It's practically impossible for me to decide what I like best about this video: The fact that it features both clothcoffeefilters (sustainable!) and a handcoffeegrinder (retro!), that the robot appears to let the coffee bloom before starting the proper brew, our little friend's deadpan expression, or the two-second outtake where the poor gal pours coffee all over the counter before a set of friendly human hands sets it right.
Actually, this little automated lady looks like she seriously knows what she's doing -- storing coffee in an air-tight container, grinding fresh, making coffee to order... She's a barista-bot after my own heart -- even if she's more likely to rust than over-caffeinate.
In this weekly series, home cook Bruce Watson works his way through a decades-old family cookbook, adapting the best recipes exclusively for Slashfood.
Over the last few years, Korean barbecue has gained fresh relevance in the United States. Whether served on hot dog buns in Manhattan, tortillas in Los Angeles or rice in Korean restaurants around the country, the sweet, oniony flavors of bulgoki, japchae and galbi are incredibly delicious and increasingly popular.
When I was a kid, bulgoki (also spelled bulgogi, pulgoki, pulgogi and any number of other ways) was a staple in my house. My parents, who lived in Korea before I was born, loved the stuff and would cook it on an electric griddle at our dinner table. As my sisters and I got older, we got involved in the fun; some of my first cooking experiences involved flipping bulgoki with a pair of bamboo tongs.
I've played with amounts and ingredients, but my mother's basic bulgoki recipe is fantastic. In fact, my only major change is in the dipping sauce: while my parents used light soy sauce with a sprinkle of pepper, I prefer a more traditional garlic/vinegar sauce, which I've included below. Get the recipe for bulgoki after the jump.
Strawberry milkshakes and juice boxes shaped like fruit: Two things that make us grateful for April heat waves.
Food & Wine's own Dana Cowin alerted us to this luscious milkshake on the Saveur Web site, accompanied by a recipe that calls for an ingenious combination of strawberry ice cream, strawberry sorbet and strawberry jam.
The juice boxes, meanwhile, are the brilliant invention of Naoto Fukasawa, a Japanese industrial designer who designed the boxes to mimic the look and texture of the fruit they contain: pictured here are banana and strawberry, along with soy, which rather uncannily mimics a block of tofu. We can't help but feel that these boxes blow the Capri Suns of our elementary school days out of the water, or at least the sandbox.
It's official: The wine world is truly global. First growth Bordeaux estate Chateau Lafite is developing vineyards in China, according to a Decanter magazine exclusive.
When the French began planting vines in California, we felt validated. Then some of them moved into Chile and Argentina, and they probably felt validated. But China? It seems as if the last frontier has finally been conquered.
I blogged my doubts about Chinese wine during the Olympics last summer, and Marc at China Wine Tours was quick to say there's good wine there -- you just have to find it. Just a guess, but I'm thinking if anyone can make world-class wine in China, Lafite is at the top of that list.
Eating pork buns (cha siu baau) is an excellent way to get a taste of New York's Chinatown. These warm buns -- either steamed or baked -- are full of savory barbecue meats, sometimes with scallions.
Last weekend, a friend and I decided we would eat our way through Chinatown by trying pork buns at various bakeries. And, what started out as a "pork bun journey" turned into an exploration of both savory and sweet buns, ranging from pork to red bean.
Fay Da Bakery, at 83 Mott St., has a variety of buns that you can select yourself with tongs when you enter the shop. While being underwhelmed by their pork buns, we were blown away with their sweet topping red-bean bun. The outside of the red-bean bun is coated in a flaky layer of sugar that balances marvelously with the doughy bun and the creamy red-bean paste.
Head directly to the Golden Fung Wong Bakery, at 41 Mott St., to try some of the best pork buns in Manhattan's Chinatown. Chunks of pork are flavored with a delicious mix of soy and oyster sauce. This bakery also sells an assortment of rice cakes and melon cakes that are worth trying.
"Bloody poop" anyone? The toilet aesthetic is nothing new in Asian restaurants. We have a post, from a few years back, about a toilet-themed restaurant where people actually sit on toilets at a table. Recently, Time magazine had an article about a Taiwanese restaurant chain that's opening up restaurants in China and other parts of Asia. Modern Toilet serves dishes, with names like "green dysentery," in toilet-shaped plates. Food is presented in the shape of excrement.
Modern Toilet interestingly combines the vulgar, the obscene, the scatological with the high-end. As the Time article states: "Every customer sits on a stylish acrylic toilet (lid down) designed with images of roses, seashells or Renaissance paintings." In this way, the restaurant is enticing patrons and receiving positive feedback. Jennifer Finch, an American who dined there, described the experience as tasteful and clean.
The cuisine is an eclectic mix of Asian foods, including curries, pasta, fried chicken and Mongolian hot pot. Patrons comment that despite the disgusting descriptions, the foods are great. Apparently, China's comfort with (and interest in) toilet creations beyond the bathroom are not new. Time points out that a flush toilet was found in a tomb of a Western Han Dynasty (206 B.C. to A.D. 24) king. The Chinese invented toilet paper in the 6th century! But, while toilet dining may be less shocking in Chinese culture, Westerners seem to be gravitating to these restaurants as well.
I typically use recipes in one of two ways. In the best case scenario, I consult a recipe before I shop so that even if I choose to tweak things a bit, I'm at least starting with all the appropriate raw materials. But then there are those evenings when it's chilly outside or I'm just feeling too lazy to shop, and I need a recipe that makes use of whatever's in the fridge, freezer, and pantry.
Last night was the second scenario. I had a pack of chicken thighs thawing but no plan for them. At first I printed out a recipe for chicken divan, knowing full well that I would have to substitute 2-percent milk for the cream and whole milk. Then I realized that I'd accidentally bought bone-in thighs. The thought of carving up chicken thighs to make a casserole sounded like a major pain. I remembered a recent charmed encounter with lamb biryani takeout, so I looked up some recipes for a chicken version online.
Most had a laundry list of ingredients, but then I found a very simple preparation on Mark Bittman's blog, Bitten. I still didn't have everything on the list: no fresh ginger, no saffron, no basmati. His recipe calls for a whole cut-up chicken; I figured the thighs would substitute nicely.
I added some curry powder in place of the missing spices, and threw in a pinch of fragrant dried spearmint leaves. I think whole cardamom pods are probably pretty integral to biryani (though I think the ten he calls for is a few too many), but then again, saffron and basmati probably are, too. The point is that you can work with the spices, and the kind of rice, and the cuts of chicken you have, and this ambrosial casserole will warm you right up.
I've never been the type to insist that no two foods on my plate touch each other. Whether it's pancake syrup leaking onto the bacon or cornbread crumbs in my turnip greens, I love for the mingling of ingredients to continue even after the cooking ends. Yet all my life, I ate each piece on a kebab separately. I just didn't know better--until last summer.
At a tiny, unassuming restaurant called Çiya Kebap near the Asian banks of Istanbul, a knowing waiter, kindly sensing our ignorance, took a few moments to show my mother and me how a kebab ought to be eaten. He'd just set before us a tantalizing skewer of ground lamb, charred eggplant and red onion, nearly liquid tomato, and sweet-hot chili--but in less than a minute, he mashed everything together so thoroughly that the components were hardly recognizable. Then he sprinkled a spice blend called baharat over all of it and instructed us (nonverbally, since we couldn't speak the same language) to mop up portions of the mash with the paper-thin flatbread stacked alongside.
Turns out Çiya Kebap, along with two other Çiya restaurants with different menus located just steps away, is world famous. If I'd eaten my kebab in my usual manner, I wouldn't have any clue what the fuss was all about. Instead, I experienced some of the most revelatory mouthfuls in recent memory. The splendor of the combined flavors would be impossible to exaggerate, even with words like "symphony" and "revelation."
Of course, a kebab anywhere, not just in Istanbul, would benefit from such intervention. The key is to glob everything together. Don't be too dainty about it, and don't worry about appearances. Just enjoy the big sloppy mess, and spread the word.
Got the late January blues? In my opinion, nothing chases away the shadows like a big, hot, tropical-flavored meal. That's why I'm making nasi lemak this Saturday night, as part of a Malaysian-themed dinner party (pineapple tarts will also be on the menu).
One of the staple dishes of Malaysian cuisine, nasi lemak is rice steamed with coconut milk and served (usually) with hard-boiled eggs, tiny anchovies, sambal (chili paste), sliced cucumbers and (occasionally) fried chicken. It's often served for breakfast at Malaysian street stalls, or sold cold and wrapped up in banana leaves as a quick on-the-go lunch. Nasi lemak is eaten with your fingers, as is traditional in Malaysia - most restaurants have a tea pot full of cold water and a bucket for pre- and post-meal washing.
The rice is soft and moist and rich with coconut milk, the sambal pungeant with chili and prawn paste. Cucumbers add coolness, peanuts and tiny anchovies (called ikan bilis) add crunch. Check out this recipe, at Rasa Malaysia.
Want to celebrate the Year of the Ox in proper fashion? The BBC has a simple guide to the Chinese New Year, which begins today. Traditional foods - which vary greatly depending on the region - include Northern Chinese dumplings resembling gold ingots, said to bring wealth for the coming year; big family meals called "poo choi," in which everyone eats out of the same giant bowl to promote togetherness; Southern Chinese turnip cakes given as a sign of respect and honor; and glutinous rice cakes whose sticky nature is said to help families stick together in the new year.
Plus, there's a link to a bunch of the BBC Food's Chinese recipes - think red-cooked pork belly, ginger fish, stir-fried salt and pepper prawns.
For many Americans, the idea of Chinese beer may seem as far-out as Chinese democracy (the movement or the Guns N' Roses album). Some countries -- Ireland and Germany, for example -- we heavily associate with beer drinking, and others, like China, we do not. Even at Asian restaurants, less discriminating drinkers can be hard-pressed to determine the country of origin of different Eastern beers on the menu. Maybe I was just a "dumb American," but when I was younger, I didn't put much thought into the difference between my Sapporos and my Tsingtaos.
Well, for the record, Tsingtao is by far the most prevalent Chinese beer in the U.S., (Sapporo, of course, is from Japan) and the marketing minds down at the Tsingtao Brewery believe they've found the perfect event to help hammer that point home: Chinese New Year, which begins today.
To celebrate the "Year of the Ox," Tsingtao enlisted the help of certified Chinese Master Chef Martin Yan to create four Chinese dishes that utilize either Tsingtao Lager or Tsingtao Pure Draft as an ingredient. Personally, though, I'm more about drinking beer than cooking with it, so I was happy to see Chef Yan also took a crack at two beer cocktails.
You can see all of the recipes (as well as some additional Chinese New Year celebration tips) on Tsingtao's website here or find the mixing instructions for Chef Yan's Ginger Beer Fizz beer mixed drink after the jump...
In the Chinese communities of Singapore and Western Malaysia, the pineapple tart is the ultimate Chinese New Year dessert. The word "pineapple" in the Hokkien dialect resembles the word for prosperity, so eating the pineapple tarts is said to help bring luck and money in the coming year. For extra value, some tarts are even shaped to resemble tiny gold bars. The Malaysian port city of Malacca is considered the heart of the pineapple tart industry - in the city's colorful Chinatown dozens of bakeries are busy pumping out hot, fragrant trays of tarts every few minutes, to be placed in decorative cannisters with red lids and given as gifts. As we head closer to the Year of the Ox - New Year starts January 26 - the tarts grow increasingly expensive!
Bite into a proper pinepple tart and the ultra-flaky dough crumbles into buttery powder in your mouth. The chunk of pinepple jam inside is chewy and firm, flavored with spices - cinnamon, star anise and cloves - that reflect the influence of the spice trade on Malaysian Chinese cuisine.
If you don't happen to live near a Malaysian- or Singaporean-Chinese bakery, A Consuming Passion has a good-looking recipe for pineapple tart. These would be a great choice for a Chinese New Year party.
The point of fast-food franchises is instant familiarity--every outlet serving the same food under the same sign in essentially the same building. But McDonald's has been messing with that paradigm, opening new restaurants that are hard to recognize as the home of Ronald and the Big Mac. Viva McDonald's recently opened on the Las Vegas Strip, tearing down a 25-year-old golden arches to rebuild a slick new restaurant. The arch is still there--at least one, anyway--stretched as a marquee above a row of 20-foot wide video screens. Inside, there's something of the Quonset hut design of a Chipotle, along with even more screens, all broadcasting McDonald's own in-house TV channel. You can even get a latte and use wi-fi!
Not enough change for you? How about the McDonald's with no branding at all, not even the name. In Tokyo, the fast-food megalith has opened several small restaurants named, simply, Quarter Pounder. There's not an arch in sight--the black-and-red decor looks more like a bar or nightclub and even the wrappers are redesigned, streamlined and logo-free. However, don't get your hopes up about a chic new shame-based No-I-Am-Not-a-McDonald's: The stores are open as part of a promotion for the quarter pounder, which was not previously available in Japan.
When I was a little kid, my parents were really serious about introducing me to delicacies. Some, like sushi, evoked excitement, energy, and a lifelong passion. Others, like rumaki, evoked hatred, distrust, and a tendency to carefully sniff everything that my mother put in front of me. Frog legs, on the other hand, were decidedly meh. It wasn't that I disliked them, but they weren't all that impressively different or exciting. The Muppet Movie, with the dastardly Doc Hopper, pushed me over the edge into active avoidance. I decided that my indifference, combined with the high price of the precious legs, meant that I should spend my money elsewhere.
A little while ago, however, I learned that frogs are, apparently, dying in droves. Whether the cause is interspecies warfare, bacteria, habitat destruction, or any of a host of other suspects, the conclusion is the same: the price of frogs legs is skyrocketing. Today, in fact, most frogs legs come from China or India, where they are factory farmed. The best legs, however, seem to be produced by Ken Holyoak, a frog farmer from Brunswick, Georgia. By creating what amounts to a frog free-range habitat, Holyoak has found a way to produce frogs in quantity while avoiding some of the pitfalls that lead some restaurateurs to describe Chinese frogs as having a "muddy" flavor and "dark" meat.
While I don't think that I'll ever be a huge fan of frogs legs -- at least not while there is still alligator meat to be had -- it's nice to know that a combination of creativity, hard work, and eccentricity is keeping them on the table!
Brittany Murphy is the American noodle princess in the film The Ramen Girl. Media8entertainment gives a plot summary of the film explaining that it's about an American girl who gets dumped by her boyfriend and finds solace in her neighborhood ramen shop. She eventually persuades the Japanese chef to take her on as an apprentice. Brittany Murphy's character then decides it's her lifetime goal to become a ramen chef.
Josh Friedland of The Food Section states: "this might sound like a bizzarro "Saturday Night Live" skit (or just a bad dream). But, it's apparently for real, as this trailer for the film will attest." Serious Eats asserts that the film is Tampopo meets Lost in Translation. Tampopo is Juzo Itami's 1985 cult comedy that as Friedland describes is "a 'noodle Western' interspersed with a series of satirical vignettes about food culture."
The film is already playing in theaters in Japan. When will it come to the U.S.? I have to admit...I'm sort of dying to see it. Make sure to check out the trailer, which is embedded after the jump.
We can change the way we make eggs -- scrambled, poached, fried -- but what about changing the eggs themselves? Mix up your scrambling routine with quail eggs.
I typically use recipes in one of two ways. In the best case scenario, I consult a recipe before I shop so that even if I choose to tweak things a bit, I'm at least starting with all the appropriate raw materials. But then there are those evenings when it's chilly outside or I'm just feeling too lazy to shop, and I need a recipe that makes use of whatever's in the fridge, freezer, and pantry. 
For many Americans, the idea of Chinese beer may seem as far-out as Chinese democracy (the movement or the Guns N' Roses album). Some countries -- Ireland and Germany, for example -- we heavily associate with beer drinking, and others, like China, we do not. Even at Asian restaurants, less discriminating drinkers can be hard-pressed to determine the country of origin of different Eastern beers on the menu. Maybe I was just a "dumb American," but when I was younger, I didn't put much thought into the difference between my Sapporos and my Tsingtaos.
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When I was a little kid, my parents were really serious about introducing me to delicacies. Some, like sushi, evoked excitement, energy, and a lifelong passion. Others, like rumaki, evoked hatred, distrust, and a tendency to carefully sniff everything that my mother put in front of me. Frog legs, on the other hand, were decidedly meh. It wasn't that I disliked them, but they weren't all that impressively different or exciting. The Muppet Movie, with the dastardly Doc Hopper, pushed me over the edge into active avoidance. I decided that my indifference, combined with the high price of the precious legs, meant that I should spend my money elsewhere.
Second Helping of Slashfood - June 19
Competitive-Eating Contest to Pit Humans Against Elephants
The Backyard Boom - The Hungry Bride
