noodsletter #.0037
CDMX; crème brulée; a muffin recipe.
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One recipe riff and one recipe today; they’re at the bottom. Remember, all the recipes ever published in noodsletter have been archived in the very first noodsletter, which you can find here.
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Book Bit
Her own parents had cooked a rotating menu of dishes that had become as familiar to their children as the days of the week. The cadences of her childhood could almost be expressed in those recurring flavours and textures, and in the longer, slower repetition of seasons, the nuances and gradations of summer and winter foods, punctuated by the birthday cake that never changed, a different cake for each of them and the five cakes always each year the same. She was born in summer: her cake was a beautiful tiered structure of meringue and berries and fresh cream, the best of them all. One reason she disliked returning to Sweden was because of the food, which overwhelmed her with memories while leaving a bitter taste in her mouth, for it seemed familiar while being, in fact, entirely alien.
I liked Outline more, but it was my first and it struck like an epiphany. I suppose I’m well and truly “Cusk-pilled” now. That “always each year”—what it does to that sentence, how it extends its rhythm—does it for me.
Mexico City
I went to Mexico City a couple weeks ago, visiting with some friends I grew up with in India.
We spent some time marveling at the similarities between Mexico City now and New Delhi back when. For example, as soon as you leave Benito Suarez airport, you’re hit with a distinctively “New Delhi” smell, a combination of diesel in various states of combustion, caramelized sugar, overripe fruit, a thin aromatic threat of sewage running alongside and under and over all else, capped by what we could only describe as the scent of particulate matter on the air, the stuff that settles like dust on the flora, which, everywhere, was the most vivid reminder that we were not in fact in India. If I closed my eyes, ignored the Spanish, and took a big whiff, I could almost imagine myself home.
I had half a mind to write up the trip as some kind of travelogue, using the India is/is not Mexico frame, and while I took sporadic notes with observations only a tourist’s eye might find interesting—I wrote down “¿Te encataria vivir acqui?” like some poor man’s version of Lowry’s “¿Le gusta este jardín que es suyo?”—when I caught myself unironically admiring the majestic, pure gray braids on the head of an elderly beggar weaving her way between cars at an intersection, I understood how ridiculous and cliché it would all be.
What I’d want to say, in any case, was that I really enjoyed Mexico City; it reminded me of what used to be my home; and I could see myself ruining the economy for locals by living there very easily. Part of that is the food, which is just about as incredible as everyone told me it is.
I am a no-good tourist, so I did very little research or preparation or planning; I left all of that to my friends, who are very into food but not half as obnoxious as I am about it. Here’s some of the interesting stuff I ate/saw while there.
I only have one, overarching observation about the food; namely, the tortillas are so, so, so good. It’s like rice in Japan, in Thailand, roti (and rice) in India; there’s no reason that these staple foods should be so much better prepared outside of the US, but they are. (And “our” national staple, which is bread, is also generally prepared badly! What? Why?)
I don’t quite understand the ubiquity of the other way of serving chips and salsa—separately, cold, dipped—when chilaquiles exists—hot, eaten with a fork, together, dressed. Orders of magnitude superior!
Clamato is everywhere, it’s like heaven. One of the nifty things I was introduced to was the range of customization available for michelada. I eventually settled on the variation in which you’re presented with a salt-rimmed glass of Clamato spiked with hot sauce, Worcestershire, Maggi (maybe?), and lime juice, with a beer served alongside. As you drink the Clamato, you top off with beer. An inspired way to serve beer, although I found myself more than once just drinking the Clamato and skipping the beer, and I ended up drinking like three Clamatos a day, which can’t be good for you.
They sell onigiri at 7-11s. I regret not trying them.
Right after I got off the plane, headed to this place called El Turix, a Yucatecan taco spot. They apparently just serve cochinita pibil, as tacos and as panucho, which is like a tostada: thick, fried tortilla topped with a thin layer of beans, the cochinita pibil and onions.
The tacos are made by dipping the tortilla into the cochinita pibil, which coats them in fat, then the pork’s scooped in and the tortilla’s wrapped around it. It’s a wet mess, but it’s a delicious wet mess. The panucho was one of the best things I’ve ever eaten, probably.
I must’ve eaten 50 tacos in three days, and while they were all pretty great, these were the most memorable, aside from the anchovy taco I had at Contramar. Just fresh anchovies, fried fresh, piled in a tortilla. That’s it. Incredible. I could eat like 10 of them and die happy.
We also stopped by this churro spot late at night (we’re old; no bars and clubs for us, we did churros). Apparently a place in NYC has stolen the entire concept, including the decor. The churros were very good.
Now this was the actual best thing I ate during the trip, and one of the best things I’ve ever eaten! Cebollas preparadas, or prepared onions, in this case spring onion bulbs soaked in some kind of mixture that had both Worcestershire and Maggi seasoning, and then allowed to cook and caramelize…under a trompo? I don’t know how it was cooked, since we got these along with some super tasty tacos that we had delivered.
I vowed to make a homemade version of these things. They were so tasty, I was losing my mind.
“News”
Instagram embeds don’t really embed well here, but this is a funny comic! Click it!
This excerpt from the novella SALMON is oddly good. Sort of like a wry Kafka, or, really, almost like Felipe Alfau?
I fiddled with my phone, acquainting myself with some of the common foods and customs found in and throughout SALMON. I tried reading an old novel I had snuck from my mother’s shelves (I never read fiction—disgusting). I tried, for the first time in my life, meditating. None of it was any use to me!
Apparently those squeeze bottles of olive oil that are so hot right now are the subject of a bit of a feud. Maybe I should write about the olive oil I use? I use Frantoia for cooking and good Gustiamo olive oils for raw stuff.
No way a giant omelet doesn’t smell like sulfur, right?
Housemaid’s coffee and housemaid’s tea.
The above is from a new site with great bloggy energy. This post about “Mises, Ranked” is A+.
Are you up for making a very bad, no good, terrible enchilada recipe? Volunteers needed.
Photosynthesis makes particles behave as if they exist in a “fifth-state of matter”!!!
I’ve been following this pasta in the New Jersey woods story closely, and there have been no updates. I hope the police are looking at all the men named Big Anthony in the tristate area.
Speaking of running stories: The guys who cheated in that fish tournament? They’re going to jail! Over fishing!
“But no, we don’t need to fetishize scrubbing the floor or doing dishes. We can simply admit that it sucks.” Are tradwives bad? (Yes.)
There’s a Fruit Roll-Ups shortage in Israel because of TikTok Fruit Roll-Up ice cream.
Plant-based “unagi” is a reality.
You know, my editor just asked me the other day what the vibe was on James Beard Awards/Foundation now, and I naively said, “I think they’re…okay?” Ha! Some other group of wealthy people should start a food media award thing (sorry IACP) and it would probably get great press because the Beards people seem to be terminal rake-steppers.
I’m probably in a minority but cocktail…stuff…is so galactically boring to me. Clear ice? Zzzzzz. Am always amazed that people genuinely seem to care about pretending mixing drinks is interesting.
I don’t know if this bit about food in Succession particularly does it for me, but on the other hand I could also see a place like the Times running a piece like this about food on [insert any television show] every week and never running out of interesting contributions from interesting contributors.
Kenji with a good tip on salting salmon skin, which works with any fish (this is part of the reason why you should…salt all your fish as soon as you get it home!).
Andrew Janjigian with a great Worldloaf installment on mixing machines for bread.
I hit my limit on The Atlantic, but the way toward reducing salt consumption might be MSG, or it might be some product that promotes kokumi (mouthfulness), or it might be…getting people to stop eating processed foods all the time. You know what helps with that? Cooking!
Guy in this article doesn’t eat salt at all! Madness!
This article prompted by American TikTokers being mystified by British Chinese food has some interesting history about Chinese immigrants in Great Britain. That being said, the curry sauce thing sounds abysmal.
I’ve never, ever hosted a dinner party. The mere suggestion of it makes me want to join the witness protection program. But let’s give this a try. I’d like to say Kafka, but he was far from being an epicure, and I don’t think he’d be into dining. I’d like to say Borges, but he, too, was thoroughly uninterested in food (he was known to order plain white rice — “my regular” — and a glass of milk). Nabokov? He, like Franz and Georgie, preferred not to drink much — and how could one go through this evening without wine? Also, Nabokov admired Borges, but Borges disliked Nabokov — everyone loves Kafka, of course. So maybe trade one of them for Beckett? But I wouldn’t be surprised if he never showed up. George Eliot? I can’t imagine anyone more intimidating: Her presence would probably make me not show up to my own dinner party. See? This is why I never host.
Can’t decide whether Eater publishing Sietsema’s camera photos in his reviews is a hilarious idea or a terrible idea. The poor steak.
Also, no hate on Sietsema, and this restaurant looks great and I’d love to go, but sambal =/= sambar. Get it together, Eater!
Climate change is coming for rice (well, it’s making it a challenge to grow). But really, the article makes clear that shrimp are killing the freaking planet. Stop eating shrimp! Even if you’re getting “sustainably harvested” shrimp, you’re killing the planet. Yes, you!
Mugicha crème brulée
I’ve been making this riff on crème brulée and it’s very, very good. I’ve been using the ChefSteps sous vide crème brulée recipe, which is foolproof and easy, but you can do a mugicha version of any crème brulée by just steeping the dairy with mugicha.
Mugicha is roasted barley tea, and it’s the basis for a similar custard dessert called sobacha. Sobacha is great and everything, but giving it the crème brulée treatment makes it extra special. (I’m using mugicha from The Rice Factory; very good! Buy some great rice while you’re at it.)
I can’t put the recipe here, and I understand some of you may not have a ChefSteps subscription, so you won’t be able to access that recipe or the super nifty ChefSteps scaling tool that I used to make custards with just 6 egg yolks, rather than the called-for 11 (the scaling tool is one of the coolest freaking things on any recipe website out there!). But I can write up the process and the yield of the mugicha-infused cream, and you can scale it up or down depending on the recipe you use.
Combine 400 g heavy cream and 50 g mugicha in a 3-quart saucepan and bring it to a bare simmer over medium heat, stirring frequently with a rubber spatula to prevent scorching.
Turn off heat, cover, and let steep for at least 1 hour (if doing more than 1 hour, you can transfer it to the fridge after it cools to about room temperature; it will become more roasted barley-y).
Reheat over medium heat (the cream’ll be slightly viscous), stirring frequently, until steaming hot, then pass through a fine-mesh strainer into a mixing bowl, pressing on mugicha to extract as much cream as possible.
The yield is 350 g infused cream; the barley absorbs a fair amount.
If the recipe you’re using requires a tempering step (the ChefSteps one does not), you’ll have to add the infused cream back in, bring it up to steaming hot, then temper the egg yolk/sugar mixture.
I also add 1 teaspoon of synthetic vanilla extract (a good one!) to a batch of 6 egg yolks/~400 g cream.
Give it a try: it’s real special.
Sourdough discard chocolate chip muffins
I made these sourdough discard chocolate chip muffins fairly frequently during the winter—they’re the top Google result, they’re super easy, and they do the job. And while I don’t mean to denigrate Kiersten Hickman at all, I started wanting something better. The recipe below is my adaptation of Hickman’s recipe.
I’ll warn you that it requires a stand mixer. Why would you use a stand mixer to make a muffin? I hear you. Yes, I know the whole point of a muffin is you want breakfast cake as quickly and as conveniently as possible. But if you have a stand mixer, what do you ever use it for anyway? I use mine to make noodles and occasionally cookies and cake; even more occasionally, I almost break it while trying to windowpane the katzoomi milk bread. Every opportunity to use my stand mixer, I take.
If you understandably do not want to use a stand mixer to make muffins, I heartily endorse Hickman’s recipe as it is, although I recommend that you spoon your cup of flour for best results. (That means using a spoon to scoop flour into your measuring cup, rather than just scooping with the measuring cup; you’ll end up using less flour, which yields a lighter muffin.)
I am not much of a baker, but having edited bakers, particularly Stella Parks, for a while, I know that if you want tender and fluffy cakes, you really want to cream the butter, sugar, and leavener together. The butter water-proofs the leavener, which preserves its oomph and you get a better rise, and proper creaming yields a light, tender crumb. Once you do that, incorporating the liquids and the flour in alternating batches is standard procedure to limit gluten development and encourage even mixing.
Since it takes like 5 minutes to cream the fat/sugar/leavener, I usually get started with that and then measure out the rest.
Yield
9-12 muffins
Equipment
Pan spray
Muffin tin
Ingredients
1 stick Unsalted butter, cut into 1-inch cubes (8 tablespoons)
200 g Sugar, or toasted sugar (1 cup)
2 teaspoons Vanilla extract (10 g)
1 1/2 teaspoons Cinnamon, ground
1 teaspoon Baking soda
1/2 teaspoon Kosher salt
210 g Sourdough starter discard
115 g Milk
2 Large eggs
260 g All-purpose flour (Gold Medal Blue Label)
1 cup Bittersweet chocolate chips
Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease muffin tin with pan spray. Set aside
Combine butter, sugar, vanilla, cinnamon, baking soda, and salt in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Mix on low to moisten for 30 seconds, then increase speed to medium and beat until butter is fluffy and light, 5-7 minutes, stopping and scraping the paddle and sides of the bowl with a flexible spatula twice to ensure even mixing.
Meanwhile, combine discard and milk in a small mixing bowl and whisk to thoroughly combine.
With mixer running, add eggs, one at a time, pausing between each addition to allow eggs to be fully incorporated in creamed butter.
Reduce mixer speed to low. With mixer running, add 1/2 of the flour, followed by 1/2 of discard/milk. Once fully incorporated, repeat with remaining flour and discard/milk and mix just until incorporated; there will be a little dry flour around the edges. Stop mixer and, using a flexible spatula, scrape sides of bowl. Turn mixer to low and mix briefly, 30 seconds.
Add chocolate chips all at once and mix just until dispersed, 30 seconds. Stop mixer. Using a flexible spatula, fold the batter a couple of times to ensure even mixing.
Divide batter equally between muffin molds; you can do little muffins and make 12, or do larger muffins and make 9. (I make 9, typically.)
Bake for 20 (little guys) to 25 (bigger guys) minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of a muffin comes out clean. Let rest 10 minutes at room temperature, then unmold.
Once unmolded, you can eat them, but you can also let them rest on a cooling rack until they cool to room temperature. Stash them in an airtight container or ziptop back at room temperature and they’ll stay good for 4-5 days.
Since this is my first baked good recipe, if you make it and it’s a disaster, YOU HAVE TO LET ME KNOW. If it’s good, or even good enough, you can let me know, too, but that’s not as urgent. Thank you!
cusk-pilled! cusk-pilled!
I wholeheartedly agree that the panucho at El Turix is one of the best bites on earth. I just returned from a trip to Mérida and the cochinita pibil didn’t hold a candle to the juicy fried mess of a thing they sling at El Turix