by Roy Choi
½ cup apple juice
4 cups water
4 pounds short ribs, soaked in cold water in the refrigerator overnight
VEGETABLES
8 ounces shiitake mushrooms, stems discarded
1 cup jarred chestnuts, peeled
1 cup cubed taro
1 cup carrots in large dice
1 cup cubed butternut squash
In a blender or food processor, combine all the ingredients for the sauce except 3 cups of water and puree. Add the pureed sauce, plus the remaining 3 cups water, to a large pot, stir, and bring to a boil.
Meanwhile, remove the soaked ribs from the fridge, drain, rinse, and drain again. Score the ribs across the top of the meat in diagonal slashes. When the sauce has come to a boil, add the ribs. Lower the heat to a simmer and cover the pot.
Let the sauce and the ribs cook for at least 2 hours over low heat, then add the vegetables, replace the cover, and simmer for another 30 minutes or so, until the meat is tender and the vegetables are cooked but retain their integrity.
Serve with rice.
SHARE IF YOU WISH.
SOYBEAN PASTE STEW
* * *
My mom’s bowls and bowls of stews were what put meat back on my bones after I lost everything. The soybean paste stew was especially comforting: there could be nothing easier, yet nothing more satisfying. Just add some paste to a stock, swirl, add veggies and tofu, boil it all, eat it all. It’ll make you rethink everything in your life.
SERVES 4 TO 6
1 pound beef brisket, cut into small chunks
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 tablespoon minced scallions
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1 tablespoon sliced jalapeño pepper, seeds and all
¼ cup sliced white or yellow onion
1 teaspoon Asian sesame oil
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
3 cups beef stock or anchovy stock
2 cups water
¾ cup Korean soybean paste (doenjang)
½ cup shiitake mushrooms, stems discarded
1 cup diced firm tofu
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
In a large bowl, mix the brisket with the soy sauce, scallions, garlic, jalapeño, onion, and sesame oil.
Heat a large soup pot over medium-high heat. Add the vegetable oil and when it begins to smoke, add the brisket mixture. Cook the meat until it browns, about 4 minutes, and you can start to smell its deliciousness. At that point, add the stock and water, the soybean paste, stirring to dissolve it, and the shiitake mushrooms. Bring it all to a boil, then reduce the heat to a simmer and let the mixture simmer, uncovered, for 20 minutes.
Add the tofu and stir gently. Simmer for 20 minutes, then turn off the heat. Add salt and pepper to taste. Serve with a bowl of rice and some kimchi.
JUST ANOTHER
EVERYDAY MEAL.
SPICY OCTOPUS
* * *
Nothing says Korean bar food more than spicy sautéed octopus or squid. The plate is always huge, the flavors are always over the top, it’s always piping hot, and you’re always drunk. Is there any other way to eat a meal?
SERVES 2
SAUCE
½ white or yellow onion, peeled
½ Asian pear, peeled, halved, and cored
½ cup kochujang
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon sugar
2 tablespoons chopped garlic
2 tablespoons natural rice vinegar (not seasoned)
2 tablespoons sesame seeds
½ cup water
OCTOPUS
8 ounces baby octopus or squid, cleaned
¼ cup vegetable oil
½ cup scallions in 2-inch batons sticks
¼ cup thinly sliced onion
¼ cup thinly sliced red bell pepper
In a blender, combine all the ingredients for the sauce and puree. Set aside.
Put the octopus in a pot and pour in enough water to cover. Bring it to a boil, then simmer the octopus, uncovered, for about 1½ hours, or until extremely tender. Drain and let it cool for 1 hour at room temperature.
Heat a large pan or wok over high heat. Add the vegetable oil and, when it begins to smoke, add the octopus and get a nice char—this should take about 3 minutes. Immediately add the vegetables and toss for about a minute, until everything is slightly cooked and the vegetables are wilted.
Add the sauce and bring it all together, then turn off the heat and scoop the octopus into a big bowl.
EAT EAT EAT.
KOREAN STAINED-GLASS FRIED CHICKEN
* * *
Koreans drink beer. And when we drink beer in Koreatown, we eat fried chicken. Chicken and beer. Sonny and Cher. Ashford and Simpson. But unlike American fried chicken, ours has no flour, no buttermilk, no coating. It is just a skin that cracks like glass and a saltiness that makes you wanna drink more . . . beer.
SERVES 4
BRINE
1½ gallons water
½ cup kosher salt
1 tablespoon black peppercorns
¼ cup sugar
3 garlic cloves, peeled and smashed
¼ cup chopped peeled fresh ginger
Juice of 1 lemon
Juice of 1 lime
Juice of 1 orange
½ cup natural rice vinegar (not seasoned)
4 cups beer—whatever’s in your fridge
1 cup whole milk
CHICKEN
1 whole chicken, approximately 4 pounds
2 quarts vegetable oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
In a pot large enough to hold 1½ gallons of liquid and all the chicken pieces, combine the ingredients for the brine and cook over high heat for 20 minutes. Drain the brine through a sieve, discarding the solids, return the brine to the pot, and chill it for several hours until cold.
Add the chicken to the chilled brine and soak it overnight.
The next day, remove the chicken from the brine, rinse it in cold water to discard any milk solids, and place on a rack over a sheet pan to dry on your counter for 2 hours, or until it’s completely dry.
When you’re ready, add the oil to a large, deep pot and heat it to 350°F, or dip a piece of the chicken in the oil—if the oil sizzles, it’s ready.
Fry the chicken until each piece is golden brown all over and cooked through, about 10 to 12 minutes.
Transfer the chicken to a paper-towel-lined plate or baking sheet to drain, then season with salt and pepper. The skin should crackle and pop.
Enjoy immediately with some kimchi.
YUZU GLAZED SHRIMP OVER EGG FRIED RICE
* * *
This recipe pretty much sums me up during this chapter of my life: some old habits left over from my youth combined with the gentle, delicate change that was just waiting to happen. And so: egg fried rice—nothing more simple or comforting—combined with beautiful fresh prawns, lightly cooked, then glazed with yuzu.
SERVES 4
GLAZE
1 teaspoon yuzu kosho pepper paste
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
1 tablespoon fresh orange juice
¾ cup water
RICE
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 cups day-old cooked rice
2 tablespoons soy sauce
2 tablespoons Asian sesame oil
1 egg
SHRIMP
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 pound large shrimp (16 to 20 count), deveined
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon butter
Combine the ingredients for the glaze in a small bowl and stir to dissolve.
Heat a large pan or wok over high heat and add 2 tablespoons vegetable oil. Throw in the rice and heat it up, moving it all around until it becomes crispy.
Add the soy sauce and sesame oil and mix to incorporate. Crack in the egg and mix it all around for a minute. Scoop the rice into a bowl and rinse the pan.
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br /> Return the pan to the stove and heat it up on high. Add the 2 tablespoons oil.
Season the shrimp with salt and pepper and, working in batches, sear them on 1 side for about 30 seconds. Then, and only then, turn them over to the other side and cook for another 30 seconds. Remove to a plate and repeat for the remaining shrimp.
Return all the cooked shrimp to the pan, and pour the glaze over the shrimp and let it slightly reduce for just a few seconds. Turn off the heat and fold in the knob of butter.
Pour over the rice and CHOW DOWN.
HIBACHI STEAK TEPPANYAKI
* * *
Before I became a chef, I thought being a chef meant what they did at Benihana. Fire, spatulas, funny hat, shrimp in the pocket, salt and pepper mills shaking up rhythms to the music. I loved the show, and I loved the steak. I spent many birthdays and special occasions at a teppanyaki grill and even worked at one once, cleaning the griddle after the show. No matter where I go as a chef, that hibachi steak, and the whole show that goes with it, goes with me.
SERVES 4
MARINADE
½ cup roughly chopped scallions
1 cup soy sauce
¼ cup chopped peeled fresh ginger
½ white or yellow onion, peeled
½ cup garlic cloves, peeled
1 cup water
½ cup sugar
¼ cup soy sauce
½ cup mirin
½ cup fresh orange juice
½ cup apple juice
½ cup natural rice vinegar (not seasoned)
1 jalapeño pepper
3 shiso leaves
1 tablespoon roasted sesame seeds
STEAK
¼ cup vegetable oil
1 pound skirt steak, pounded ⅛ inch thick and cut into 3-inch squares
1 cup thinly sliced onion
1 cup thinly sliced scallions, cut on a bias
1 tablespoon butter
ONE DAY AHEAD
In a blender or food processor, combine all the ingredients for the marinade and puree.
Combine the steak and the marinade in a large resealable plastic bag and let it marinate overnight in the fridge.
THE NEXT DAY
Heat a large pan over medium-high heat and add the oil. Meanwhile, remove the steak from the plastic bag and reserve the marinade. Add the steak to the pan and sear on both sides. Add the onion and scallions and sauté everything for 2 minutes.
Deglaze the pan with as much or as little of the leftover marinade as you wish. Toss in the butter and swirl.
Enjoy immediately with some rice. Or on a toasted roll.
OR FROM YOUR FINGERS LIKE
MARK ANTONY ATE GRAPES.
GUMBO
* * *
This one’s a hat tip to Emeril. My life was as fucked up and twisted and murky as a pot of gumbo, and Emeril saved me that day and didn’t even know it! Gumbo to me smells and feels and tastes like the cultures that developed it—the strength, the wisdom, just pure soul.
Filé powder is a thickener sometimes used to make gumbo; no sweat if you don’t have it on hand.
SERVES 6 TO 8
¼ cup vegetable oil
4 ounces andouille sausage, casing on, chopped
4 ounces dark chicken meat (legs and thighs), chopped
¼ onion, diced
¼ red, yellow, or green bell pepper, seeded and diced
2 stalks celery, diced
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 jalapeño pepper, seeded and minced
1 cup minced scallions
¼ cup sliced okra (use frozen okra if you can’t find fresh)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 cup canned diced tomatoes with juice
3 quarts chicken stock
2 bay leaves
4 ounces dark roux
2 cups rice, any kind
12 ounces shrimp, peeled, deveined, and chopped
1 teaspoon filé powder if you have it
Handful of chopped cilantro
Handful of chopped parsley
Juice of 1 lemon
Tabasco or other cayenne-based hot sauce
FOR THE ROUX
½ cup all-purpose flour
8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter
In a small pot over medium-low heat, melt the butter. Add the flour and cook gently, stirring periodically, until the roux turns a medium-dark brown. This may take 12 minutes. Remove from the heat and cool.
Heat a large pot over high heat for 1 minute, then add the oil. When the oil starts to smoke, add the sausage and chicken to the pot and sauté until you get a nice color on the meat, 3 to 4 minutes.
Add all the vegetables except for the tomatoes and season everything with salt and pepper to taste. Sauté the vegetables until you get a good color on them, about 5 minutes. Then add the tomatoes and cook for 2 more minutes.
Add the stock, bring it to a boil, and then add the bay leaves and cooled roux.
Whisk out any lumps, bring to a boil, reduce the heat to medium, and let it simmer, uncovered, for 20 minutes.
Reduce the heat to low, add the rice, and cook, uncovered, for 30 minutes.
About 5 minutes before the rice is ready, add the shrimp, filé powder if you have it, fresh herbs, and lemon juice, and season to taste again. Throw in a few splashes of Tabasco.
GUNG HO.
CHAPTER 9
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
Winter of 1996. Hyde Park, New York. The first day of culinary school.
A small crowd of kids and their parents—including me and mine—in front of a busy dorm room building, waiting for the resident adviser to arrive and hand out our key cards and room assignments. My family, putting their faith in me one more time, went coast to coast and crossed the country with me. We arrived in Hyde Park via Philly, where we stopped to see my dad’s old stomping grounds. We went up to the University of Pennsylvania to find the little sandwich shops where he worked as a janitor. He showed us his old bike route to and from ABC Studios when he worked for Dick Clark. We touched the Liberty Bell and saw the Declaration of Independence; we ate cheesesteaks in the cold, doing the Philly lean as Cheez Whiz dripped from our fingers. We continued up the coast and ventured through NYC as happy as we could be on our family trip, and then north through the mountains, up the Hudson River to Hyde Park, where naked branches jutted out from brown trees like witches’ brooms and the asphalt was covered in dusty black snow.
The dorms were our last stop together, me sitting on my luggage, all of us waiting for the first day of the rest of my life to begin. I turned to the guy nearest to me.
“Hey, I’m Roy. What’s up?”
“Oh, hey. I’m Rey, Rey Knight. Good to meet you.”
Rey Knight was a young kid from Las Vegas. In fact, as more people piled up at the doors, I realized that everyone was a young kid, somewhere between eighteen and twenty years old. At least six years above the average, I was the clear minority in the crowd. I was restarting college with a bunch of eighteen-year-old Rey Knights. This was going to be interesting.
THE RA FINALLY GOT THERE and handed out our room numbers. I headed inside, walked down a few long hallways, found my number, and opened the door. Dave Matthews was blaring as I walked in. The place was a fucking mess. Socks everywhere. I couldn’t see one bit of floor other than what was on the floor.
My program was on a year-round schedule, so students started every other month or so with alternating graduations. So not only was I sharing tight quarters, but my room was already occupied when I showed up. For some fucking reason, I had signed into a four-person room. Two bunk beds and four desks jammed into what was basically a ten-by-ten cinder-block cell. My new roommates were there, hanging out, plus a few more dudes from another dorm room. I don’t know if it happened that quickly or if my memory’s just hazy, but I don’t remember my family anymore after that. It’s almost as if they just said good luck and bounced, laughing like hyenas on their way out. I guess it was funny. A twenty
-six-going-on-twenty-seven-year-old, sleeping on a bunk bed in a dorm room, surrounded by incense, posters, dirty underwear, and guys not even old enough to drink.
Meanwhile, tucked away in one corner of the room like a caterpillar smoking a peace pipe was a young kid, coolly looking me up and down from under his golden locks. Once things settled down a bit, he grilled me, told me where I was allowed to lay my stuff, pointed to where I would be sleeping, and generally gave me the rundown of how this room “worked.” The other dudes nodded along and laughed at his jokes.
He was obviously the top dog, and as much as I already didn’t like him, it was way too early for me to challenge him. So I stayed silent and took it all in. Smiled and acted dumb. Made my way across the sea of socks and threw my luggage onto the stripped bunk. Moved to my desk and sank into my chair. Luckily, my desk faced the window, so I took a deep breath, let Dave Matthews, the guys, and the room slowly fade into the background, opened the blinds, and took in my new life. Outside, the majestic Hudson River flowed. Small tugboats broke through the lightly iced waters, and squirrels scurried for scarce snacks in the trees.
I wasn’t in Koreatown anymore. Everything was a blank white page.
I was ready to add some color to the scene. I swiveled around and said hello to the guys. It wasn’t their fault that they were just a bunch of college kids. It wasn’t their fault that this was their first time away from home and they were living it up. So I did what you do in Rome: I grabbed some dryer sheets from my luggage, went to the bathroom, and unrolled the toilet paper. Stuffed the cardboard tube full of Bounce and brought it out. Then, right in front of the guys, I pulled out some weed from another pocket of my luggage, took a monster hit, and blew the smoke through the tube. Flowers.
“Ahhhh, yeah, dude!” they yelled. I had broken bread with a bunch of baking students. We were all good. Except for me and the top dog, that is. He still eyed me carefully from his corner. I ignored him, passed the pipe around, and slipped out. I wanted to see what this campus was all about.