Culture

Like many restaurants, my kitchen was staffed largely by cooks/runners/dishwashers of Latin American origin, particularly Mexicans from the state of Puebla. This made sense, given that we were cooking Latin-influenced food, but you’ll find Mexican cooks everywhere in New York, from diners to Chinese restaurants to fine dining.

There are many great cultural exchanges to be had from hanging out with Latino cooks, from hearing the latest reggaeton to learning the true meaning of Cinco de Mayo. (Turns out it’s not just about cheap margaritas.) But as you while away hours peeling yucca in the slow afternoon, sometimes the conversation takes a turn for the serious. You ponder aloud: what you’re doing with your life, what your dreams are, who you love, where it all went wrong. You share your hopes for your family, your fears that you’re not good enough, your ambitions to go to college. You tell your life story, how you came to the US and found your footing here. You do all this while crammed into a closet-sized space, with tweezers in one hand and a fish fillet in the other. This is the trench.

So, what’s it like to go from an oyster slurping, pork braising, cheese grating, cream swilling chef and eater to one that’s not?

It’s incredibly easy and hard at the same time.

For the most part, V-month was FABULOUS. Much better than the time I tried to drink Soylent for a week. Unlike Soylent week, which was mindnumbingly boring, I’ve had tons of room to experiment with new foods and flavors.

(With apologies to Edvard Munch)

At this time of the year, the produce aisle at the Food Coop is just bursting with color. Yellow tomatoes! Magenta beets! Purple broccoli! I’d been considering doing a series of meals using only ingredients of the same color. Then, a friend sent me this NPR article on art-inspired food. Presto! I decided to recreate “The Scream” in edible format. The results were quite palette-able, if I do say so myself.

I’ve been writing about what a tremendous struggle it is to fight boredom when you eat the same thing every meal, and how desperately I was craving something new (preferably greasy and cheesy). In reality though, all of the temptations I’d encountered in social situations during the week paled in comparison to what I faced yesterday, and in the end, the person who finally broke my Soylent fast had no idea that he’d done it.

Photo: Traci Cappiello

It’s day 4 of Soylent week, so I’m over halfway through the experiment. Last time, I posted in a state of relative euphoria over my newfound productivity gains. Let me tell you, the closer you fly to the sun, the harder you crash into the ground.

On day 2, social obligations kicked in again. I went to an event with free food and drinks, and turned everything down. I met with old friends and tried not to stare at their sandwiches. I met with new friends who kept offering beer, and explained that yes, I do drink, just not today, and no, I don’t have a problem with alcoholism, I swear. I met someone for the first time and casually asked if they were familiar with Soylent, and they said that it sounded like a terrible, ridiculous idea.

One day and three meals into Soylent week and I have to say it’s been awesome.

Last night, I made a week-long batch of Soylent. For 21 or so meals, my food will come from this container. It’s a little weird for me to eat shelf-stable food (aside from the milk), and probably the first time I’ve “cooked” a meal that’s intentionally not seasonal.

Last month, the New Yorker published a piece on Soylent, a shelf-stable powder that can be mixed with water to become a meal replacement. “The End of Food,” the headline screamed, “Has a tech entrepreneur come up with a product to replace our meals?” Unlike Slim Fast and similar products, Soylent claims to be nutritionally complete, the only thing you’ll need to eat (er, drink) for the rest of your life (which hopefully will not be shortened due to diet). Also, it was invented by a bunch of young engineers who subsequently launched a successful Kickstarter campaign to manufacture Soylent for the masses. $755,000 later, we are that much closer to a humanity that doesn’t have to think about food ever again. This despite a name that was intentionally chosen for dark humor.

Image: designlovefest

Ever since I subscribed to The Flight Deal, there’s been a constant stream of cheap flights that drop in and tantalize me with dreams of kicking off and leaving the country on a whim. Well, I was finally in the right frame of mind when I saw direct flights from New York to Stockholm through Norwegian Air for just €282 (approximately $384). Given that I’ve paid more to get to the West Coast, going to Europe for a long weekend was sounding like a pretty good proposition.

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.