Sushi: The Official Food of One Block West

I love sushi and sashimi to no end. I love the artistry and the contrast of textures. I love the interaction with the chef at the sushi bar. I love sitting all day and eating little by little. I love urging the chef to create something novel. I love the spontaneous conversations with strangers at the sushi bar.

And as it turns out, you can find a large percentage of the One Block West staff at our favorite sushi bar on Sunday afternoons, when our favorite chef is behind the counter. And for our company Christmas party we had—you guessed it—sushi and just a wee little bit of Cava. Have you ever noticed how well sparkling wine goes with sushi?

My staff have more time to make the sushi bar than do I, mainly because I have to negotiate the maze of food likes and dislikes of my kids and my younger daughter will not countenance sushi. Sunday afternoons are the only time I get to spend with my daughters during the week and I'm not going without my kids. Yeah, this restaurant business is terrible like that.

Long story short, thirteen-year old daughter number one will try just about any food while ten-year old daughter number two has a list of dislikes that dwarfs her list of likes. Sound familiar? Last Sunday, daughter number two and a friend took off to the coffee shop for stale sandwiches, so daughter number one and I hit the sushi bar. I was going to call some servers to join me, but it was just barely 1pm, and they mainly don't get moving by that time of day on Sunday.

Let me digress a bit to explain how I selected this sushi bar.

My approach to any new sushi bar is the same. I walk up to the bar and greet the chef, all the while looking at the quality of the fish and the neatness of his station. I handle fish all day long, every day, so I can tell at a glance how fresh the fish is. If the bar and the chef pass the 30-second visual test, I will sit down and order. Otherwise, I will sit at a table, order some soba and never return.

Once at the bar, I ask for a single order of maguro (tuna). This is a test of two things: the quality of the tuna, naturally, but more importantly, the quality of the rice. So many places slack on the rice, figuring that gaijin can't tell the difference. If the maguro and rice do not pass muster, I order a bowl of soba and a beer from the server and call it a day.

Once beyond the maguro test, I order the saba (mackerel). I am looking to see if the chef pickles his own mackerel or whether he buys it already pickled. If this is successful, I move on to ordering tamagoyaki or tamago, the acid test of a chef's skill.

Like making a western omelet, making a Japanese omelet takes skill and practice. Anyone can make an omelet, but it takes a lot of experience to make a perfect omelet. I'm looking first to see if the tamago is made in house and then how well cooked it is. It should be just set with no browning. The seasoning should be just so. Often tamago is too sweet. And the layers should be tightly rolled.

Once the tamago hurdle is passed, the sushi chef knows that I know exactly what I am doing and I know that he knows exactly what he is doing. We're at a point of mutual respect. Next, I invite the chef to serve me what he will, asking for omakase onegaishimasu, literally asking him for the favor of entrusting myself to him. I also tell him that when I am ready to stop eating, I will order uni (sea urchin roe) as my "dessert." That way, he does not have to guess when I am finished.

From that first visit on, I never order again. After greeting the chef, I sit down and the food starts coming until I ask for the uni. Which is precisely what happened this past Sunday when my daughter and I sat down.

The first dish we were served was a plate of beautiful hamachi (yellowtail or kingfish, but most commonly called hamachi). I noticed immediately that we were favored with four slices of loin and four slices of beautiful belly, the prime real estate on most fish, the so-called toro.

I managed to eat one slice of each before starting to look through a knife catalog with one of the other chefs. I'm considering purchasing a yanagi (a sashimi knife) and boning up on my sushi skills, mostly out of professional curiosity.

When I turned back around to get another slice of sashimi, I found that sushi monster daughter number one had struck. The plate was bare. Although I pretended to be mad that she ate all the toro hamachi, secretly I was very pleased because this is only her third experience and previously, she had limited herself primarily to tuna and various less palate challenging maki. We went on to enjoy a two and a half hour lunch.

Afterwards, she said, "Tuna is still my favorite, then comes hamachi." But after a second of pondering that she said, "No, hamachi collar is my second favorite, then hamachi." Hamachi collar is the deep fried neck of the fish, an outstanding treat.

Even though I love sushi and spending time with my kids, there is something more sinister at play here. Deep down in my meanest core, I'm just preparing my daughter to be the most expensive date that little SOB down the street ever had. Kid, if you want to take my daughter out, you'd better man up and eat some sashimi and you'd better bring a couple of C notes with you while you're at it! You don't think she's paying, do you?

Veal Brisket with Vietnamese Spices

I'm doing a little recipe development for my veal supplier using brisket, a cut that's unfamiliar to customers and chefs alike. My inspiration for this recipe is Pho Hanoi, awesome rice noodle and beef soup from North Vietnam. I've recently commented how much I like soup and I was craving a big bowl of this soup when I was ready to start cooking the briskets.

Customer reception was uniformly positive, one customer stating, "That may have been the best veal I ever had."

This is a recipe for chefs; you'll want to scale this down for home use and no doubt, you'll need to substitute beef brisket for veal, unless you have a really good butcher shop. Also, the techniques and presentation are for restaurants: you can either mimic them or not as you see fit.

Veal Brisket with Vietnamese Spices

For 20-24 portions:
4 Le Québécois veal point end briskets (about 16 pounds)
vegetable oil
1/2 cup white sugar
1 cup soy sauce
water
1 bunch green onions
1/2 bunch cilantro, with roots if possible
1 yellow onion, sliced
4 stalks lemongrass, roughly chopped
16 star anise pods
2 teaspoons ground black pepper
2 cinnamon sticks
3 inch section ginger, sliced
2 Thai chiles

Method
1. Heat a braising pan over high flame, film with vegetable oil, and sear hard both sides of each brisket, being careful not to burn the fond.

2. Remove briskets from pan and pour off oil.

3. Add sugar to pan and cook to light caramel.

4. Deglaze with soy sauce and a quart of water.

5. Add the remaining ingredients to the pan and place the briskets over.

6. Add water to come about half way up the briskets.

7. Cover and braise until tender, 4-6 hours.

8. Remove meat to a hotel pan and chill.

9. Pass the stock through a chinois and defat. Reserve stock for service.

Garnish
20-24 large cipollini onions, roasted
60-72 green onions, cleaned and trimmed at about 6-8 inches long
hoisin sauce, in a squeeze bottle
star anise pods
reserved stock

Assembly
1. Slice a portion of veal (three slices about 3/8" thick, about 8 ounces) across the grain.

2. Reheat 4 ounces of reserved stock in a sauté pan.

3. Add three green onions, a cipollino, a squirt of hoisin sauce, and the veal to the stock.

4. Depending on the saltiness of the stock, lightly season the veal.

5. Finish in a hot oven, turning the veal once, until the green onions are cooked and everything is hot.

6. Reduce the stock over high flame as desired.

Plate Up
1. Fan the three slices of veal in the well of a large soup plate.

2. Garnish the top of the fan with the cipollino.

3. Drape the green onions over.

4. Place a whole star anise pod on top of the cipollino.

5. Broth over all.

6. Zigzag with hoisin.

What a Send Off!

Last night, Saturday the 26th, was our final dinner service before we close for our annual spring holiday during the week of the Shenandoah Apple Blossom Festival. Each year, the city shuts off car traffic on the streets surrounding the restaurant early Thursday evening and for the parades Friday and Saturday. Because we are a block west of the pedestrian mall, our traffic is nil for our three biggest nights of the week. So, we close, deep clean and repair the restaurant, play a little golf, eat out at other restaurants, and join in the bacchanalia that is Apple Blossom.

And Apple Blossom generally cannot arrive soon enough, given that our last day off would have been for our annual summer vacation in August. In short, we're exhausted and happy to get the final dinner service behind us and to kick off our week without customers. And what a send off we got last night!

Dinner service was truly nuts. The first ticket hit the kitchen at 5:00PM sharp, the first table having arrived 10 minutes early.* And for the next four and a half hours, the tickets were relentless.

*It's not good form to show up at a restaurant before opening hours. We generally keep the front door locked so that we can finish our server briefing before customers come in, but we left the door unlocked last night so as not to strand early arrivers outside in the pouring rain.

To put things in perspective, we only have 18 tables inside and at most times, we were cooking for no fewer than seven or eight of them, all night long. Fortunately and because of the incredible August-like thundershowers and downpours, we were only seating inside, so the twelve outside tables were missing from the mix. That would have been sheer chaos on top of chaos.

To compound matters, 90 percent of the entrée mix was on my station, the sauté station. When we plan a menu, we try to balance the dishes so that if they are ordered randomly, the dishes will divide equally among all the stations in the kitchen, balancing the work load among all the chefs. Not so last night. I got hammered all night long. Truth be told, I live for that, but at the end of a long, long week, I was exhausted. I kid you not that I was beat by the time the last entrée left the kitchen at 10:15.

But, it was a hell of a send off into our week of vacation!

OBW Employee Arrested for GWI

Winchester, VA—One Block West sous chef Brandon Comer was allegedly detained by security personnel at the Old Town Wine and Fine Arts Festival and charged with GWI, Grilling While Intoxicated. A source close to the Shenandoah Apple Blossom Festival indicated that Mr. Comer was observed making frequent trips to nearby wine vendors' stands, fraternizing with female customers, and operating his grill in a manner consistent with GWI. Chef Ed Matthews refused to comment on the allegations, but remarked that "having fun while we work is inconsistent with running a serious restaurant."

Thanks to all our customers who braved the heat and thunderstorms to come support us and Old Town at the wine festival! And, here's to a little GWI with friends!

Terrific Tapas Dinner

Last night, we hosted our monthly wine dinner, this month featuring the wines of Spain along with tapas. I've never worked on such a short deadline before. I finally tasted the wines two days before the event and then threw together a really quick menu, one that customers were apparently pretty happy with. It's a shame that we were too slammed—we were full, in addition to the wine dinner—to get photos of the plates.


Mussels with Parsley and Garlic; Mayonesa Verde
Shrimp in Escabeche on Rustic Olive Bread
Cavas Castillo de Perelada Blanc Pescador NV

The Blanc Pescador is a delicious, slightly sparkling vino de aguja that is a slam dunk with shellfish. I cannot eat tapas without eating mussels, so I made this dish of marinated steamed mussels for me. After steaming the mussels, I reduced the mussel liquor with garlic and parsley, then used it as a base for a light vinaigrette. The green mayonnaise brought a fresh herbal quality to the dish.

Tapas, at least here in America, are no longer totally the province of Spain, witnessed by this classic Peruvian escabeche of shrimp, shrimp poached in a court bouillon and marinated in a red wine vinaigrette with sweated carrots and onions, oregano and parsley. I love cold seafood salads when the weather turns warm and the weather just turned warm.

Wild Mushroom Canapés
Tortilla Española with Porcini Mushrooms; Herbed Goat Cheese Mousse
Cavas Castillo de Perelada Tinto Crianza Empordà 2004

Originally, the wine distributor wanted to place this wine near the end of the tasting, but it is a very light-bodied red with black and red cherry fruit, reminding me of a Burgundy or Sangiovese in weight and texture. I detected a slight smoky note in the wine and thought to amplify this by pairing it with mushrooms.

Canapés are a classic tapas form. I sautéed a big batch of Yellowfoot Chanterelles with shallots and thyme and topped grilled slices of baguette. For the tortilla, I riffed on the traditional potato tortilla that you will find in every tapas bar in the world. In my reworking of the dish, I rehydrated dried porcini, then strained and reduced the porcini broth to a few tablespoonfuls. I mixed this broth in with the eggs and lots of fresh thyme. I built the tortillas by layering potatoes, porcini, thinly sliced yellow onion, and local Everona Dairy Piedmont sheep cheese.

Paella Cake; Pimentón Sauce
Piquillo Pepper Stuffed with Spicy Chickpea and Olive Salad
Finca El Paso Monastrell Jumilla 2005

This Monastrell is a full-bodied, fruity red that can stand up to pretty much any red wine food that you can throw at it. I thought that the fruit would like a little spice to play against, so I spiced up the Piquillos del Lodoso just a bit.

The best part of a paella is the socarrat, the crust at the bottom of the pan, so I devised a way many years ago to get lots more crust. I make a basic paella, without the large meat ingredients, bind it with eggs and grated sheep cheese, form it into cakes, and crisp both sides in a pan. The inside is creamy and the outside is crunchy: irresistible.

We are well known for stuffing piquillos—I say they are the world's best sweet red peppers—with just about everything imaginable. Customers had requested bacalao, salt cod, picadillo dulce de cordero, sweet and sour lamb, and just about everything in our repertoire. I wanted to do something that none of the regulars had tasted before and I needed to keep this course vegetarian, so I made a salad of chickpeas, red onion, and green olives dressed with pimentón, olive oil, garlic, and chile paste.

Grilled Banderilla of Potato, Olive & Chorizo; Picada
Albóndigas of Wild Boar Picadillo Dulce in Romesco Sauce
Ribas del Cúa Adras Roble 2004

The Adras is another full-bodied red, so I decided to throw some flavor its way. I've been making banderillas (anything on a small skewer, designed mainly to be eaten as a single bite) for years, but have only recently been designing banderillas to be grilled. These were a tiny local fingerling potato, a large queen olive, and a round of chorizo. The picada is a green sauce that I associate with the Basque regions of Spain (as opposed to France).

And here's the picadillo dulce that customers were clamoring for. The twist this time, wild boar rather than lamb, and rather than stuff it into piquillos, I formed it into traditional meatballs and slow-cooked them in romesco sauce, a roasted red pepper sauce. I wing my picadillo each time that I make it, but the basic idea is that ground meat is seasoned with garlic, herbs, onions, Poblano (green) chiles, sweet spices, almonds, white raisins, and made sweet and sour with brown sugar and apple cider vinegar.

Pinchitos Morunos of Wild Boar; Blood Orange Picada
Smoked Duck with Rioja Blood Orange Risotto
Finca La Emperatriz Rioja Crianza 2003

My first impression on tasting this Rioja was of orange peel, so I decided to emphasize that in the tapas. I boned out a boar shoulder, cut it into bite-sized cubes (pinchitos), and marinated it in various herbs, spices, blood orange zest, and olive oil. We then grilled little skewers of the pinchitos and drizzled them with a green sauce augmented with blood orange juice and zest.

The smoky flavors in the duck were a natural for this elegant and restrained wine. I used the same wine to make a risotto (yes, once very Italian, but increasingly well known throughout Spain) flavored with blood orange juice and zest. I actually had to add just a touch of sugar to tame the acid in the wine and orange juice. To serve, we placed a fan of duck breast down on the plate with a quenelle of risotto over.

Local Everona Dairy Piedmont Sheep Cheese; Dried Cherries; Membrillo
Cavas Castillo de Perelada Cava NV

With a sparkling wine coming last, I had to keep the sweetness down or the wine would come across sour. Here, I riffed on the classic French Basque brébis (sheep cheese) with black cherry jam. I didn't want the sweetness of the jam, so I substituted some perfectly balanced dried sour cherries, and then added a slice of quince paste for just a touch of earthy sweetness.

Fregola Sarda

"What is fregola sarda?"

In recent days, this is a frequently asked question in the dining room. Fregola, pronounced FREG-o-lah or FRAY-go-lah, is a tasty Sardinian pasta that we enjoy for its nutty flavor. As you can see in the picture, it fairly resembles Israeli couscous, another favorite pasta here at the restaurant.

But there are two big differences between the two pastas. In the photo, you can clearly see that fregola is not a consistent color. The pasta bits are toasted after they are dried, changing the color and more importantly, yielding that nutty flavor that is so addictive. The second difference is that fregola is made from coarse semolina, so it has a good bit more rustic character than more refined pastas such as Israeli couscous.

I'm still exploring the boundaries of what you can do with fregola. I do know that it works extremely well in soup, softening without becoming mushy. I also know that when I boil it until it is soft, about 25 minutes, I can make a hell of a flan with it by baking it in a savory custard base. Fregola flan makes a dramatic and sensuous base for grilled and roasted meats.

A natural thing to try is to cook it risotto style and I have done so with outstanding results. It makes a great pilaf, a great ersatz tabouleh, an unusual biryani, an off-the-wall posole, and so many other things. I even substituted it in clam chowder in place of potatoes—yum!

The way that we most use it here at the restaurant is to cook it, chill it, and reheat it at service with a little butter and Pecorino Romano cheese. It's hard to beat this as a neutral foil for a roast or grilled meat.

Available on the web and at retail for $5-$7 per pound and well worth it. Yes, pricey in terms of pasta, but you can stuff a family of four on fregola for $6, a bargain by almost any measure.

Rainy Day Soup

If April showers bring May flowers, May is looking in fine shape right now. Today, Sunday, is my day off and I was looking forward to a gorgeous day like we've been having all week when I was cooped up in the restaurant. Not to be.

In anticipation of nice weather, this morning I put on shorts and a golf shirt, but quickly went for a pullover to ward off the damp and chill. I almost want a fire. Despite the rain's intrusion on my day off, the sound of it dancing on the tin roof as I sit here and type is very calming and relaxing—or is that the glass of wine at work? I have just poured a glass of fantastic Linden Hardscrabble Chardonnay 2005. Jim, if you're reading this, thank you for this Meursault clone made right here in Virginia.

As soon as I went for the pullover this morning thinking of a fire, I knew it was a soup day. Do you love soup? I do. There is something so comforting about soup. Truly, I know why you customers come in to the restaurant and ask for soup at dinner, even though it is not on the menu. I just wish you'd buy it when I take the effort to put it on the menu.

I had to go down to the restaurant this morning to get about three hours of work out of the way before my wife and kids return from grandma's. While I was there, the call of soup was so strong that I braved the pouring rain to stop in next door to Frédéric's café for a bowl of his mother's puréed vegetable soup.

And once back at the restaurant, I liberated a leek, some baby carrots, some roasted cipollini onions, a few less than presentable asparagus, an already peeled parsnip (now why was that in the cooler?), a couple celery stalks, some diced tomatoes, a potato, some garlic, a bunch of really wilted green onions, a bit each of thyme, basil, oregano, and sage, a big handful of parsley, and half a loaf of rustic olive bread. I wish I had some fresh bird egg beans or borlotti!

These things will accompany the chicken carcass that I cooked last weekend and that the kids have picked over all week. I'll toast the olive bread and place a slice in the bottom of a soup bowl, ladle the soup over, drizzle on a little really good olive oil, and shave on some Pecorino Romano.

Here's my basic procedure for chicken vegetable soup.

Make stock from chicken, leek leaves, green onions, bay leaf, parsley, ends of celery, and tough ends of asparagus.

Strain and defat stock; return to pot at simmer and slowly reduce.

When cool, pick the meat from the chicken and reserve.

Add the long cooking vegetables to the stock: potatoes, celery, onions, parsnips, tomatoes, etc.

Add the meat, herbs, garlic, shallots, and short cooking vegetables such as baby carrots to the stock.

Season. Enjoy.