Japadog and Guu

Vancouver is to Japanese restaurants as Portland/Seattle is to coffee shops. Which is to say, there is a fuckton of Japanese food here. We sort of knew this; I mean, we knew we couldn't afford to spend as much time in Japan this fall that we feel the flight warrants, and we heard that Vancouver has the largest Japanese population outside Japan. So we did the math, and it turns out to be true. Lucky us! And only an hour flight from home.

Let me tell you about Japadog. You might remember Japadog from such No Reservations episodes as Tony in the Pacific Northwest. We weren't actually intending to come here. In fact, it wasn't until we were in line that we remembered that Bourdain had been here. So, apparently, had Ice Cube. Ten times. No, starfucking wasn't our impetus, it was the smell of kurobuta pork served up as the Misomayo (hot dog slathered in a mix of miso and kupie mayo, with radish sprouts on top) and Oroshi (hot dog with daikon relish and scallions). I wasn't feeling brave enough to try the Okonomi (pickled cabbage, sweet sauce and mayo with nori shreds), but there's always tomorrow.


Kurobuta is called the "kobe beef of pork", and the dog tasted like a really good weisswurst. The toppings were fresh and not really out of left field - pickled crucifers, onions and sweet/salty condiments are all familiar tastes with a hot dog, but this was somehow still quite Japanese. We were lucky to stumble upon this cart (there is a shocking dearth of street food here), and are a steal at only a couple bucks each.

Japadog
899 Burrard St
Vancouver, BC





Guu Izakaya (the O - distinguished from its three other locations) was one of those places that look so great from the outside that you make an audible cooing noise and can't wait to come back when it's open. We did come back later, and after being greeted with enthusiastic screams of "Irrashaimase!" we were seated at the bar.

An all-Japanese staff, mostly Japanese clientele (the English-speakers next to us returned to Mandarin when the waitress left) and the din of knives, grill and wok really reinforced that we were in the right place. Typical of an izakaya, the menu consisted of small plates: a verdant pea shoot salad with slivers of red and yellow bell pepper, pine nuts and soy vinaigrette; grilled squid legs (the tips of the tentacles were charred-crispy) with sriracha mayo; ethereal tako yaki, perfect tender nuggets of octopus within steamy soft dumplings with golden brown exterior and the house udon (suggested when I asked for their mebutsu) - earthy/smoky from the grill, with chunks of beef and scallion. Many glasses of the house sake were consumed, and we stumbled back to our hotel three hours later with wide smiles. I literally have not had such a bliss-inducing dining experience since Honjin in Tokyo.

I, tragically, forgot my camera and didn't remember until we were done eating that I could just use my phone. Scott pulled his out and snapped a few shots of the smiling chefs. But we'll go back again before we leave - it's worth a repeat. Maybe we'll even be brave enough to try the beef liver sashimi.


Guu Izakaya (with Garlic)
838 Thurlow Street
Vancouver, BC
(604) 685-8817

Oh Shit, We Are in Canada! Part I: Jade Dynasty

So, sorry I haven't been around much. I was in the field all last week with no internet (except on my phone, like I'm gonna blog on that thing), and yesterday Scott and I got a wild hair up our asses and came to Vancouver, BC. In this shaky financial climate I find it most prudent to just get the fuck out of Dodge. (Just joking, we're not rich enough or poor enough to feel any of this foolishness, although our mortgage is now mysteriously owned by another bank.)

We actually did premeditate this trip, in that we bought plane tickets and made hotel reservations a few weeks ago. Other than that, we didn't do diddly shit for planning. We literally stepped off the plane, got a car and a map and started driving around town to find something that looked good to eat. We were pretty tired after only getting 5 hours of sleep the night prior, and ended up snacking on some crappy pizza (think Pillsbury dough, pigeons and a Middle Eastern dude behind the counter). We did find a poutine place that was way too tiny for my tired, bitchy mood, but made a mental note to return to it later this week when the crowds thin.

Today we made our way to Chinatown, and after walking around a bit, realized there are really no restaurants around here. Like in Portland, the Asians here don't actually live and eat in Chinatown, they just own businesses and do their shopping for herbs, produce, bootleg DVDs and unlicensed Disney merchandise. We did, however, get extremely lucky to score a table at the packed little hole-in-the-wall, Jade Dynasty.

Shrimp and mushroom shu mai with tobiko

Soft and fluffy barbecue pork hum bao

Dim sum is a regular Sunday brunch that we enjoy, and while we normally just go straight for our favorite shu mai, hum bao and a plate of gai lan with oyster sauce (the Holy Trinity), this time we were overjoyed to discover xiao long bao on the menu. I think I actually squeed my pants a little when I saw it on the menu.

Xiao long bao are also known as soup dumplings, and are my favorite dim sum small bite. They're difficult to find in Portland; in fact, I only know of one cart downtown that has them, and they aren't that great there. These, though, were succulent and flavorful dumplings of seasoned pork with unctuous broth. You dip them in tangy red vinegar, nibble a small hole in the "skin" and slurp out the broth hiding inside, then eat the rest of the dumpling two or three bites. Making a loud slurping sound will signal to the staff that you are thoroughly enjoying them. I recommend a cold Tsingtao to wash down the hot dumpling.

A guy seated next to us was visiting from Puerto Rico. He didn't know what to order, so we pointed him in the right direction. We shared some of our House Special Noodles with him (he gladly passed along some of his way-too-much salt and pepper squid in exchange). These noodles were pretty good - I liked the crispy bottom of the fried noodle, but parts of it were a little on the over-cooked side and tasted a bit burned. This is probably the point, but I still ate around it. The pork, shrimp and scallops were tender and unassuming with baby bok choy and mushrooms, and the classic Cantonese sauce was a familiar taste of soy, rice wine and garlic thickened to gravy with corn starch.


Caveats: Jade Dynasty was a nice place to sit and get away from the herds of junkies, tranny prostitutes and Asian shoppers of Chinatown, but I hear Richmond is where to go for the real action. The food here wasn't anything you couldn't get in any average-or-better Chinese joint in any town with a sizable Asian population, except for the xiao long bao, which were outstanding (despite the amateurishly clunky appearance of these dumplings, they tasted great).

We were annoyed, however, that insead of wonderful carts laden with tubs of congee, foil-wrapped packages of ginger chicken and stacks of small steamer baskets hiding the soft dumplings within, rolling around for you to lazily point and eat (the instant gratification feels so decadent), Jade Dynasty is far too tiny and cramped to accomodate a single cart, let alone a caravan of them. You make your selections on a checklist, and then wait for your food as you would in any other restaurant. The waitress got our sheet mixed up with our neighbor, and he happily devoured our hum bao before we noticed the mistake and had a painful, Rost in Transration conversation with our waitress to straighten it all out. I forgive them for this, though, and so should you, if you find yourself wandering around in Vancouver's Chinatown on a Sunday afternoon, hungry for dumplings.

Jade Dynasty
137 Pender Street
Vancouver, BC
Tel: 604.683.8816
Dim Sum served all day

Scarlet Runner Cassoulettes

I hate to do this (or anything for the sake of doing), but since I said I would post the cassoulettes (mini-cassoulet) from the Scarlet Runner beans I grew (or that I would cook them, actually), here it is. Sorry to give it so unenthusiastically, but it's late, my head hurts and I'm developing a case of the itis.

This took the better part of a day (two, in fact). Day one: salt the duck legs and fridge overnight. Day two: start soaking the beans in hot water, and confit the duck. Day three: reheat and shred the duck, cook the beans, assemble the cassoulettes.

To get the beans ready, I mostly followed Hank's advice in the comments section of my original bean post. But since the beans were fresh, they didn't give me too much lip. And of course, I never salt my bean cooking water ('else they go tough). The beans were quite nice and tender, and although their color bled a bit, they stayed a pretty lavender-taupe.

There just weren't enough of them.

I had to supplement with a can of butter beans (Phaseolus lunatus; named for their resemblance to the full moon, chosen for their similarity to runner beans in size and texture). In Appalachia, butter beans are often synonymous with runner beans. Elsewhere, with lima beans. Mine were Italian. You do the math. I already had some in the cupboard, thankfully, because the thought of buying more beans, soaking them, and cooking them for hours made me want to blow my fucking brains out.

I shopped for some little crocks at Goodwill today, but couldn't find the perfect ones. I ended up using my old vintage Anchor Hocking milk glass flat bowls instead (had I the coveted Le Creuset mini cocottes, I'da used those instead). I lined them with some North Carolina prosciutto (just a couple slices), laid in half a cooked pork sausage and forkfuls of shredded duck confit, then spooned in some beans and topped with a white wine sauce thickened with duck fat roux, with chopped thyme and the roasted garlic and rosemary from confiting the duck.

It was so rich! Hence, my sodium headache and intestinal binding. I ended up serving it with some quick tomato-zucchini strata just to get some damned minerals and acid into my mouth. Of course, a little Bordeaux didn't hurt, either.

I'm going to be in Washington for the week (vegetation monitoring), and posting will be a bit spotty. I'll do my best. In the meanwhile, please watch this new video from TV on the Radio (one of my favorite bands EVAR). It is extremely fucking good. This song, Golden Age, starts with a total Wanna Be Startin' Something bassline/beat from Thriller, then segues seamlessly into a Talking Heads-ish Afrobeat thing that is so tasty. And it has magical dancing cops and Care Bears. Do yourself the favor.

What amounts to a hill of beans

Scarlet runner beans, in varying stages of my impatience

Jason is coming over again tonight for Project Runway Night (followed by Top Design), and is gorgeous to be bringing a barbecue chicken pizza from Blind Onion. I'm making some salad of sorts from my garden's bounty. It will likely prominently feature the tomato. I'm also jonesing for some spaghetti margherita, so we'll see if one pizza is enough.


My Scarlet Runner beans (Phaseolus coccineus, Fabaceae) are getting ripe. I picked a handful of them a couple weeks ago, too early, way before their pods dried and split. Shelling beans require so much of my patience! But my patience will be rewarded when I'm sitting in front of the cassoulette I'm planning this weekend.

These are the stuff of fairy tales. Immense beans - fuchsia, lilac and indigo - borne of papilionaceous, cadmium-red flowers on indeterminate vines. I wonder what Jack would trade for a sack of these?

Lately I'm really turned on by the idea of making elegant single servings of labor-intensive and/or peasant foods. I have a plan to make small plates of doro wat with braised pheasant or quail legs and Janelle's silkie bantam eggs. This weekend I am making single-serving cassoulet ("cassoulette" means "small cassoulet"): wee pancetta-lined ramekins of runner beans with shredded duck confit, lamb sausage, and a brunoise of lardons. They will be miniature cassoulets made with psychedelic beans and duck fat roux. My cassoulettes will be worth the trouble of slaying a giant.

Heirloom pico de gallo

My tomatoes are really coming on good now. I have to go out every day to keep up with them! Otherwise those fucking raccoons will steal them, take a few bites and then leave them there to rot. This is what they've been doing to my pond plants, anyways. Fucking raccoons.

The rest of my jalapeños, I'm letting ripen to red so I can smoke them into chipotles. But once in awhile I actually need a chile for something, and it is so satisfying to just step out into the garden and help myself. My half-assed efforts are finally paying off! Thank you, unseasonable heat and rainstorms.

Pico de gallo is such a no-brainer for using up tomatoes. It's one step away from gazpacho, but unlike gazpacho, I actually like pico de gallo. Oh, don't look at me like that. You have disbelief on your face. What, I don't like everything. Surprised? I'd rather just dip some crispy tortilla chips in this than pretend I'm eating soup when it's too damn hot for soup.

I grabbed a day's worth of yellow pear tomatoes, a few Sungolds brought to the office by a co-worker (I really can never pass up free produce, especially if no one else was taking any), and a fist-sized Cherokee Purple. Gave them a gentle dice with a sharp knife (to prevent mashing them), minced some onion, garlic and a jalapeño, then a handful of chopped cilantro, salt and pepper. That's it! If you're one of those people, you could throw in some cucumber and give the whole lot a blitz to make gazpacho. But really, why would you? Pico de gallo is way better.

It's particularly nice draped across a brekkie burrito, too. Quite nice indeed.

Braised rabbit ravioli with caramelized shallots and chanterelle jus

So, in case you don't know, I'm on Twitter. I've never felt the inclination to be all, "Hey everybody! Tweet me! Tweet me hard." Nonetheless, some of you good friends of mine have found me. Some of you are even good for a little smack-talk once in awhile.

Enter Peter Minaki (aka Peter the Greek, aka Kalofagas). He's been my home skillet since Day One, and eventually I think I showed him it's okay to cuss on a blog. Now you can't get the motherfucker to shut up. One day in Twittertown, he mentioned some duck he was gonna cook up, and said something about it being duck season. "Wabbit season," I tweet back.

Then, darlings, it was on.

I challenged Peter to a Wabbit Season versus Duck Season throwdown, hoping (knowing?) it would be the mother of all blog grudge matches. LET'S GET IT ON!


I cut a 3-lb. rabbit into its 4 limbs and saddle, and set the loin aside. After a slow braise with onions and parsley, I set it aside to cool and then pulled and shredded the meat. Mixed with fromage blanc, a splash of Mirabelle plum brandy and the cooked rabbit liver, and pulsed a few times in the food processor to mince. Taste, add salt and pepper, and fry some sage leaves to crumble in. A pan of slivered shallot and cipolline onions was caramelizing on another burner.

While the rabbit was braising, I was turning the carcass, kidneys and liver into an unctuous stock (I added a spoonful of veal demi to hurry it along - is that cheating?). After the meat had been pulled from the limbs, I tossed those bones into the stock pot, too. I thinly sliced my precious handful of store-bought (!) chanterelles on the mandoline and gently laid them into the finished, strained stock to reduce into a rich jus.

I whipped up some pasta dough, kneaded it for ten minutes, and after about a half hour rest, I rolled the pasta out into two thin sheets. I scooped the rabbit filling onto one sheet, egg washed the edges and topped it with another sheet. I used the useless Williams-Sonoma egg-cooking round molds (I got so sick of failing at cooking eggs with these things that I eventually just learned to properly poach an egg so I'd always have perfect sandwich-sized eggs).

To serve, I nestled a warm wad of caramelized onions into a small bowl, topped it with the ravioli, and ladled the piping-hot jus over the top. Enjoy with a nice Brooks 2006 Amycas - a blend of Pinot Gris (21%), Pinot Blanc (37%), Reisling (21%), Gewürztraminer (18%) and Muscat 2%) (which is, admittedly, an extremely sterile wine description. But it was delicious).

So, whaddya think? Do I win? Is Peter's duck dish better? YOU DECIDE!

Curry popcorn with dried cranberries

Yes, I'm posting popcorn. On a Friday morning. After the harried 5-times-a-week Foodbuzz challenge, I decided to take a wee break after the 10th. I'm still trying to figure out if I can/want to keep up the pace indefinitely.

So for today, I show you one of my favorite afternoon snacks. When I'm at the office, with no kitchen, and I need to graze (the only cure for the afternoon sleepies that doesn't require me to leave the building), I sometimes hit the snack box for a pick-me-up.

With so many people in our office trying to "be good" (why does eating food that bores us and makes us feel deprived equate to "being good"?), I have a hard time wrapping my mind around why we have one of those temptation boxes full of candy, meat "stix" and chips. You put a dollar in the box and take a snack. The only thing in there that won't give you diabetes is microwave popcorn. I put in a dollar and take my envelope of nutriment to the microwave.

Shake a little curry powder on top, toss in some dried fruit (always the diligent locavore, I like "craisins") and trudge back to my desk to finish up that EIS for Some Big Client.

I do have more interesting things to talk about, I swear. This weekend looks promising.

Lamb berbere with grilled vegetables, jalapeño pesto and smoked tomato orzo

Yes, that is a segment of lamb femur with the marrow sucked out, enjoying its second life as a parsley holder.

I love having a little time to just wander around the grocery store, no agenda or list, and just see what looks good and let the ingredients inform me for what I'm hankering. A sexy leek, with its perfect alabaster root end dripping suggestively with the misters' cool water. The vessel of colorful peppers, some chocolate-purple and peridot, rufous striated, all twisted and gnarled from errant, heirloom DNA (scrupulously bred out of modern hothouse varieties in the name of solanaceous eugenics). Eggplant heavy in its basket like a milk-distended breast. I love produce. I fucking love it.

I also love meat. Pork, beef, lamb - I love lamb so much that I can't help but wonder how delicious other baby animals must be. Fawn - oh god, can you imagine baby venison? A properly-cooked steak (which always means medium-rare with crusty maillard) is tantamount to ascension.

Anyways, I assembled these ingredients: sweet peppers, eggplant, leek, parsley, lamb leg steak (plus tomatoes and jalapeños from the garden). Without contemplation, I gave the steak a massage with the last of the heady Berbere spice mix. I sliced the eggplant into thick wedges and salted them to leach out the bitter nightshade jus. I quartered the leek and peppers lengthwise, and doused them in red wine vinegar, lemon juice/zest, olive oil and minced shallots. The tomatoes were cut into thick chunks and nestled into a foil bowl with oil and garlic. Stashed a sack of hickory under the grate and fired up the grill.

In a few minutes, the sweet smell of hickory permeated the patio and tendrils of smoke began to sneak into the kitchen. The marinated vegetables went on the fire, the tomatoes in their little cradle. I replaced the lid to trap the smoke.

When the vegetables had received their requisite char, they were returned to their marinade bowl and the steak went down. I'm so old-fashioned that I can't conceive of dinner without starch, so I got some orzo boiling (I was out of couscous, the "no doy" choice). When it was tender I drained it, dumped in the smoked tomatoes and garlic, some chopped parsley and cilantro, pinches of salt and chopped some of the grilled eggplant. I gave the lot a glug of olive oil and a squirt of lemon juice.

I had been thinking about a sauce for dipping the meat and veg - gremolata? Pistou? Again, I just left my instinct to its devices and plugged handfuls of parsley and cilantro into a large cup, and added a hearty glug of olive oil. A pinch of salt was added, and some minced shallot. Whiz with the immersion blender. Taste. Add a small handful of pumpkin seeds, and a whole, raw chopped jalapeño. Whiz, taste. Needs acid, and....something. A squirt of lemon, a clove of garlic and some more salt. Whiz, taste. Perfect.

Dinner was amazing. Flavors of Algiers that I've never imagined before - Middle Eastern, Mediterranean, African - all mingled harmoniously on my plate. Cooking by animal instinct, from the gut, has never failed me.

Onigiri is filled with Mother Love

I love onigiri. They're like Japanese arancini. The first time I had it, I was at my friend Kayoko's house. She was my first exposure to real Japanese culture (hentai notwithstanding), and she would frequently host informal dinner parties for her friends and Portland International School co-workers. I was one of the few, fortunate gaijin invited to these events. Sometimes, when the fillings for nori-maki would run out, she and her Japanese friends would just use up the remaining sushi rice with spoonfuls of miso, or umeboshi from the jar in her fridge to slap together some onigiri, which would get passed around on a large plate like some kind of umami brownie.

When Scott and I visited Tokyo a year ago, we struggled to adjust to the time change. We'd wake up at around 4:30am Tokyo time, starving and needing caffeine (the hotel didn't start serving "koh-hee" until like 7:00 or 8:00). Unfortunately, the only thing open that early was the 7-11, which was where we obtained our breakfast every morning. An ice-cold can of Boss cafè au lait and a couple of onigiri triangles from the cold deli case, pull up a curb and eat your breakfast. If it weren't strange enough to be shorts and flip flops-clad, tattooed white people, add 1) being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at a bird's hour and 2) eating whilst seated at a curb, which is never done (eating outdoors or while walking is somewhat unusual in Tokyo). Fortunately, the only people up early enough to gawk were the taxi drivers and convenience store clerks, and I'm sure they've seen worse.

But those 100 円 (~$1) onigiri were the best! Since I'm illiterate in katakana, it was always a surprise what flavor I was going to get. Sometimes it'd be salmon, sometimes miso, sometimes egg. I loved nibbling through the nori and rice into the interior, and trying to figure out what it was. I tried to make mental notes of what I was tasting, for when we got home.

I make misoyaki quite often - it's such a simple way to enjoy fish, if you keep a tub of miso in your fridge (and a few other common Japanese ingredients in your cupboard). We always have a little leftover, and once in awhile, I end up with enough to warrant re-use. Usually, I'll just nuke it and eat it straight from the tupperware, but this time, I used the leftover shiro maguro (albacore) and the genmai (Japanese brown rice) to pat a few onigiri into a meal.

Just flake the fish with a fork and sprinkle with sesame seeds and a pinch of salt. Then take a ball of rice (cold or warm) into wet hands, flatten slightly with your fingertips, and place a spoonful of filling in the center. Put another pinch of rice on top and form into a ball (covering the filling with the rice). Pat it into a slightly flattened triangle (the usual shape, but you can make any shape you want, really). Then wrap a piece of nori around the outside so that the onigiri may be taken from a plate without the rice sticking to your fingers.

I keep a tub of these teriyaki-flavored nori strips in my pantry. I bought them on a whim, but they're not substantial enough for just snacking. Sometimes I cut them into very thin strips with scissors to sprinkle on rice, but I've decided that their true calling is wrapping onigiri. Instead of making triangles, I formed rounded squares and made a criss-cross with the nori strips. These were neat little packages of umami, ready for a light dinner or a bento lunch.

Next time you have some leftover fish (or any other salty food) and rice, why not try your hand at onigiri? Heck, it's worth cooking rice and fish just to make them. Ittadakimasu!

Fried squash blossoms

Yes, I fucking did it, so get off my back already! Actually, it wasn't that bad. Contrarily, I might start viewing all foods through the Scottish "these'd be crakin fried" lens now (eh, Kittie?). This will spell ultimate doom for my figure. My muffin tops don't need any help getting buttered, thankyouverymuch!

I really don't know why I procrastinated so long. I'm really not afraid of frying, but the leftover oil will have to be dumped into a pile of wadded newspaper and thrown away in the trash so I don't assrape the municipal water system. (I really hope none of you are actually dumping used grease down the drain!)

My froggy sponge holder is sneering at me mockingly in perfect focus. Froggy and my camera think it's pretty funny to fuck with me like this, and are having a grand old laugh. You can't see it in the (terrible, terrible) picture, but I stuffed my little pattypan blossoms with a mixture of fromage blanc, chopped brie (the wedge I bought in July had started growing rind on the cut sides), minced shallot and fines herbs. Just tease the blossom open, stuff a little spoonful of filling in and close the campanulate corolla lobes back together (uh, the "petals").

The batter is so simple! Don't waste your money on packaged tempura batter mix - just plain flour (wheat or rice) and ice-cold club soda (you could also use beer, but why waste it?). I also added some garlic powder and chopped herbs to the batter just for shits and gigs.

Next time I would use a fattier cheese (chevre or mascarpone would be creamier), because the fromage blanc didn't really melt or get gooey - it just doesn't have enough fat. I think even just the little hunks of Havarti that I originally planned would have worked, but I didn't want something too heavy, because I made these to go with a peppery flatiron steak, another batch of that corn-roasted poblano pudding (this time cooked in a terrine for easy slicing - having brunch guests tomorrow) and tomato salad.

So I know someone is totally going to make these, take a sunshine-backlit, properly exposed photo and get it on Tastespotting. And everyone will think, "oh, how clever _____ is to make these!" and ______ will get all that sweet, sweet blog traffic and the extra $3.28 from Foodbuzz this month. Not like I'm claiming to have invented them or anything, I just made them with this unique and delicious filling and then photographed them poorly. Which, in the blogging thing, means I may as well have never made them at all.

Stuffed zucchini

Not a bad way to continue purging the fridge and cabinets, although I'm totally out of pasta now! I didn't realize I was out of my favorite, linguine (didn't have any spaghetti left, either), and had to use the last of the orecchiette instead. This didn't seem quite right to me - I really had my heart set on a plate of spaghetti marinara for this, but whaddayagonnado.

I finally used up that gigantic zucchini that's been in my fridge. I halved it lengthwise and scooped out the seedy pulp in the middle, then filled it with the leftover sausage and vegetable saute from last night's pizza, with some hunks of mozz stuffed in for good measure. I was originally going to close it back together and wrap it in puff pastry, but there was too much stuffing to make a nice loaf. Instead, I sprinkled a mixture of grated parm and panko, with some garlic powder and oregano added for flave. Drizzled on a little olive oil, and into the oven until the squash was tender and the stuffing browned.

Sausage and cheese, what can't you do? Yes, it looks exactly like a low-carb version of my French bread pizza. Tasted pretty much the same too! I just sliced it into thick slabs to top a little orecchiette aglio e olio (and a the last drop of sauce stirred in).

This was such a yummy, simple dinner. Delightful for a weeknight. Until I inhaled a crumb of panko and choked for ten minutes while it scraped my epiglottis.