Category Food

Jeff the Chef’s Day Off

Jeff is one of the founding members of the Montana Embassy here in Chicago. For the past few weeks he’s been working in the busy kitchen at the new GT Fish and Oyster, which opens it’s doors tonight.

After a week or more of previews they gave Jeff a day off. Being the swell guy that he is he took me on a little tour of Vietnam Town. There were some truly excellent, and familiar feeling grocery stores and a few great looking restaurants offering wide, sloshing bowls of Phở. (We ate our massive lunch/dinner meal at Tank Noodle, a popular corner restaurant just off the Argyle Metro line.)

Getting a little more familiar with the extended neighborhood feels great, for one, I know where I’ll be buying my sriracha hot sauce from now on. But I think the best discovery of the night came after dinner. Jeff lives just east of me, but  we got off on the same stop and looked for a place to get a drop to drink. As it turns out I live right next door to a humble little bar, The Village Tap.

After a few hoppy beers and a game of Yatzee! with a nurse we met it was time to go. Poor Jeff had to leg it back over to his place while I got to exploit  the privilege of proximity. A terrific afternoon Uptown.

Breakfast with Rosie

Far and away, the most fun I’ve had in Chicagoland has been getting to spend my mornings with my grandma Rose. We’ll share a pot of coffee, flick through the newspaper and chit-chat about what’s coming up in the day or what the weekend was like.

Lucky me

This morning Rosie took me and my cousin Jackie out to breakfast  to Dimitri’s Cafe, just a few blocks from Colleen and John’s place in Downers Grove. It’s a fairly typical breakfast diner but it’s Greek-owned, so mounted among more familiar diner wall hangings a there’s a big “ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒΕ” poster and the menu offers a “Spartan skillet,” potatoes with asparagus and feta. I ordered a huge No Sweat inspired plate of potatoes, broccoli, tomatoes, spinach and cheese, with an egg on top for good measure.

Thanks for breakfast Rosie! That’s not a bad way to start a Friday.

Closet Cooking

This is my kitchen. Here in Saipan having a comfortably cool home is expensive so cooking outside makes sense. It’s fun too.

Anytime between 5–10 PM the air around the apartment complex is filled with the sweet smell of steamed fresh veggies or fried fish and sesame oil. As people make their dinners you’ll catch sight of them ducking back inside for an extra splash of something.

Everyone has a slightly different style from what I can tell. My neighbor has a little plastic caddy she brings out so everything is at hand. A woman across the parking lot comes out with everything she needs in the wok already and just plops it on the little stove top.

I learned how wise their ways are through trial and error. I broke a soy sauce bottle, spilled quantities of oil on the ground, and tipped a tray of broccoli and peppers before settling on a my  method for dinner making. Nothing fancy. I put a dollop of oil in the pan before I bring it outside. I cut all my veggies up inside on my kitchen table and trot them out as needed. My stir-fry sauce I mix up in a little jar and bring out right when I need it. The results are delicious!

Biba Santa Remedio

Open Fire Rotisserie

In preparation for the Tanapeg fiesta peter and I “helped out” spit roasting a young cow. All the real work was done long before we arrived, so our “helping out” was only witnessing it take place. The small roasting fires had been lit at 5 AM just before the small cow (from a San Roque farm) was wired onto the skewer and put in place. Tedious hours of “turning the key” followed the constant rotation made slightly easier by a car’s steering wheel attached to one end of the spit.

By the time we arrived in the early afternoon it was almost cooked through. The last of a mixture of meat tenderizing salt, vinegar and spice was dabbed over the meat. (A stick with a tee-shirt tied around one end was the basting brush.) Some one collected some huge flat banana leaves and spread them on the serving table just as dinner was pronounced “done” after a few clean jabs with a sharp stick.

The long spit was heaved off it’s supports and carefully carried by several practiced hands to the table where it stayed balanced as others went to work clipping and untwisting the wires that held it centered. Just before the spit was carefully removed the roast was turned on it’s back and with a silver and black Buck knife a pair of choice strips were taken from the inside of it’s lower back. (Any amateur butchers know that cut’s name?) These were sliced up and shared, but no one close to the work resisted picking and tasting little bits. (Imagine little fingers dipping into a frosted cake and you have the image.)

A few meters of aluminum foil were taped around the roast and we all heaved to get the table up and secure into the too small truck bed. As you can see we never really got it into the truck bed, more around the truck bed but it worked well enough.

Six Choice, Five Dollars

Garapan’s Thursday Night Market

Most of the local restaurants set up tables checkered with steel catering trays filled to the brim with all kinds of greasy fare. Meat on a stick, whole fried daily catch, fried rice and saucy noodles. If you decide to order six choices you’re served Thanksgiving plate proportions of food in a deep bottomed styro take-home container, a pair of chopsticks and one napkin.

I took these photos last week, when the market wasn’t as busy as I’ve seen it. It had just rained and you could feel the day’s wet heat rise up from the black top. The carnival lights strung from under the tents turned the surrounding night even darker. The abundance of choice makes it hard to decide even for an off-the-wagon vegetarian like me. I pace the length several times, considering my options, always gravitating toward the Thai and Indian food. Now, I don’t have the gastronomic capacity for a spade full of dinner but Peter let me in on an unadvertised secret: three choice, three dollar, which seems to me a perfectly good deal.

We found a spot up Garapan’s walking mall, plunked down, and cracked into our convenience store beers.