’m not crazy about tendon, but again the preaparation here is unimpeachable and the tendon was just the right level of gelatinous. Finally, I usually despise entrails, but the tripe was probably the best I’ve ever had, with 100% of the usual funk eradicated expertly, its spongy texture subsequently soaking up the delectable peppery, savory, wok-hai-y flavors of the dish. Man it was good. In our post dinner re-cap, both Alvina (go-to food nerd and Chinese person)
I agreed it was the pinnacle of the meal:

We thought for sure the star was going to be the tea-smoked duck, which requires 48 hours advance notice. And it was indeed very good, though not spectacular. The duck was well-seasoned, if a tiny tad salty, and really skillfully smoked, and I know from smoking folks. Very light, sweetly fragrant smokiness pervaded the meat, which was tender and moist. Thing was, and this is a problem with all smoked poultry imo, was the skin, which tends to become rubbery in the low-temp confines of a smoker:

Also outstanding was the Taiwanese-style fish, with very fresh-tasting tilapia(maybe?) fillets in an incredibly savory, aromatic, and bracingly spicy broth offset with little bits of Chinese pickles and bright, crunchy celery slivers. I think I liked it so much because it was essentially a Chinese jigae, the meal soup of Korean food:

And the much talked-about fish noodles, which in made from fish paste squeezed out into boiling liquid to form delicate, flavroful protein strands that look like noodles. Pretty cool, taste and texture similar to a quenelle as one might imagine:

In the less than overwhelming category were the kinda interesting but uninspiring hak-ka tofu:

crispy eggplant, which I ordered because I’d heard the chef used to work at Hunan Manor, which used to have an exemplary version of the somewhat touristy dish. It was really, very good, but I was chided to ordering such a pedestrian dish. Whatever yo, it’s one of my favorites, and Grace Garden’s is top-notch, if a tiny bit too sweet:

Perhaps the only real disappointment was the salt and pepper shrimp, which had a batter here, something I haven’t really seen. The few times I’ve ordered in the past I’ve always gotten unpeeled shrimp burnished to a golden brown in a stupid-hot wok with just salt and pepper. The shrimp here had a coating that became soggy and a bit heavy, and the shell was thus not as crispy as it should have been. I got some shit for not eating the heads, as these specimens were head-on, but you know what? Head on shrimp are a tricky thing, and these guys didn’t taste impeccably fresh to begin with (although they were bo no means NOT fresh). From what I understand, head-on shrimp need to be alive or flash frozen and used immediately after thawing lest the flesh takes on that weird, slightly gritty, mushy testure. And these did have that, if only slightly:

The chef very graciously ended to meal by treating us to an unusual dessert, basically a torte of custard, sweet red bean paste, and meringue, garnished with peanuts. He said it was a specialty of northern China, and was indeed a major change of pace from the mostly Taiwanese-style entrees. It was quite tasty, but a bit heavy to cap off the enormous and rich meal the preceded it:

If rumors are to be believed, the lease for Grace Garden’s Odenton space is set to run out. I’d like to say that convincing them to move to Baltimore would be a good thing, but I honestly can’t say if there is enough of an interested or savvy population in Baltimore these days to support this kind of place. Also I must comment on the incredibly efficiency of this guy - his wife and daughters attend to front of house duties, while the chef is pretty much alone in the kitchen. And yet, he manges to execute many, varied, and complex dishes at a formidable clip. Serious skills on display here, yall.

The other, perhaps equally amazing discovery of the night was made at the aforementioned Korean liquor store around the corner. Folks, I’ve had a lot of soju in my day, and the stuff we get here in US is utter crap. Even the cheap-ass plastic bottle stuff in Korea is superior to what they export to us. When I was researching building a soju still a couple years ago, I’d read on some random blog that one of the first exports to the US from the DPRK, or North Korea, was to be the governemt-issue soju, like Stoli is to Russia. Anyway, before we started our meal I walked over to pick up some beer, and lo and behold I see a small display of “Pyong Yang” soju. Pyongyang is of course the capital of North Korea, and I held my breath as I inspected the label - SWEET this was the stuff, straight from North Korea:

I asked to to kids behind the counter in Korean if they’s tried it or heard anything about it. They seemed nonplussed, indicating it was nothing special. Fools! People, this is by a long, long shot the finest, cleaned, smoothes, most delicious soju to have ever touched my lips. Seriously. I’ve seen it at two places now, this one in Odenton and te liquor store nest to Lotte in Ellicott City, but I imagine it’s available at any place that carried soju. It’s $5.99 per 350 ml bottle, which is a ridiculous deal, especially considering that a bottle of the relativley harsh Chamiseul or Green soju will run you over 15 bucks at a Korean restaurant. Stock up, this shit is the shit! But always remember that soju is the ultimate in “creeper” booze, and the smoothness of Pyong Yang could set you up for a major ass-kicking if you’re not careful. By the way, it’s pronounced “PYUNG YAHNG”.

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

That’s right, I made me some PIT BISON! I think this may be a first, since searching “pit bison” returns nothing having to do with food, except for links pointing to yours truly…. It’s the largest mammal native to the US - the original American red meat. And it was grown right here in Maryland to boot, at Gunpowder Bison and Trading Company up in Monkton (see pic above). I only recently learned that a bison farming industry even existed in this state, but apparently there are around 13 farms of varying size. Maryland bison, incidentally, will be the subject of my next Citypaper article.

We drove up to the farm to pick up this beautiful (pretty expensive at $8.59/lb) top round roast, but Gunpowder Bison also participates in the fledgling Harbor East farmer’s market on Saturdays. I assumed it would be larger than a beef top round, but it weighed in at 3-4 lbs., same as beef. You will note that it is much darker, a visual cue to the nutritional properties of bison:

I followed the same process as for pit beef, applying a very simple salt/pepper/garlic rub:

You may notice a couple things in the next pic: 1) briquettes - I cooked the pit bison at a friend’s house to christen his new grill, and thought it too douchey to bring my own charcoal (I prefer lump charcoal for grilling); 2) the burgers (also bison) have holes in the middle - that’s a little cooking trick I use for fast, even cooking in my burgers:

The bison top round, charring away nicely:

The finished pit bison, resting:

Slicing thin is even more important here, because bison is denser and leaner than beef, so although I was too humble to bring my own charcoal, I was insistent on bringing my trusty meat slicer:

Slices of incredibly beefy - almost richly so - pit bison:

All tasters were quite impressed, in fact I would say blown away, by the aroma, flavor and texture of the pit bison. The charred “bark” was a bit dry, but the less well done interior was moist and extremely savory. Think of slightly salty, slightly bloody beef, times three and with no metallic hints. It tasted intense but clean, with richness coming from the flesh as opposed to fat. The pit beef went so fast I actually did not have time to get a pic of a completed sandwich. One important note is that I didn’t see anyone put any condiments on their sandwiches, a true testament to the bison’s deliciousness and juiciness. But then I was pretty drunk by then, so I could be totally wrong. Bison, especially a less tender and lean cut like top round, is unsuitable for cooking past medium doneness, because bison is so lean and dense. I actually brought along a few pieces of beef top round, which I then cooked to medium-well for folks who prefer their meat overcooked, heh. More on Gunpowder Bison and bison meat and recipes coming soon.

-Henry Hong

The weck was a bit soggy, but the all-important crystal salt and caraway seeds were intact. The roll itself had slightly more substance and chewiness than a kaiser roll, with a slightly denser crumb:

The beef itself was a far cry from whatever it was the Road Food folks were serenading - slightly-thick-ish slices of well done beef. It was definitely roasted and not some commercial pre-made stuff, but still it was a tad dry, and very lean. I’m guessing it was top round:

Anyway the meat had decent beefy, roasty flavor, but no real discernible seasoning. That is apparently the weck’s job, and I gotta say, though the roll would be way too salty on its own, combined with the bland beef it was a pretty winning combo. The caraway added a bit to flavor of course, but the salt was really the star - it’s a clear, crystal salt that has a very clean flavor and a texture that’s somewhere between crispy, crunchy and sorta icy. Very enjoyable. It seems some believe the salt on Schwabl’s weck is sea salt, but I couldn’t find any conclusive answers.

The only problem was on my particular bun, the salt was unevenly distributed, which resulted in some too salty and some bland bites. I’m hoping this was anomalous. Also, and I don’t know if this is a regional thing or an intentional consideration (re the salt on the weck), but the sandiwch had very evenly stacked meat, i.e. was not mounded - something that I really appreciate.

-Henry Hong

Well, my nightmare scenario has come to fruition. I was wrong. On top of that, I was wrong about food. Worse still, I was wrong about meat. And to top it all off, I was proved wrong by a guy with frosted tips and pinky rings. Chaps Pit Beef was featured on Food Networks’ Diner’s, Drive-Ins and Dives , and my theory about their using precooked roast beef seems to have been debunked. But it was revealed that they use bottom round instead of top round, and add no seasoning whatsoever, which may be why the flavor leaves many, including myself, unimpressed. But I gotta give it to Chaps for being able to turn out such tender bottom round. Also, it was cool to see that the owner and I share the Bulldog as our favorite sandwich. I still prefer Bada Bing Bada Beef, and even The Canopy, to Chaps. And not to sound too self-aggrandizing, but my homemade pit beef blows any of those three away - and it’s easy to make, try it yourself and I guarantee* you will agree.

*I, Henry Hong, hereby guarantee that if my pit beef recipe is followed closely, and the resulting pit beef is not significantly tastier than that of Chaps, Canopy, or Bada Bing Bada Beef, I will buy you a shot of bourbon at a bar of my choosing.

-Henry Hong

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

Mc-N-Mc Pit

410-254-9894

6317 Harford Rd, Baltimore, MD 21214

Yet another brake-screeching stop in the interest of pit beef. On our way to Big Bad Wolf BBQ on Harford Rd., I caught Mc-N-Mc’s {pronounced “mick-n-mick”) sign out of the corner of my eye. Hopes of stumbling upon the mythical unheralded, really real bbq joint were dashed when we walked in to find what seemed to be a typical, if slightly more run-down, example of a pizza/sub place.

First question of course, are the ribs smoked? Answer: no. I did however detect the smell of charcoal, a rarity in such establishments, so I went ahead and ordered a pit beef sandwich. I was not asked for my preferred doneness however, a major strike against. This spy photo however shows what I considered a glimmer of hope:

A hunk of beef that looks like a hunk a beef, as opposed to a pressed and formed fake roast beef thing. Fingers were crossed, expectations raised slightly. As the seeming owner was wrapping it up, he asked if I wanted anything on it, and I quickly replied “nothing at all”, jadedly assuming he meant toppings in the way of LTM or some such. He gave me a wary look, and I blurted out, “umm how about some horseradish sauce then?” to which he responded with a relieved smile. Himself an aficionado perhaps? Well, it came on a proper roll at least:

It certainly looked like a real pit beef sandwich, despite its dubious carry-out of origin. But dissection revealed tragedy:

The beef was completely and utterly well-done. I fucking knew it, I muttered to myself. But, but but but, damn if it wasn’t an absolutely delicious pit beef sammy. Despite the lack of bloodiness, the meat was just right balance of tender and chewy, and possessed more than ample beef and char flavor, with a well-seasoned crust to boot. I didn’t want to like it, but I was impressed. If there’s such a thing as a good well-done pit beef sandwich (or such a thing as well-done pit beef at all), this is it. In an example of smalltimore coincidence, not three days later, after doing the Dan Rodricks show, engineer Jonathan(sp?) asked if I’d been to Mc-N-Mc during a conversation with the crew about pit beef. And I was happy to say that I indeed had.

-Henry Hong

The Canopy

443-288-1400

9319 Baltimore National Pike, Ellicott City, MD 21042

So this is how dedicated I am to my pit beef census. I picked up a couple sandwiches on my way back from CarterQue, my belly heavy with pig meat. It wasn’t easy stopping to get yet more meat, further delaying a much-needed itis-induced nap. The Canopy has been around for a looong time, but I hadn’t been in a couple years. They bill themselves as a ” barbecue restaurant”, which it really isn’t - unless you count pit beef as Baltimore’s native variant of bbq, and there is a valid argument for that. Well, I’m on the fence about this

place. The pit beef had decent char but not a real crust to speak of, and the pit beef itself was very tender but lacked that slightly metallic, bloody note and slight chewiness that to me denotes “real” pit beef. I’ve surmised that other places, notably the much ballyhooed and disappointing Chaps, don’t actually start with raw top round, but rather use a pre-cooked, brined roast beef and simply char the exterior. I know of at least one place that does this for sure, and I’m about 95% sure about Chaps (the place is set to appear on Food Network next week, which should shed light on the subject). I fear that The Canopy too falls in this dubious category. You can’t really tell by this shot, but in addition to the suspect flavor and tenderness, the slices were all nearly perfectly ovoid, a la deli meat:

Also, the “blood” soaked into the roll wasn’t bloody at all, but had a slight brine flavor, another telltale sign:

All in all a good sandwich, a grilled roast beef sandwich to be precise. That’s my determination at least. Now I could be dead wrong about The Canopy and Chaps for that matter, but if they do start from raw beef, I don’t know what they;’re doing to make it so tender, but whatever it is it’s also detracting from the natural beef flavor.