noodsletter #.0015
Shungiku muchim; a book bit correction; me me me.
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Shungiku muchim*
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Book
“Gee!” David marveled.
“Here’s some bread an’ budder,” Leo offered him a slab. “Yuh c’n eat dat, cantchuh? It’s on’y American bread.”
“Yes.” David eye it curiously on accepting it. Unlike his own bread, this slice was neither drab-grey nor brown, but dough-pale and soft as paste under the finger tips. Where the crust on the bread his mother bought was stiff and thick as card-board, this had a pliant yielding skin, thin as the thriftiest potato paring or the strip one unwound from a paper lead-pencil. And the butter—he tasted it—salt! He had never eaten salt butter before. However, pulpy and briny though the first mouthful was, there was nothing actually repulsive about it—
“We c’n eat anyt’ing we wants,” Leo informed him, sucking at a crushed red pincer. “Anyt’ing wot’s good.”
“Yes?” While he rolled the soggy cud about in his cheek, his eyes had lighted on the picture again, and again were baffled with shadow.
—A man. What? Can’t be.
“An’ I et ev’y kind o’ bread dey is,” Leo continued proudly. “Aitalian bread-sticks, Dutch pummernickel, Jew rye—even watchuh call ‘em, matziz—matches—” He snickered. “Dey’re nuttin but big crackers—D’ja ever eat real spigeddi?”
From Call It Sleep by Henry Roth.
After I sent out the last noodsletter, I was sent a photo of the passage above along with an irritated text from my friend. “Not a ‘recent immigrant eating American bread,’ a Jew eating white bread. There’s a difference.”
I felt rather bad about this error, because of course Call It Sleep is about a Jewish boy’s immigrant experience, so my elision, in retrospect, seems awfully cagey. I don’t know. In part I may have been mixing up my own belated first experience with American bread with the character’s (it should be noted I did not then know the passage specifically referred to “American bread,” that was simply my invention—which just happened to be right on the mark). In any case, to make up for the error, I present you the passage in question, which gives me another opportunity to tout this beautiful book.
I have to say I love this: “And the butter—he tasted it—salt!”
Me Me Me
Some stuff I’ve been working on, and a recommendation.
My shoestring fry recipe was published this week. Don’t make them!
Been working on an aloo tikki recipe. It’s not bad?
This is what it’s like working in the test kitchen with me (note Vicky Wasik despairing on the left, and the mess I’ve made on the right). (I want to say I’m usually neater in the kitchen, but…)
Picked up this mango soda the other day at Sunrise Mart. Shockingly good.
“News”
Adzuki beans and demon crones, with a recipe for porridge.
(If you wonder about the tone of the piece, The Dark Mountain Project operated under the assumption that we’re living in a post-apocalyptic age—it was started long before all the COVID/new Cold War apocalyptic stuff. One of the founders is Paul Kingsnorth, whose book The Wake is one of the most original—and funny!—books published in the last 50 years.)
An interesting interview with an editor and one of the contributors to Making Levantine Cuisine, a collection of essays.
The title of this piece (well worth a read)—”The qorma that was served at Shah Rukh Khan's wedding”—makes me think of how I wish the celebrity tabloids spent as much time focused on the food celebrities eat as pictures of them picking up coffee or whatever. At least that would be kind of interesting (probably in an appalling way)?
Actually, forget it, I am not smart, jfc, that is a terrible idea.
A profile of every newsletter-writer’s hero, Jonathan Nunn.
Writers don’t need prior experience to write for Vittles and it pays well — £500 per piece for writers and £200 for illustrators. “I just want people who have an interesting or unexpected viewpoint on things that they don’t see reflected in mainstream food media,” Nunn says. “The writers are there — they just haven’t had the opportunity.”
The most interesting, and noteworthy, thing for me about Vittles is that it’s really well-written, always, which I assume means the editing is top-notch.
I am only linking this piece about the new restaurant from Roni Mazumdar and Chintan Pandya because, again, I haven’t eaten at any of their restaurants, but I know everything about them because they seem to have a direct line to the publications that publish restaurant reviews/news. I’m sure they have great restaurants, but I’m also pretty sure there are many other restaurants in New York City.
Helen Rosner interviews J. Kenji Lopez-Alt.
I love this headline, no changes, run it: “I'm common as muck and spent £150 in a Michelin star restaurant to see if it was worth it”
And even though I’m basically anti-fine dining, the rest is pretty great, too: “As dish after dish came out, parts of my gob that I didn't know had taste buds had started to come alive.”
Fascinating piece on MFK Fisher’s writing.
A tropical fruit garden in the Arizona desert. Has this odd, seemingly superfluous factoid: “(He recently gave several mangoes to the Phoenix Suns’ executive chef, Brendan Ayers, who used the fruit to make salsa for the team.)”
Skeptical of all things Amazon and automation, but if they figure out how to provide not terrible ginger to American shoppers, I could be convinced.
The dek for this piece (above) struck me as odd. Can a restaurant group be a mom-and-pop?
This may be way too local to… people who used to go to Threes Brewing before the pandemic, but the CEO characterizing “spouting nonsense on Twitter” as his “duties as a parent and a citizen” is an indictment of our times and a reaffirmation of my dim view of all CEOs.
Recipe
Shungiku muchim*
I recently picked up some shungiku (chrysanthemum greens, tong ho) for a truly terrible shabu shabu meal I made for my family (don’t ask!), and I realized that I’ve rarely cooked with them, despite loving their unique, almost medicinal flavor. If you’ve never had them, they’re like broccoli rabe, but more interesting.
Here’s a very quick muchim I’ve been making that I find disturbingly addictive; can’t help but think my body is telling me I’m missing some essential nutrient that shungiku and only shungiku provides. One of the most interesting parts of this muchim is the hot Dijon mustard, which I accidentally bought and discovered is quite hot! A mild Dijon will obviously work, too, but the zing of the hot is quite nice.
If you like sweet/salty things, a teaspoon of honey would not be out of place here.
As to the blanching, you can get very fussy with it and dunk the shungiku stems first and hold the tops out of the water while the stems get a head start. I don’t do this…always, but sometimes I do it, if I’m bored. The tops cook quite quickly and get a little hammered by the time the stems cook nicely, so it’s up to you; that being said, hammered shungiku tops are delicious, just a little watery.
You can shock the blanched shungiku in an ice bath, or a cold water bath, if you like, to retain that bright green color (and prevent it from overcooking). I do this sometimes, but I also sometimes just lay the cooked shungiku on a quarter baking sheet then press the excess (boiling hot) water out of it, tipping the sheet so the water runs off into the sink. I suggest you do the ice/cold water bath, but it’s not necessary, unless you work in a nice restaurant or something.
Ingredients:
1 bunch of shungiku, washed, spun dry
2 cloves garlic, minced
4 teaspoons rice vinegar
3 teaspoons sesame seeds
2 teaspoons sesame oil
2 teaspoons soy sauce (a nice one, if possible)
1 teaspoon hot Dijon mustard
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil over high heat.
While the water comes to a boil, combine garlic and rice vinegar in a medium mixing bowl. Let sit at least 15 minutes.
Add shungiku, stems first, to the boiling water and cook until just tender and bright green, about 2 minutes. Using tongs, remove the shungiku to an ice bath and stir to thoroughly chill the greens.
Remove shungiku from water and squeeze to remove excess water. (It is easiest to do this by lining up the stems and tops; squeeze hard!) Chop shungiku into 1- to 2-inch lengths.
Combine remaining ingredients in mixing bowl, stir to thoroughly combine, then add chopped shungiku. Using clean hands, separate the shungiku leaves and squish everything vigorously together, ensuring that dressing coats all of the shungiku leaves.
The muchim can be served immediately (with rice, of course) or it can sit in the fridge, where it’ll get better over time.
Excellent post!