A Tiger In The Kitchen

The Loading Dock: "Worthy" Fish Tacos

This might be what they call a classic New York food fairytale.

Boy moves to New York. Boy starts selling fish tacos at out of a little stand at the Brooklyn Flea in Dumbo. Boy's tacos develop a hungry following. Boy opens restaurant.

And to add to the cool factor, he opens it in the loading dock of a former garment factory in downtown Brooklyn -- talk about economical use of space in this land-starved city.

The Boy in this case would be Forrest Cole, who explains on his Web site that he first started selling fish tacos at the flea after fruitlessly trying to find a "worthy example" of a Baja-style fish taco in the city.

Now, that's talking quite a bit of smack about New York's many pre-existing taco joints.

We had to see just how "worthy" these fish tacos were ...

Indian Chicken Curry: A Grandmother's Recipe

A few weeks ago, I found myself on the phone, frantically shuttling between calls to my aunt and my grandmother, trying to jolt their memories and nail down the ingredients we needed for my Singapore family's take on chicken curry.

As the calls got more confusing and the ingredient list grew more nebulous, my friend Basil, a Singaporean of Indian ethnicity, sat nearby, listening in with an increasingly incredulous look.

"You're sitting next to an Indian," he finally said, "and you're not asking him how he makes his curry?"

A very good point.

It turns out Basil, better known to his friends as the hard-to-miss, gregarious guy at any bar that he frequents, also knows how to cook. He learned 20 years ago in his grandmother's kitchen, when he was drafted as a teenager to help her after she'd lost a leg to diabetes. "She would park her wheelchair at the entrance to the kitchen and bark out instructions to me," he said.

Well, her lessons must have stuck because Basil then proved that he could rattle off her curry instructions as quickly and surely as he can list the latest Manchester United stats.

The moment I got back to my Brooklyn kitchen, I knew I had to try it.

Colicchio & Sons: Super-Rich Locavore

Unless you've been in deep hibernation, if you live in New York and have been known to consume food, you've probably noticed that Tom Colicchio opened a new restaurant in Manhattan last week.

The breathless chatter over Colicchio & Sons in the Meatpacking District has been inescapable since the "Top Chef" judge announced that he was turning his ailing Craftsteak space into a locavore joint with a comfort food bent. (The restaurant is an offshoot of Colicchio's popular Tom: Tuesday Dinner, a weekly 32-seat event in which Tom himself put together a $150 to $200 meal made with of-the-season ingredients.)

Now, being a big lover of red meat -- even if I wasn't exactly a fan of the concept of Craftsteak's $100 steaks -- I'm always a little morose whenever a steakhouse shutters.

If its replacement is a worthy one, however, that's another matter.

We decided to investigate ...

Poilane Miche: Tackling A Legend

As usual, I had bread on my mind the moment I returned to New York from my latest trip to Singapore.

After weeks away from my oven, I always touch down just itching to bake something. And this time, a quick check with my fellow Bread Baker's Apprentice challenge bakers revealed that they were mired in a difficult spot in the bread lineup.

"We are in Sourdough right now," said Daniel in Berlin (a.k.a. @MisterRios of the Ährelich Gesagt blog). "Everyone is tRYEing their best."

Ahh, bread humor. Gotta love it.

After the laughter subsided, however, I started to get worried. Sourdough in the hands of lesser bakers can be a massive pain in the tush. 

I should know.

Just last month, bolstered by a successful pane Siciliano and wondering what to do with a bowl of sourdough starter, I brazenly decided to take on a legend: Poilane miche -- the Holy Grail of breads.

Gayatri Restaurant: One For The Road

Your last meal in any city is no small matter, I've always believed.

It's the meal you might still be able to taste as you look out at the diminishing skyline from the plane; the one that you'll be thinking of to tide you over until you return again.

During my most recent trip to Singapore for book research, where to have my last supper was a particularly hard decision.

I'd eaten well. In just a few weeks, I'd clocked not one but two visits to Hock Lam for the umami bomb that is its gooey beef ball noodles. I'd trekked to the seafront Changi Village to sample the nasi lemak, a Malay dish of coconut rice with a fried chicken wing, sambal chili, fried egg and crunchy anchovies, from a hawker stall I loved but hadn't visited in over 10 years. And I'd had a lovely lunch at Iggy's, a high-end restaurant that served up a custard-like French toast dessert topped with thick flecks of truffles that was truly unforgettable.

When plotting the appropriate finale, one thing instantly came to mind.

My friend Basil had told me a few weeks back about taking some people to his favorite restaurant in Little India to eat spicy mutton, drink beer and watch the world go by. 

The choice was obvious.

Come, I said, let's go.

Chicken Adobo: Baguio Beckoning

 

As we were hunched over the stove, embroiled in some recent kitchen experiment, my Singapore family's maid Erlinda noted in passing that it'd been almost two years since she'd eaten her own home-made adobo.

Two years? This seemed like an interminably long time for a Filipina not to be enjoying her national dish, cooked by her own hand.

My mother doesn't stock vinegar in the kitchen, she explained, which instantly makes brewing a pot of the vinegary pork or chicken stew impossible. And the soy sauce that we Chinese use happens to be just a little too sweet for real adobo, it turns out. 

Now, being a massive lover of the stuff, I immediately decided that Erlinda's adobo drought needed to end. (This had nothing to do, of course, with the fact that my mouth often starts to water the moment I hear the word "adobo.")

So, with some instructions from Erlinda on what she needed for her adobo, off we went.

Ice Kachang: Savoring The Old

 

This is what inevitably happens when I get together with the Fairways Kids, a bunch of friends I've known since I was 11, back when my family moved into a Singapore condominium building named (naturally) Fairways.

Sure, we'll catch up on jobs, lives, kids, significant others. But somehow the conversation always wends its way back to one thing: ice kachang, a sugary dessert featuring a bowl of sweet corn, red beans, palm seeds and jelly topped with a minor hill of shaved ice that's been doused in syrup so sweet you can practically feel a toothache coming on as you shovel spoonfuls into your mouth.

We were a rambunctious lot -- still are, some might say. Rough soccer games, fearless, kickboxing fights in the swimming pool, endless games of volleyball in the tennis court -- this was how our youths were misspent. But the highlight of those idyllic days often was a trip over the fence (the shortcut before the condo association built a back gate) to the hawker center in the back. 

What lay at the end was an ice-cold mountain, festive and pink. 

Back behind the fence, we had homework, exams and, later, boy or girl problems to consume us. But at Telok Blangah Food Centre, things were simple. All we had to worry about was whether we had enough coins that day for a bowl of ice kachang.