Blog

When you think of Japanese food, sushi may be the first thing that comes to mind. But the world of Japanese street foods and bar snacks is just as eye-opening and tasty, while eschewing less accessible ingredients like bluefin. One of my favorite dishes is takoyaki, or octopus balls. These are typically cooked in massive hot plates at street stalls and festivals. In Japan, it’s not unusual to see just one chef deftly turning, cooking and serving dozens of takoyaki in a matter of minutes—the speed is truly remarkable! After watching these takoyaki masters at work, I began to wonder how I might replicate the dish at home.

So you can break down a chicken, truss a duck and french a rack of lamb? Have you tried cooking an octopus?

There are some dishes which are so failure-prone that a vibrant mythology is built around how to avoid the usual pitfalls. Tenderizing octopus certainly falls into that camp. A quick Google search on the subject quickly reveals that the best way to cook a tender octopus is to vigorously beat it on some Grecian rocks. Or to cook it with wine corks in the pot. Or to add some vinegar. Or maybe the secret is to rub the octopus with grated daikon radish. Actually, scratch all that, the real key to success is to slowly dip the octopus a few seconds at a time into hot water until it acclimates to the boiling temperatures. All of these methods have their proponents, who will wholeheartedly assure you that it will work because after all, that is how their grandfather did it, and his father and his before that.

Turret trucks careening around corners, workers unloading boxes of glistening scales and tentacles, tuna carvers wielding samurai swords. All happening while Tokyo sleeps.

Tsukiji Market holds a storied place among international visitors and chefs in Tokyo. It is the world’s largest wholesale seafood market, sprawling across 23 hectares or about 55 American football fields. Over 2,000 tons of product moves through these stalls every day, ranging from tiny anchovies and smelt to hulking tunas and cuts of whale.

So you’ve created a wildly successful restaurant, and you’re just beginning to have some semblance of stability and free time again. Is it time to expand and build another location? At last night’s Culintro panel on restaurant expansion, three prominent chefs tackled that question and more. Danny Bowien (Mission Chinese), Andy Ricker (Pok Pok) and Michael White (Marea, Ai Fiori, Osteria Morini, Nicoletta) collectively shared their insights and mused on why anyone would decide to “go do the hardest thing in the world—open a restaurant in New York.”

About five years ago, I graduated from Cornell. I picked up my diploma from the economics department, took another walk around the Arts Quad, and drove 4.5 hours back to MA with stinging eyes. My undergrad days were over, I was cast out into the cruel Real World, and nothing would ever be the same.

But you know what they forgot to tell you in college? Life is even more awesome AFTER college. After spending Labor Day weekend at Cornell, I can confidently say I have no desire to go back to my college days.

Gastrocinephiles! So you’ve watched and rewound the opening scene of Eat Drink Man Woman multiple times? Your dreams involve recreating the timpano from Big Night? Then the NYC Food Film Festival is the place to be, celebrating the year’s accomplishments in food film, food documentary, and of course, food porn. In its fifth year of running, the Food Film Fest is attracting all sorts of attention from food media, filmmakers, and even Mayor Bloomberg, who kicked off the opening ceremony by declaring “Food Film Fest Day” in New York.

Dear R.,

It has only been six weeks since that napkin-crumpling, tear-stained breakfast with you at the Z-7 Diner, but it feels like years have passed. My job was on tenterhooks; I needed to find a new one or soon join the swelling ranks of the unemployed. Murmurs of a double dip recession were getting louder. I had so many questions and too little time. What do you do with a gastronomy degree anyway? Why is it that the sustainable, “socially responsible” organizations are the ones offering only unpaid internships? How do I land a new apartment lease in the highly competitive NYC real estate market if I can’t demonstrate an income? I am a fighter, yes, but this city is one who fights back. And I was determined to go down in a Viking pyre of glory.

Want to rub elbows with the nation’s brightest culinary stars? The 6th annual StarChefs conference opened yesterday at the Park Place Armory with a star-studded roster of speakers.

The event is open only to industry professionals, however for culinary students and restaurant workers, this is a dazzling opportunity to ask questions and get your hands dirty with a workshop from your favorite kitchen god (or goddess). There is also opportunity to walk away with a dash of fame; 20 rising pastry chefs are in fierce competition to win the International Pastry Competition.

The roach skittered towards a cardboard box, and Cheryl raised her hand to smash it before the customers could see. The kitchen was in the weeds—we were short-staffed because the fry cook had been jailed last night for a DUI. Dad would stop by later to bail him out and give him another futile lecture. Meanwhile, the insistent beep of the drive-through sensor rang out. I scurried back to my post atop an overturned milk crate and pressed the speaker button. “Welcome to Lucky Phoenix, can I help you?” Just another June afternoon working at the family restaurant.

If you rub a mouse on the nose,
It will pee in your palm.
I poke the moist, fuzzy snout
Then set it on Marian’s backpack.
She hated me, deserved the dark
Droplet trickling down the monogrammed leather
Maybe her bag would discolor, orange to purple
Maybe it’d waft a sour smell, everyone thinking
Marian doesn’t shower, Marian has B.O.!
All the mice liked me
If I were the Pied Piper,
They’d prance faithfully after my panpipe
I put a satiny one in my pencil box
It was April Fool’s Day
Mrs. Chanda taught math next period
I waited until the class settled, and winked
My best friend giggled when
The mouse darted under the tables
Blurred toward Marion’s foot
She stood up and screamed
Perched atop her chair like
Dumbo balancing on a tight rope
I snickered and pointed
I hated Mrs. Chanda, too
We called her Fungus Fingers
Her nails were grimy, concrete gray
Like sticks of string cheese
Left to mold in the vegetable drawer
A chalk allergy, she claimed
Of course we knew better, whispers circled
Hooted at her daughter’s photograph
Fat and ugly, it chimed, greasy hair and glasses
Happy, I was having fun
In the grocery store, Kroger’s
My cousin Kevin, we ogled
Rainbow bins of gummi bears, bubble gum
Foil-wrapped hearts and stars
Let’s get some, he insisted,
Grandma will let us buy it
And shoveled a wad of chocolate into his pocket
Of course. nodding, the same I
Plunged my hand into the Hershey Kisses,
Tucked my reward inside my jacket and
Kept walking away, chin high.
Soon after, Grandma found out,
I don’t remember how she knew,
Just that we emptied our pockets out
Sneaky, sliding the sticky wrappers into
A trash can, before anyone could see.
My cheeks flushed red, I knew
Stealing was wrong.
Grandma dropped me home that day,
Mentioned nothing about the shopping trip
My mom hugged me, sent me inside
Maybe she thought I was too young
To tell between right and wrong,
I didn’t know the difference, really
Only knew the churning of a stomach choking vomit.