Chinese and Japanese, Together Under One Roof? (aka the “No, Not Fusion… Something Else” Post)

“Hunan Delight Matsuya
Chinese & Japanese Cuisine”

One phone number, one address. And then there’s the matter of the handwritten sign that reads “FREE WINE” in the window.

What.

I’ve been perplexed by this locals Upper East Side restaurant since I moved into the area last spring. What is this, Chinese and Japanese fusion?*

The take-away menus make certain that it’s two restaurants — Hunan Delight, a Chinese restaurant, and Matsua Japanese cuisine — in one space.

Again: What! How can two such disparate cuisines — different ingredients, techniques, cultural histories — cohabit? How can this possibly work?

Well, except, it does. The food’s actually really good.

We came for the free wine, the Chinese food (after I found out Hunan Delight gets rave reviews online, to my surprise) and maybe a California roll. (It’s hard to mess up a roll made of crab stick, avocado and cucumber.)

What we discovered:

— Free wine offer is truly free: one glass of cheap, but crisp and very drinkable white wine, per person at dinner

— One of my new favorite Chinese dishes, called Green Jade Chicken ($11.95). Plump white meat pieces woked over high heat in “chef’s spicy sauce” (not really that spicy) along with matchstick-sized pieces of fresh ginger and string beans.

In the heat, the sauce caramelizes into a crisp, light glaze on the beans and chicken; the fresh ginger adds a welcome kick. This dish is the exact antithesis to the soggy, fatty, greasy Chinese food of styrofoam yore. It’s just lovely.

— And the sushi? You can find far worse sushi in supermarkets everywhere. Entranced by the platter of Dragon Rolls the sushi chef was putting up on the counter (see below) … so we ordered one.

It turned out to be a cooked roll (I still haven’t tried the raw sushi here) — shrimp tempura and cucumber on the inside, wrapped in eel and avocado on the outside.

— Doting, attentive service, of the sort you only get at a restaurant where the proprietors are that hands on, that involved, with everything.

There was a certain activity in the restaurant the night we were there, tables being reconfigured, the sushi chef turning out dragon rolls like nobody’s business, a party of young twenty-somethings turns up with a bottle of Johnny Walker.

Turns out, on this particular night the restaurant was hosting a friends and family Chinese New Year feast of epic proportions after the restaurant closed (11p).

Being the last guests in the restaurant, and obviously geeking out about the Chinese New Year food, they kindly invited us to join … we didn’t, and in hindsight, wish we did.

Still, this sit-down dinner for two totaled just $42.30 … also known in New York City as cheap.

Hunan Delight, a Chinese restaurant, and Matsuya Sushi, Japanese cuisine, share 1467 York Avenue, at 78th Street, 212-628-8161

*One rainy day, I’d love to really study and dissect the menus, to suss out any unintended fusion that’s happening.

Thursday: Rain, Rain Go Away (aka the “Myers of Keswick’s Magical Pies” Post)

Nothing shutters out an unseasonably cold and gloomy September day like a couple of pork pies and a couple glasses of red wine.

Make that, one “world famous” pork pie and one pie of the month, called “The Huntsman,” from Myers of Keswick, possibly (probably) my favorite British sundries shop in the city, and a bottle of “Ten Mile,” an ambitious blend of Zinfandel, Petite Sirah, Carignane and Barbera grapes out of Napa Valley by Nine North Wine Co. (Retails for $12.99 at Sea Grape Wine Shop, one of my favorite bottle shops in the city.)

This is not a pairing I could have matched myself a year ago. The pork pie and I are new-ish friends, but when I fell, I fell hard and fast. What’s not to love about the dense, salty, sticky, savory, (fatty), ground pork blend baked into a staunch, buttery, golden-brown crust? Don’t be fooled by its petit size or crimped edges, these pork pies pack some serious heft.

On the other hand, the pie of the month, “The Huntsman,” is light and (almost) lean — it reminds me of the sort of pie a woman with an appetite more delicate than mine might prefer. It’s “three layers of yummy-ness” consist of pork pie meat, roasted chicken and Paxo sage and onion stuffing all layered into a pastry cup and baked until the stuffing is fluffy and golden.

“Welcome to autumn!” the index card proclaims. Could be that someone else’s cheery perspective is rubbing off, or it could be the blissful state these pies have put me in, but I’m about ready to say: bring it … well, almost.

Wanna see the guts? Check out the pies’ innards after the jump:

The Portland, ME Edition: Rosemont Market & Bakery, Can I Please Take You Home Now?

It’s probably fair, Rosemont Market & Bakery, to say that you had me at hello.

First (chance) encounter: You were pointed out to me by my friend and host, who is also an infinitely knowledgeable all-things-Portland guide, as we walked past on our way to brunch up the street at The Front Room. We stopped; I had to go inside. I made a quick circle, noting the cheese case, the crates of local blueberries and the New England beer selection. I knew I would be back.

Second (intentional) encounter: Sure enough, I found my way back, all by myself, later that day. I came with the intention (guise?) of picking up a few some things to make a light crab salad with my prized Harbor Fish Market purchase — that sweet, sweet crabmeat from Wood’s Seafood (Bucksport, ME) — while my friend/host/infinitely knowledgeable guide went training for her triathlon. Instead, I fell head-over-heels for the price point and the boutique-ness of the wine nook, fawned some more over the fresh, locally-grown (and so cheap!) produce, and end up accidentally buying dinner:

$6, qt. of homemade gazpacho
$2 French baguette, baked in house
$1.49 head of locally-grown bibb lettuce
$0.99 bunch of fresh chives
+
$12.99 giant bottle of La Vieille Ferme Cotes du Luberon Blanc (nothing fancy, a blend of Rhône varietals, but I’ve seen a 750 ml costs this much in New York, so on principle I had to buy the magnum)

It’s not really cooking, but my friend/guide /host’s exuberant roommate asked me what I did, so here’s the recipe: Doctor up the gazpacho with chopped green onion, fresh crab, a healthy drizzle of olive oil, lemon juice and pepper. Ditto for the salad, except that I substituted a little Goddess Dressing (Kraft) for the olive oil. Serve with sliced, buttered and oven-toasted baguette points that make the kitchen smell oh-so-good. Pour wine heavily.

Third (spontaneous) encounter: Sure, I was thinking about you. But little did I know that I’d be back so soon. And then the roommate said, ”Let’s walk up and get pastries from Rosemont!”It was said exuberantly.

Um, twist my arm. And this is how I discovered the Sandwich of Sunshine. Yes, literally, that’s what it’s called. The description on the (hand-written) index card goes on to read: “Local sun dried tomato goat cheese, Black Kettle Farm romaine, orange melon and a fruit salad of white peaches, watermelon, mango, basil and lemon yogurt” ($5.50). What? (Befuddlement.) No way. (Denial.) Wait a second … (Illumination breaking). Yes, yes, yes! (Discovery.)

Fourth (missed) encounter: I intended to stop by one last time on Sunday afternoon to pick up a souvenir, one of the large, plastic Rosemont-labeled spices (which are actually from some spice place in New Hampshire — the pickled fiddleheads would have meant having to check a bag).

I had been vacillating between the mulling spices, the pickling spices and the multi-colored rainbow sprinkles, because how long would it take me to get through 6 oz. of dried dill? (Which begs the question, why would it take me any less time to get through that giant container of sprinkles?)

Unfortunately, I couldn’t make it back before Rosemont shuttered for the night. Sigh. This is not the first or the last time that I’ve wished I could pack something large and immoveable into my carry-on.

Dinner: Wine, Cheese, a Little NY Phil, and About 100 Thousand New Friends

By far, the largest communal picnic I’ve ever been at.

I’ve seen a lot of crowds, but this was a first. Nearly 100,000 New Yorkers and friends, all eating, drinking, laughing, managing to carve out a tiny plot of grass in which to hold court.

Our really impromptu picnic — well, my attendance was impromptu — consisted of a pair of cheeses and salumi from Murray’s Cheese Shop, some other crudities, a bottle of wine, and nearly 100,000 of our new, closest friends. (I keep repeating that number because really, it was amazing!)

My favorite of the night was the Asher Blue (right), a cow’s milk blue cheese from Sweet Grass Dairy of Georgia. As the story goes, the cheesemongers at Murray’s were so impressed by the prototype that they bought the entire inaugural batch.

I don’t blame them — this is a really, really interesting cheese. This blue is so young that it’s almost not blue. (Well, that’s not true, but it is such a baby!) You can see the mold is still mostly contained to pockets, and spreading outward, but that large sections of cheese remain a strightforward cow’s milk cheese, more or less. Check out this picture of a much more mature Asher Blue. What a difference! I, for one, was really enjoying the contrasts of the cheese. I’m going to be checking in on it at Murray’s while their supplies last, and see how perceptably it changes.

Dinner: A Wine Bar for Those with Appetites

When I saw that the food menu was buried at the back of a lengthy cocktail menu and wine list, I vaguely worried that Vero Panini & Wine Bar would turn out to be that type of place that overcharges for small portions and justifies its actions by calling them “tapas,” or “antipasti”: fingerling panini sandwiches, appetizer-sized salads, underwhelming charcuterie. Worse still, the food could be an afterthought entirely.

And then my antipasti plate ($14) arrived: Ultra-thin slices of proscuitto and salami virtually blanketed a generous bed of arugula and frisee salad; cubes of pecorino, tomato slices, pepperoncini bits, olives, small ribbons of roasted peppers were scattered everywhere; drizzled, dotted lines of aged balsamic vinegar zigzagged across the whole thing. This is no mere antipasti plate, but an antipasti salad of gargantuan proportions. Paired with one additional smallish appetizer, or maybe even just some extra bread (the plate comes with a container with about a dozen toast points) it’s easily enough for two.

The panini my dining partner had was of an appropriate, sandwich size and won this giant compliment (paraphrase): “We had the most amazing paninis for lunch one day while we were touring wineries in Italy; our guide took us to a local little lunch spot. This is the closest thing I’ve had since — they make them exactly like this.”

Dinner: My Kitchen Can Smell Like This Any Night

Lemon juice, E.V.O.O., white wine, a pair of bay leaves, all simmering away on my stove earlier tonight smelled so good that I wanted to pick up the pot and slurp it. (Exercised restraint, sampled just a couple of spoonfuls.)

This basic stock was loosely inspired by this Tyler Florence recipe from the Food Network, which I picked for the excuse to cook with / aka purchase / a bottle of Elsa Bianchi Torrontes (2008), a recent favorite discovery. And of course eat delicious artichokes. I deviated where I didn’t have the necessary ingredients on hand, i.e. fresh parsley and garlic cloves — desperately need to go grocery shopping. 

As a dipping sauce, I made a fancy faux aioli: organic mayonnaise, lemon juice, splash of white wine, pinch of salt, all whipped with a fork until the texture evened out.

It was pretty decadent: Sitting at home, peeling off leaves, sipping wine and scooping sauce, I was perfectly content to just be. (And maybe lick my fingers a little bit.)

BLD London Edition: The Tale of Two Plane Meals

So I missed the last few days of posts due to technical difficulties I had with my cell phone carrier (AT&T, thanks for nothing). But I’m not letting that keep me from blogging now: Over the next few days I’ll be posting a series of “BLD London Edition” entries, on everything from a salted beef sandwich from heaven on Brick Lane, to my new cider obsession, and even a decadent 10-course tasting menu at one of Ramsay’s best.

What better place to start than at the beginning?

I’m of the camp that didn’t cry (or cry out) when most domestic airlines stopped offering complimentary meals as I always thought they were sort of crap to begin with, so I had modest expectations for dinner on my transatlantic flight on British Airways on Friday night. (The only thing I was really looking forward to was the free booze.)

I was so, so wrong. British Airways’ service is so good, so premium, that I ended up mildly embarrasing myself asking the frequent flier next to me: “Is this a typical BA flight or are we on some sort of special premium service route?”

I really couldn’t believe it. In addition to the standard pillow, blanket, headsets, personal TV screen in the seatback in front of you, I found a lovely little packet labeled: “Your socks, eyeshades, toothbrush and toothpaste.” Score one.

Food and beverage service began with drinks and some lovely little seasoned pretzels. I couldn’t find a list of drinks available (always have to scope for what’s different or unusual), so when the flight attendant got to my row, I asked her, “Is there a list of what’s available?”

She replies, “Well, what would you like?”
I’m still curious. “Well, what do you have?”
And get this, her answer: “Everything.”

Score two, a full-service bar, airborne! So I opted for a whiskey (Johnny Walker, Red Label) and a half-decent little sauvignon blanc, and settled in for the flight.

… What an absolute night-and-day experience from my return yesterday on US Airways, where the flight attendant informed me that there will be a charge for the wine (a Beringer’s chardonnay, bleh!), and then tried to justify the charge with some lame story about passengers drinking too much when it’s free.

Alright, fine: Offer one complimentary beverage with the meal service, and if a passenger would like additional, then charge them. But don’t be so cheap as to pass off the blame for your crappy inflight policy onto the customer.

On the subject of cheapness, let’s talk about my two meals.

Dinner: Friday, May 1, 2009

Light, lightly bitter, a little lemon-y, refreshing. I’ve managed to conjure up a salad that tastes exactly like what I’ve been envisioning since, well, lunch. 

I think the key is the endive, Annie’s lemon & chive dressing and the couple of spoonfuls of Wakim’s Foods garbanzo salad — which, being just chick peas, spinach, oil, roasted garlic, lemon juice, salt and spices I perpetually almost feel bad for buying and make note to self to try to find out how to recreate every single time.

What else was in there? Mixed greens, red onion, some cooked beets. After a couple of glasses of red wine, I’m going to sleep like a baby tonight. 

COST: <$5
PREP TIME: 10 minutes

Bonus: Location of Twitter Wine Photo Revealed

Vaguely gratitious Twitter cross-promotion: 

I tweeted earlier that “A big day deserves a big glass of wine in this glorious afternoon sun!” along with this photo of a gorgeous tempranillo with the sunlight streaming through it. 

Here’s the answer key: Had southern-facing, afternoon sun exposure in the bottom of the East Village/top of LES. Really respectable beers and good wine for $4 and $5 a glass during happy hour. 

Answer: Simon Sips. Never been here before today, but I’ll be back. 

Simon Sips also requited the need I had for “real food” earlier today: I had a chorizo, dry Italian cheese (forget exact name, ending in -rigornio), roasted green peppers and spinach sandwich.

The wine, the food, the sunshine, my New York magazine: It all did me good. Although, I think honestly, the sitting in the sun part was the best. I’ve missed that. 

COST: $17
PREP TIME: As long as I could stay basking … I tried.

Dinner: Monday, March 30, 2009

“Come, hither.” 

Every meal of every day begins with such a sign — we make our choices based on preferences, whims, little bells and whistles that sound off on a primal level. 

Tonight’s impromptu deliciousness began with a package of Trois Petits Cochons “Bloc de Foie Gras de Canard” (made with Foie Gras and Satuernes wine) burning a hole in the fridge, which led to an expedition through the West Village, which wound up with a visit to the pilot pig (left), pusedo mascot of Sea Grapes, one of my favorite wine shops in the city, before retiring to feast.

 In between, we foraged at Murray’s Cheese Shop, opting for a wedge of Persille Du Malizu, which, the cheesemonger said: “Here’s where our cheese-tasting ends; this is the strongest cheese we have.” (Ed. Note: Okay, that’s a parahrase.)

The signage, if it’s hard to see, reads: “Ohh spicy! Made with the same high-quality, raw Lacaune sheep milk as Rocquefort, but less salty, sweeter and more balanced than its famous cousin. …”

(pictorial essay continues after the jump.)