L.A. Son
Page 21
SERVES 4
Four 6-ounce boneless, skinless chicken breasts, pounded between 2 sheets of plastic wrap until ¼ inch thick
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons minced shallot
¼ cup capers packed in brine
¼ cup brine from caper jar
¼ cup white wine
Juice of 3 lemons
3 tablespoons heavy cream
½ cup chopped fresh parsley, plus a little more for garnish
2 tablespoons butter
Preheat the oven to 350°F and heat a large sauté pan over medium-high heat for 1 minute.
Season the chicken breasts on both sides with salt and pepper.
Add 2 tablespoons of the olive oil to the pan and sear each side of the chicken breasts, getting good color on each side, about 3 minutes per side. You can do this 2 chicken pieces at a time, being careful not to crowd the pan. When nicely seared, transfer the chicken to a wire rack on a cookie sheet. When all the chicken is seared, place the cookie sheet in the oven until the chicken is cooked through, 4 to 6 minutes.
In the same pan you used to sear the chicken, heat the remaining tablespoon of oil and, over medium heat, cook the shallot just until it starts to color. Quickly add the capers, their juice, and the white wine, moving everything around constantly with a wooden spoon for 1 minute.
Throw in the lemon juice and the heavy cream. Swirl this sauce around for 1 minute; don’t reduce it too much.
Taste and adjust the seasoning. Add the chopped parsley and a knob of butter. Swirl the pan vigorously until the sauce has a smooth, velvety texture. It should be loose but viscous.
Remove the chicken from the oven and plate each breast. Pour the sauce over each breast, top with more chopped parsley, and eat.
MANGIA OR MANIA—
YOU DECIDE.
FRIED RIBS. WHAT?!
* * *
Who fries ribs? Me, that’s who. I first thought of frying ribs when I was at the Embassy Suites in Sacramento; they got rave reviews in the local paper. So I’ve fried ribs, and now you will, too.
SERVES 4 TO 6
BRAISE LIQUID
10 cups water
½ cup garlic cloves, peeled
½ cup chopped peeled fresh ginger
½ onion, chopped
½ cup fresh cilantro stems
1½ teaspoons black peppercorns
½ cup natural rice vinegar (not seasoned)
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon sugar
10 cups water
RIBS
2½ pounds baby back ribs, rinsed and scored
2 quarts vegetable oil
SAUCE
½ cup hoisin sauce
¼ cup oyster sauce
½ cup chili garlic sauce
½ cup Chinese black bean sauce
1 cup fresh orange juice
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
¾ cup water
2 tablespoons Sriracha
1½ tablespoons Chinese mustard powder
1 tablespoon brown sugar
GARNISH
Scallions sliced on a bias
Roasted sesame seeds
ONE DAY AHEAD
In a big pot over high heat, combine all the braise ingredients. Bring the braise to a boil, then add the rack of ribs, making sure the ribs are completely submerged in the water. If the ribs don’t fit in your pot, cut them into 2 racks. Reduce the heat and simmer the ribs in the brine for 1 hour. Pull out the ribs and place them on a wire rack on a sheet pan. Allow the ribs to come to room temperature and then transfer them to the refrigerator and leave them there, uncovered, overnight. Discard the brine.
THE NEXT DAY
In a big bowl, combine all the sauce ingredients and give them a good whisk.
Heat the vegetable oil to 350°F in a deep fryer or in a large, deep pot. Cut the ribs into individual portions. In batches (so the oil maintains its temperature), fry ’em until the outside gets crispy and develops a deep golden brown color. Pull them out, drain on a paper-towel-lined plate or cookie sheet, and immediately toss with the sauce—enough to generously coat the ribs.
Put the ribs on a plate and garnish with the scallions and a shower of roasted sesame seeds.
YOU’LL HAVE
STICKY FINGERS.
FRENCH ONION SOUP
* * *
French onion soup was one of my first big lessons in becoming a chef: having the patience to let the onions caramelize just right, understanding the need for great stock, learning the importance of balance and seasoning. Over time, this became one of my signature dishes during my hotel days, and I started to develop my own philosophies and put my own touches on it. My dad was on a Calvados kick for a while, so I knew a lot about this apple brandy and used it instead of more traditional cognac or sherry to really kick up the flavors. Make sure the cheese is nice and brown on top.
SERVES 4 TO 6
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2 yellow onions, sliced
2 red onions, sliced
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 cups Calvados or any brandy
2 quarts veal stock or beef stock
2 quarts chicken stock
½ loaf French bread, cut into ⅓-inch-thick slices, doused in olive oil, then toasted in 300°F oven until golden brown to make croutons
8 to 10 slices Gruyère cheese
Set a big pot over medium heat and add the oil. Add the sliced onions and swirl them around until they start to caramelize, about 6 minutes. Season them liberally with salt and pepper.
Reduce the heat to medium-low and let the onions cook for about an hour, stirring occasionally. When the onions are really jammy, turn up the heat to high, deglaze the pot with the Calvados, and cook until the brandy is absorbed by the onions and reduced by at least half. Add the stocks, bring to a boil, and then lower the heat and simmer for an hour.
Season to taste again.
Pour the soup into ovenproof crocks and top with croutons and cheese. Broil those crocks for 4 minutes or until they’re bubbly and brown.
LOVE.
CAESAR SALAD
* * *
Yes, it’s everywhere, but this one is really good, I swear. Don’t omit the shaved Parmesan—the salad won’t taste complete until you add it at the end.
Leftover dressing will keep in your refrigerator for up to 5 days.
SERVES 8
DRESSING
3 tablespoons chopped garlic
2 tablespoons chopped anchovies
3 large egg yolks
¾ teaspoon dry mustard
1½ teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
1 cup plus 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
½ cup fresh lemon juice
2 cups mayonnaise
2½ tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons pureed onion
1 tablespoon water
Good pinch of salt
SALAD
8 romaine hearts, separated into leaves
2 cups shaved Parmesan cheese
1 lemon
Cracked black pepper
Combine all the dressing ingredients in a blender and puree.
Toss the romaine leaves with the dressing, coating with liberal intent.
Plate the leaves and shower each plate with Parmesan, a light squeeze of lemon, and big twists of cracked black pepper from the peppermill.
BE GENEROUS.
THIS IS NOT A TIME
FOR RESTRAINT.
MUSHROOM QUESADILLA
* * *
This was one of my hit dishes at the Embassy Suites, and to this day people trip out when they see it. They say, mushrooms in a quesadilla? And I say, yes, mushrooms in a quesadilla, foo; don’t trip, just try it. Then they try it and say, Wow! Mushrooms in a quesadilla!!
If you can, splurge on this one and get the fancy mushrooms. It’s not like
you are gonna do yourself any favors by not going for it. If you’re not going to go for it, just don’t make it. If you splurge, that simple thing will change your life.
SERVES 4 TO 6
1 cup chanterelle mushrooms
1 cup blue foot mushrooms
1 cup hedgehog mushrooms
About 1 cup extra virgin olive oil
1½ teaspoons kosher salt
1½ teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
Four to six 10-inch flour tortillas
2 cups shredded cheddar cheese
SALSA
Salsa verde
GARNISHES (OPTIONAL)
Fresh white or black truffles
Lime, quartered
Trim and slice the mushrooms and toss them into a bowl with 4 tablespoons of the oil, the salt, and the pepper.
In a large sauté pan over high heat, add 6 tablespoons of the oil, and when it starts to smoke, add half the mushrooms or however many will fit in a single layer. Take your time and do it in stages if all of the mushrooms don’t fit—if you crowd the pan, the mushrooms will steam instead of caramelizing beautifully. When the mushrooms start to caramelize, after about 6 minutes, transfer them to a wire rack on a sheet pan; then repeat for the remaining mushrooms.
Wipe out the pan or use a griddle, and add just a dab of oil. Heat it just until it starts to smoke. Place a tortilla in the pan and smother it with cheese. Layer the mushrooms over the cheese and continue to cook until the cheese melts and/or the bottom of the tortilla gets crispy and golden brown.
Place another tortilla on top of the cheese and mushrooms and flip.
Add a touch more oil on the fresh tortilla, swirl it around the pan, and cook until crispy.
Remove. Cut. Smother with salsa. Add a squeeze of lime if you like.
Shave truffles.
Eat.
BROILED HALIBUT WITH SOY GLAZE
* * *
When I was in Japan, I learned how to make a dashi and how to use that dashi with soy to turn it into a sauce and to use it as a glaze. And while I learned how to cook fish at Le Bernardin, my time at Kaishoku Michiba really solidified all the lessons I learned on how to cook fish just right. This is a simple dish that reflects those lessons—pay attention, stay focused, and you will cook fish the right way each time.
SERVES 4 TO 6
4 to 6 halibut fillets
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Extra virgin olive oil
Softened butter
2 cups Splash
Minced fresh chives for garnish
Preheat the broiler to high and the oven to 350°F (if your oven won’t let you use the broiler and the oven at the same time, preheat the broiler first, then turn on your oven after you’re done with the broiler).
Season the halibut fillets with salt and pepper on both sides, then dab with oil and smear butter over the top. Place them on a baking sheet lined with aluminum foil and place just under the broiler. You need to watch them now—the fish needs your attention. Keep them there until the tops become nice and deep golden brown, anywhere between 4 and 6 minutes. Move them around as necessary for even cooking.
When it’s beautiful on top, transfer the fish to the oven just for a few minutes, until it’s translucent in the center.
Meanwhile, reduce the Splash in a pot until it’s semiviscous.
Remove the halibut from the oven and glaze it with the Splash. Garnish with minced chives.
Enjoy.
CHAPTER 11
FISH SAUCE
Eight P.M. on a Tuesday night sometime around January 2008 in the dining room of the Beverly Hilton. Room service was cruising along, most of the managers had gone home for the night, there were no major celebrities unexpectedly popping by, nobody trying to escape through our kitchen. A slow night.
I was in the middle of a twelve-hour shift, walking the back hallway toward the huge walk-ins, when my phone rang. A recruiter. Apparently, there was a “major” restaurant project—involving Southeast Asian cuisine—in the works, from a “major” player in the food industry. The recruiter was looking for someone to help spearhead this “major” restaurant. If I said I was interested, then I could hear more details on what “major” meant and who “major” was.
At any other moment, I probably would have said no outright, hung up the phone, and finished out my service. I had built a career as a hotel chef. I was at the base camp of the profession, climbing the mountain of a worldwide brand and leader in the hotel industry. And I was now father to a beautiful girl, and the job was good security. Just wait a few more years, I told myself, and I’d be the executive chef of a Four Seasons or a Ritz-Carlton. Why ditch almost ten years of work to hop on a dragon that would take me to Southeast Asia?
On top of that, outside my Tokyo summer, I had purposely avoided working in the kitchen of an Asian restaurant. I thought I was proving something to the world by being the Asian chef who never cooked Asian food.
But constantly being caught in the internal politics of the Hilton was taking a toll, and frustration was giving way to misery. And misery has a way of bringing out your desires and forcing you to admit certain truths about yourself. Even if I resisted cooking Asian food professionally, I always dreamed of Thailand and Vietnam, fantasized that I was from Indonesia as I smoked Endo weed. Thai basil, galangal, ginger, tamarind, kaffir lime, fish sauce, chiles, the abalone porridge and kimchi that were waiting for me every morning back at home. Those were all things I loved to smell and loved to eat.
Maybe it was time for me to fess up to myself, stop trying to swim against the tide at the Hilton, and just take the plunge already. I scooted outside to the back dock and told her I was interested.
The “majors” all of a sudden had names: David Overton, the founder of the Cheesecake Factory, had plans to open an Asian concept restaurant, RockSugar, that would explore the countries of Singapore, Vietnam, Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia, and East India. It would be a magnificent restaurant that departed from the Factory’s current corporate identity while creating a brand-new landscape for Asian food. Rather than promoting from within, they wanted to start completely fresh with new chefs and new staff. Mohan Ismail, the Singaporean chef who had opened Spice Market and Tabla, was the corporate executive chef, and they were now looking for a chef de cuisine, which was where I came in. How about it?
Compared to the chug chug chug of the Hilton, this new “major” concept seemed like a speedboat across the Chao Phraya River in Bangkok. I’d jump from drab fluorescent hallways filled with hotel industry “lifers” into a pool of spectacular vibrancy. Splash! And so I decided it was finally time to taste the rainbow. I told the recruiter to schedule a phone interview and a psychological screening that tested whether I’d be a good fit for the job. Both went well, and I had just one person left to meet: the man himself, David Overton. From my apartment in Hollywood, it was an easy drive up Highland to the 101 Freeway, past the Hollywood Bowl and then over the dangerous interchange near Universal Studios, where the 101 meets the 170. Then through the Valley and on and on for an hour until I finally found the Lost Hills exit and made my way to the Cheesecake Factory’s corporate headquarters in Calabasas Hills. I pulled up to the huge building, parked, turned off my talk radio, took a deep breath, and went in.
I was sent upstairs to meet Mr. Overton. As I went up up up the huge set of stairs, I felt like Kung Fu Panda, taking one fateful step after another, ready to tackle my destiny even if I didn’t have a clue about what to expect. Along the walls, models of the mysterious Asian restaurant project and posters of signature Cheesecake Factory dishes were displayed like proud family portraits. After a few flights, I finally reached the center of the cheesecake. Mr. Overton’s kind assistant walked me into a tranquil office full of books and Buddhas.
David Overton greeted me with huge, open arms and then sat me down. A true gentleman, he made our meeting less of an interview and more of a long conversation. He told me about his travels through Asia, how he ha
d studied Buddha and Shiva, and his vision for a huge restaurant filled with the soul of Southeast Asia. We went over my résumé and talked about how I wanted to cook the foods of the countries that peppered my dreams.
After talking for over an hour, it was time for a walk. We went downstairs, and I met all the players on the team: Chef Mohan Ismail, who talks fast and works faster. Chef Robert Okura, whom I had read about in culinary school and who had helped develop the foundation of the Cheesecake Factory. A few vice presidents here and there. We made our way down to the test kitchen, a true training, research, and development HQ for Chef Maxwell Smart, et al. I was impressed. After exploring the kitchen, we reached the end of the tour. Right then and there, Mr. Overton turned to me and offered me the job. No need to talk to anyone else, no waiting for months, no runaround. We shook hands, and it was a done deal.
I drove straight back to the Hilton and put in my notice. I thought leaving there would be bittersweet, but it wasn’t bitter or sweet. In fact, it wasn’t really anything. And that’s when I realized that even though I had worked so hard to get to that celebrity palace, it really meant nothing to me. I was a cog in the machine, a replaceable part. And that was okay. In fact, it made for the easiest good-bye I had ever had: at every other place—Borrego Springs, Tahoe, Tokyo, Sacramento—it was like the end of Lord of the Rings 3, a neverending scene of farewells and good-byes and hugs and kisses. Quitting the Beverly Hilton, though, was simple. Hasta la vista, baby.
THREE MONTHS. I had just three months in the RockSugar test kitchen to get up to speed on a project that had been in development for two years. My job there was to be Chef Ismail’s chef de cuisine, the Number One to his Jean-Luc Picard. We hit it off pretty good right off the bat, and I got to work understanding his ideology and style. He had spent the last few years developing key flavors built around his mother’s cooking, matching them with the strong technique he had learned from Floyd Cardoz at Tabla and from Gray Kunz and Jean-Georges Vongerichten at Spice Market. And what he created for RockSugar blew my mind: braised short ribs with lemongrass, Malaysian chile sauces, gentle sambals, clay pot chickens, and shaking beef. Savory caramel sauces and stocks for ph. Everything with fresh herbs and quality spices that were always, always freshly ground. In total, eighty to ninety dishes would comprise the final menu, a huge number.