The importance of cooking for those that you love (or just like a whole bunch) is the basis for a feast. Planning, scheming, and turning out food for a large crowd is thrilling, vexing, exhausting and supremely satisfying. The latter half of 2009 started and ended with large scale feasts, one in Los Angeles and one in San Jose. This is the second of two posts covering these events in detail.

(photo by wm. christman)

"It's a New Braunfels Bandera offset smoker."

Many years ago, my friend Tom had been researching Texas Barbecue and landed upon this unit as a potential (holy) grail for home barbecue. Looking over at the matte black finished smoker with its squat firebox and tall chimney, I immediately wanted one. The problem was availability. New Braunfels was a small Texas company with growing pains that didn't allow them much in the way of left coast sales. But with 40+ phone calls and two months later, I located one. Two weeks later I had done my first smoking run with a few racks of St. Louis style cut pork ribs.

Every three or four years since then, my wife Janet and I put on a giant-sized Texas barbecue. We do it because it's fun and we love Texas-style barbecue (low and slow) and frankly, the same amount of wood is used whether or not the smoking chamber is filled with meat or not. Barbecue travels well and leftovers last a long time. Most importantly, our friends always have a good time. Billed as "Bill and Jan's Texas Barbecue Party", we have been upping our game every time out for the past 12 years. The first official one had about 20 people and maybe 40 pounds of meat. Second one was 43 people and 86 pounds of meat. With the 2009 version, we were out to set a personal record. Here's how it came together...

the beast, at night... (photo by wm. christman)

Food prep begins about three days before the event. Two desserts that always make their appearance here are some sort of fruit cobbler and a cornbread and chocolate bread pudding. Cornbread is easy enough to bake off and freeze so that's in the bag. Making sausage needs a day's worth of lead time, to marinate and develop flavors. A meat run is done at one of the best local butchers, Dittmer's in Mountain View, then sausage stuffing and rib trimming usually happen on same evening.

"rubbing" butts and briskets (photo by wm. christman)

The rest of the meat prep is done in the morning on the day before the event - the ribs, brisket and pork butt are treated to a dry rub or just salt and pepper. Beans are usually washed and soaked then as well. Everything else, including salad and appetizer prep, cooking off dessert and getting the chicken into a flavored brine, gets done on the day of the event.

one chicken after a four hour soak in brine (photo by wm. christman)

We smoke meats all night, the night before, and up to the start time of the party which is usually 3 pm the following afternoon. That means the fire gets lit some time around nine in the evening. The firebox gets starter chimney full of mesquite at first because it burns hotter and gets the entire smoker up to temperature very quickly. That takes about 45 minutes.

Once the smoker chamber/chimney gets to about 180°, the meat starts to go in and the first hardwood is put on the mesquite coals to slowly smolder its flavor into the meats. We usually cook two briskets, minimally trimmed, between 13 and 15 pounds each. The fibrous cut lends itself to long cooking either by braise, boil or slow roasting at a low temperature and typically takes the longest to finish - this year we shot for a 17 hour version. (By unwritten Texas barbecue law, meats should ought to get to an internal temperature of 185°, pardner...)

as it needs time, the brisket goes in first... (photo by wm. christman)

Once the briskets are in, the pork shoulder is next. The standard supermarket trimmed pork shoulder is about four pounds. We used to mess around with four to six pork shoulders of that size but found that it is much better to take an entire shoulder, not broken down into family-sized pieces. A whole pork shoulder, bone out, is between 16 and 18 pounds, in two pieces, so that size cut is going to benefit from low and slow too.

We tend the fire overnight and feed the firebox every 90 minutes or so trying to keep the internal temperature of the smoker chimney to between 180° and 220°. We take turns napping, checking temps and adding wood when needed. Leisurely prep of black lentils, small dice turnips and carrots (for the lentil salad) takes place in the wee hours of the morning alongside some spirited drinking of beer, wine, bourbon and/or single malt. Anticipation of the day ahead makes it so "tired" never really sets in. We just think of it as the best all-nighter one can do.

pork butt after eight hours in smoke...the brisket below is the one you see in the picture above this one only several hours later... (photo by wm. christman)

With the smoker humming right along for about 11 hours, the party morning light allows us to set up the dining, sun and living rooms with chairs and landing spaces for plates and the back yard with the drink table - Jan is completely in charge of the libations, alcoholic and not. Every year she features a specialty drink, mixed Janet-style (i.e., strong). Last time it was fresh lime and garden mint mojitos. This year, by popular request, Lynchburg Lemonade.

The chicken and sausage are meats that pick up a ton of smoke and don't take that long to cook and they get put into the smoker mid-morning. Salads are finished, cobbler (fresh berry this year) and the bread pudding with plenty of large chunk chocolate get finished and baked off. Much running around getting beer, wine, plates and utensils ensues. Sometime after noon, our helpers show up - this year it was Les, Andrea, and Howard doing barbecue duty.

And we usually make two sauces: a mustard-based one for the pork and a tomato-based one for everything else. Of course, Texas barbecue means that sauce is merely and add-on...its the low and slow smoking that gets the top billing, flavor-wise. The sauces are always one-of-a-kind creations the recipes of which only reside in imagination.

As was mentioned, we usually put a cast iron pot of beans in the smoker for our version of smoked beans. We had so much meat in the smoker we had no room. Janet took point on the beans this year and proceeded to rip...it...up with bacon, onion, pepper as a base and a murder's row of sauces and seasonings along with the soaked beans. (I wish we had taken a picture...they were a thing of beauty and were the first to disappear from the serving table.)

As the meat finishes (gets to temp), the smoker starts to empty out an the kitchen cutting boards start filling with large, fragrant slabs of meat. Barbecue doesn't have to be served at blazing hot temperatures so we just put it into an unheated oven for a little while. The insulation in the oven keeps it plenty warm. Apps are put out and drinks checked. Janet makes sure her "bar" supplies are ready to do and we usually test flight a few of her cocktails d'jour. That gets us fully lubed for the frenzied push to the dinner bell.

hot pork meat means pulling fast and furious, else your fingers get pretty toasty... (photo by wm. christman)

One of the more interesting (and borderline painful) tasks is to pull the pork shoulder apart. A cut of meat this big really retains the heat so rubber gloves are needed to prod and pull the meat apart. Even with the gloves, the heat of the tender meat causes some pretty red and hot hands so you have to pull FAST. (This is also one of the best jobs in the barbecue kitchen as tasting is mandatory - thanks to both Les and Howard for diving right in.)

Our party is a truly Texas "come early, stay late" affair and guests slowly start arriving 'round 4 pm or so. Everyone wants to know if they can bring something and we request that they bring only their appetites. If they feel that they must bring something we ask that they bring a bottle of wine so we get LOTS of wine from this party! We always target 5:30 to have everything out so pork is pulled, chickens gets cut into serving pieces, brisket sliced, sausage broken apart, and ribs cut by then. Sauces, salads, beans, and sliced bread get staged as well.

hungry barbecue freaks, mommy! (photo by wm. christman)

Once all the meats are "trayed" (the jumbo family-style version of "plated") everything hits the table and the dinner gong is rung...well, ok, we just usually shout that the food is ready. But since everyone is usually hanging around the kitchen anyway, not much prompting is needed. The feasting goes on into the night and desserts eventually make their way to the table with three or four half gallons of premium ice cream. Its non-stop for hours! This year the house was rocking 'till late in the evening with the last folks leaving about 11 pm.

pulled pork, ribs, chicken and sauces above... (photo by wm. christman)

So, what about that personal record, you're asking? This year we had 53 guests and cooked over 110 pounds of meat (uncooked weight, 'natch) which beat the last time out by quite a margin. (The leftover meat poundage was just over seven pounds which means everyone ate roughly two pounds of meat each. Yeah!) We also served up several pounds of salads, beans and bread, and a boat load of beer, wine and Lynchburg Lemonades.

We show our appreciation to our next door neighbours by assembling a few plates if they cannot make it, if only to thank them for putting up with the smoke. We offer our couches and carpeted floor to anyone who either is inebriated by food or alcohol or both. Everyone has a great time, everyone leaves happy, and bringing leftovers home is encouraged. After a quick check to take care of any perishables, we collapse sometime after the last guests leave.

more! (photo by wm. christman)

Clean up the next day is a chore but we're always so stoked that so many people showed up that things go quickly. We're just glad that we were able to share some hospitality with them. And that's what cooking for those you love is all about.

The importance of cooking for those that you love (or just like a whole bunch) is the perfect reason for a feast. Planning, scheming, and turning out food for a large crowd is thrilling, vexing, exhausting and supremely satisfying. The latter half of 2009 started and ended with large scale feasts, one in Los Angeles and one in San Jose. The next two posts will cover those events in detail.

(photo by wm. christman)

The usual modus operandi when I go to Los Angeles is to get together with Les, who is my one of my best friends down there, and proceed to spend two and a half days visiting as many interesting restaurants, food trucks, farmer's markets and bars as our stomachs can handle. Usual (dietary) caution is thrown to the wind as we exist for one thing during those times: feasting.

In June of 2009, as we were planning another weekend of sheer gluttony, we decided to take one of those days and cook for handful of our LA friends. Since it was in the middle of a sweltering LA summer, it seemed natural to do a Mediterranean-themed summer grill.

And as most of our feasts go, we over-planned with the expectation that we'd scale back anyway. The initial menu had items like fig and prosciutto flatbread and beer-can chicken but as we planned shopping and judged time those seemed to over-complicate the theme. So we settled on a majority of cold apps, some excellent locally baked bread from the Village Bakery in Silverlake, two or three different kinds of marinated and grilled beef and chicken with potatoes and herbed grilled vegetables. Wine, bread pudding, ice cream and fine bourbon rounded out the deal.

On Saturday, a morning diversion to 2009's Erotica LA convention (the "other" reason for being in LA that weekend) preceded our actual kitchen blitz, but by 2pm we were in full-on work mode. Meats got our first attention. We spatchcocked four whole chickens and dunked two of them into some flavored brine and dry-rubbed the others with a garlic-lime mix.

fresh habañero rubbed hanger steak (photo by wm. christman)

For the beef, we bought two beautiful looking hanger steaks and two skirt steaks. The day before, we picked up some nice looking habañeros at a local supermarket and those got diced up and mixed into olive oil with a bit of salt and then spread on one of the hanger steaks. One of the skirt steaks received a soy-garlic paste marinade. The other two pieces of beef got a simple dusting of coarse salt and cracked black pepper.

a lesson in knife skills...the Mediterranean salad (photo by wm. christman)

Getting the meats done led to the next mountain of work: chopping, dicing and assembling a multi-multi-multi ingredient Mediterranean salad, then putting together a tomato and garlic dip, plus a bowl of hummus The salad was problematic and it was clear that there were way too many vegetables for the bowl. I think the knife work and assembly took nearly an hour and we started to lose track of time. The end result was worth it but we nearly blew our entire schedule on that one dish. The tomato and garlic dip was a straightforward puréed production as was the hummus.

colourful smashed potaoes, ready to grill (photo by wm. christman)

Once we were clear of nearly everything that went into the cold dishes, we got to the outdoor grills. We fueled and lit all three in succession and checked on the next door neighbours, who took on the cheese plate, potatoes and grilled vegetables. They were in much better shape than we were. They had everything done: sliced and oiled crooknecks and giant zucchini, purple and golden pre-smashed potatoes, and lightly sugared wedges of pineapple. All ready for fire.

Parmesan and thyme pâte à choux...soon to be gougères (photo by wm. christman)

The last bit of business were cooking off some Parmesan and thyme gougères which are always a hit and fun to do. Since they're best fresh from the oven, baking them off was planned for just after the meat went on the grills - chicken first then beef 15 minutes later. That way, the 20-30 minutes of baking they required timed out the chicken to be close to done and beef to about medium rare.

cheesy and puffy... (photo by wm. christman)

A quick, five-minute prep of butter, water, flour and egg (with cheese and thyme) for the pâte à choux was completed and the gougères were piped for baking. We got all the apps out when the gougère production hit the oven so they'd arrive as a high note to the apps. The meat was well on its way, and the veg was in full grill mode. Within 30 minutes meat was rested, sliced and plated along with the potatoes and veg, bread was sliced, wine poured, and the main event was on. We had achieved our summer grill...ah, feasting.

the finished grilled habañero hanger steak (photo by wm. christman)

For dessert, the challah bread pudding was a pretty standard production with egg-rich challah, reconstituted dried tart cherries, eggs, cream, sugar and butter. We just put it into the switched-off oven just before all of the mains hit the table. By the time it was just heated through, the group had plowed through a good portion of what we prepared and just needed something sweet to push them into the bliss of a food-coma nap. The bread pudding with vanilla ice cream filled that niche nicely.

The end result? A bunch of full, happy, and sated folks enjoying a comfortably warm Los Angeles evening. And that continued to stoke the fire for the rest of the evening which was filled with tipsy after-dinner bourbon, European herbal aperitif, and single malt boozing and extra snacking on the leftovers; the perfect end to another LA feasting weekend.

Mark K. of Kihei, Hawaii writes, "Are we going to hear anything about Indian food??"

Well Mark, yes and no. As it usually happens with good food, the actual item disappears before any pictures can be taken. And what is a ...but the devil... posting without a delicious looking photo to (hopefully) make you drool?

And so it happened on my current business trip to India with the carrot halwa at Chennai's Eden, a restaurant with a modern Indian bent started by some local hotel management graduates.

I got the chance to click a few photos of their carrot halwa before the table's still-hungry occupants licked the plate clean. This version is moderately dense and carrot-y sweet. The condensed milk pushes the richness over the top. In smallish spoonfuls it's really good...and you'll go on tilt if you slurped up the whole thing in one go. Not that I have ever done that.

You can see a recipe for carrot halwa here or just go ahead and Google "carrot halwa".

Say "barbecue" to just about anyone and you're likely to get "ribs" as a response. I have been doing barbecue, in various forms, for years. And while one could endlessly debate the different methods of barbecue meat prep, technique, rubs and sauces, I prefer my rack of ribs cut in a "St. Louis" style.

Janet and I recently hosted our "once-every-three-or-four-years" Texas Barbecue Party and as I was doing prep for the chicken and ribs, I grabbed the camera to document the technique that Tom Dowdy taught me many years ago.

ready for trimming (photo by wm. christman)

The first few cuts are more clean-up ones that involve trimming stuff on the bone side (the side that faces in to the inner cavity of the pig). You'll be removing a flap of meat and stripping the membrane that hugs the ribs on that side.

the flap of meat on the bone side will vary from one inch to nearly three inches on healthy sized hogs (photo by wm. christman)

The flap cut is easy. You just run your knife parallel to the surface of the ribs to remove it. Lifting it as you cut takes it off easily and cleanly.

cut parallel to the bone side (you can see the pleura just below the knife) (photo by wm. christman)

Next is probably the biggest pain in the butt with this cut: removing the pleura (membrane) from the bone side. The pleura is tough and very difficult to chew and for those reasons alone, you want to remove it. It also contracts when heated and will cause your rack of ribs to develop the equivalent of culinary scoliosis.

I usually use a strong bamboo chopstick and a kitchen towel to loosen and remove the pleura. (You can also use a paring knife to ease the pleura away from the bones.) Using a shallow poking motion, you ease the chopstick underneath a piece of the pleura near the short end of the rack - this may take a few attempts, it can be pretty slippery and tough.

Once you get underneath a piece of it, wiggle the chopstick back-and-forth horizontally until you start to lift the pleura away from two or three of the small ribs. When it starts to lift off the bones, the pleura will make a slight sucking sound, not unlike slurping coffee.

working the pleura up and away (photo by wm. christman)

Once you've got it separated like this, grab a kitchen towel, wrap it around your fingers and work it under the separated pleura. Then use the towel to rip it off in one long strip. In a meat processing plant, the action of breaking down the primals that make up the ribs will nick the pleura and it won't come off in one clean piece. Just repeat the chopstick poke and wiggle then towel rip until you get most of the pleura off.

The rest of the St. Louis cut is easy. Turn the rack meat side up so that the curved edge is at the top of your cutting board. The tops of the rib bones are about 1/3 the way down from the top edge of the ribs. Feel around on one side to see where they begin.

running along the top of the bone and though the cartilage (photo by wm. christman)

The slightly deceptive thing about this is that nestled up against the tops of the bones are equally vertical pieces of cartilage that extend close to the top edge. Just put the edge of your knife where it seems less hard and start to make a horizontal cut along the top. Then with downward pressure, pull your knife in a straight line through the meat and cartilage. It is generally good to leave a piece of the cartilage in the finished rack so don't too close to the top edge of the bone. You can always trim more off if you need to.

the finished St. Louis cut with ends and scrap (photo by wm. christman)

Then trim up the vertical ends to square off the rack. When you're done, you should have a nicely shaped St. Louis rack, a thick set of rib "ends" and few random scraps to add to the pork stock bone bin (pork stock makes a great base for barbecue sauce, by the way...).

Rub them up (and the ends too!) with your favorite spices or just use coarse salt and pepper, let them rest a few hours or overnight in the refrigerator then get them to the smoker for a couple of hours of quality time in the smoke.

After almost two decades (really!), I finally made it to Pink's. LA's classic hot dog institution eluded me through the sublime and the ridiculous. The former being a nigh-on-cool spot to see and be seen in and the latter as fodder for the myriad of "gotta-eat-more-insanely-over-loaded-and-spiced-food-than-anyone-else-ever-could" reality sport-eating shows (paging Mr Richman, paging Adam Richman...white courtesy coronary bypass phone please...).

My best friend in LA, Les, chided me for not having ever gone. "But, but...I thought it was chili dogs as deep and as wide as your head...and I'm scared...", I whined. He shook his head then put his Freud hat on and told me that sometimes a chili dog is just a chili dog. And it just so happened that Pinks' version was pretty tasty.

So as part of my January 15th 50th birthday celebration (thanks Janet!), I finally went to Pink's. And it was very, very good. They source their own hot dogs and make their own chili. Even standing in line for 20 minutes was worth it. And I didn't walk away with any sort of bloat. In fact, I felt just shy of full. Perfect.

And as a native Californian, I hang my head in shame for not going sooner.

Though the passion for food remains constant, life remains seated squarely in the fast lane. When that happens, time just rolls on and on like you fell asleep and like all of a sudden, it's months later.

So, a belated Happy New Year to everyone who stops by ...but the devil sends the cooks. As before, this year will be full of challenges in grabbing enough time in the day to sit down and write about food, where it might be going and how it fits into life.

And it doesn't take the Amazing Kreskin to say that 2010 will also be a year of wild and somewhat unpredictable change. For the dedicated handful of folks who stop by, thanks for following along.

Tuesday October 27th, 1:13 pm, Tokyo Standard Time

My Special Ops agent, Katz M., called me up in the middle of my annual Tokyo shoe-buying frenzy.

"We need to talk", he said in a nervous voice. "Do you have a moment?"

Katz does reconnaissance for many of my missions in Tokyo which can be a little dicey and borderline dangerous at times.

"Katz, man...anything for you. You sound concerned. Do we have a blown cover problem?"

"No, no....um, I think I found what you were looking for", he said. "But this one is different. Really different."

"OK, give me the straight dirt, Katz. What'chu got for me?"

I heard him hesitate. "OK, the target is in Ginza. You know, rich beyond rich there...but it's not ultra-high end stuff..." His voice trailed off.

"Dish it, Katz!", I said impatiently. "I can take it."

"Look Katz, relax. Nothing's going to happen. Is there a name? What is it? Yamazaki? Kuwabara? Yamanaka?", I implored. C'mon, Katz give me something to work with here!"

"OK, OK...", he gasped. "It's called Yabaton but..." Then the line suddenly went dead.

As much as I needed to protect Katz, my priority was to follow his lead to the end. Hopefully the secure cell he was on just had a glitch and he's trying to call me back. After a few minutes, I did a mental shrug and decided that I'd check up on him in a few days. He's a rock that way.

Wednesday October 28th, 2:35 pm, Tokyo Standard Time

Creeping through the backstreets of Ginza (in disguise of course), I spied the target Katz told me about up ahead. Sure enough, the side profile of a giant, friendly-looking pig dressed in a sumo kesho-mawashi peering out from the front of the building was evident. As I got closer, I realized that Katz was spot-on with his brief description. The smell of miso was thick as thieves in the air. Keeping pace was the strong smell of fried pork. Real dangerous stuff if you don't know how to deal with it. But I can. It's what I do.

secret sumo pig lair... (photo by wm. christman)

When I reached the sumo-pig store front, I was getting a contact-high from the miso and by the time I reached out to open the door all I could do was dizzily lurch through it in a clatter. When I did, two white and blue-clad gentlemen looked at me for a second then said "Irrashaimase!". This had to be a trick. Then the room went black.

When I came to, I was seated at a long dining bar, alone. The two gentlemen who greeted me were nowhere to be found. There was one lone chef behind the bar who gave me a scowl when he noticed I had awakened.

"We have something very special for you, Mr. C.", a voice said in my left ear. "Something that we think you will like."

I tried to turn around to see the face connected to the voice but two large men in what looked like black suits at the sleeves held me by the shoulders and kept me facing forward. Moments later, a plate with what looked like tonkatsu appeared. But it looked strange.

"What is this?" I intoned, "Are you testing out a new truth serum in tonkatsu-sauce form or something equally evil?"

"At least taste it and see, Mr. C.", the voice sing-songed as I realized that he knew my street name. "Really, we promise not to harm you when you do. Well, not very much at least...."

addictive... (photo by wm. christman)

I figured that I might as well get it over with if they were going to do away with me. Defiantly, I broke apart my chopsticks and plucked a piece of the strange looking katsu off the plate and put it in my mouth. It was crisp, juicy, delicious and the tang of red miso filled my mouth to the brim. A mighty fine way to go, I thought, as I reached for another piece. Within 5 minutes, the entire plate was gone...just a few panko crumbs, some random sauce stains, and a shred or two of cabbage remained. I was dizzy from the feast and didn't much care if they had their way with me now.

"Mr. C.", the voice continued. "You have just eaten the pride of Nagoya: misokatsu. The pork is soaked in red miso before it is flash-fried just as tonkatsu is." Something about the voice sounded more and more familiar as it continued, "...the sauce is also made with the red miso. We think it is the perfect compliment to the miso-tenderized pork."

"It is very, very good and the texture of the pork is melt-in-your-mouth tender", I said. "And it's very addictiv....", now I felt my own voice trail off. "Oh, I get it, that's your game, isn't it? Get me hooked then I become subject to your every whim..."

Now it all made sense. Tonkatsu itself is addictive like a great hollandaise but misokatsu is the equivalent of pork heroin. Soft, crunchy, savory with just a hint of bitter from the miso and it makes you want to come back to it again and again and again...why would you need anything more? Well, maybe more of that sauce...my head spun even more.

The two burly men turned me around in my seat and a grinning Katz was before me holding a voice-processing sound box in his right hand.

"Mr. C., it's good to see you again in the flesh," he said, "I trust you enjoyed my latest find?" My eyes must have been as wide as saucers.

"I did Katz, I did", I said. "But how did you pull this off?"

"My father raised me on Yabaton's misokatsu so I'm well-connected and I knew you'd be intrigued enough to search it out", he said knowingly. "And, I knew I had you the moment I made the line go dead."

He laughed long and loud. "Now Mr. C., there's the matter of my payment for this and all of the other 'services' I have performed. Life for me remains on a dangerous path when I'm connected to you, you know..."

"Alright, Katz. There will be your usual fee plus a little something extra dropped in the usual place", I sighed. I hated being over a barrel for this and especially now that I knew that Katz engineered this moment of delicious trickery.

"By the way Katz, do you think I can get another plate of that misokatsu...you know, 'for the road'?" I said, with my stomach starting to growl again.

A look of victory came over Katz' face. "Of course Mr. C. Of course."

--- Yabaton
4-10-14 Ginza Chou-ku, Tokyo, Phone: 03-3546-8810
Open Tue-Sun 11am-10pm. Closed Mondays.
Nearest station: Ginza (several subway lines serve Ginza), exit out of A2 or A6 exit.
Google Map: 東京都中央区銀座4-10-14

Sometimes a restaurant hits upon a concept so brain-dead simple (in execution, at least) that it's both impressive and delicious.

Ebisu's Trattoria Il Boccalone features a parmesean risotto that is finished in a giant half-wheel of parmesean. That is, the risotto is cooked to just a moment before you would kill the heat and add cheese to finish it. Instead, Il Boccalone pours the semi-molten risotto into a small canoe-like well dug into a three foot half-wheel of parmesean. The risotto melts the cheese into itself as it is pushed around the cheesy well. Genius.

Il Boccalone may not be the first restaurant to do this but the whole spectacle is impressive. And even better, it was very delicious.

(Days three and four at the CIA)

There's nothing quite like mixing, fermenting, shaping and baking bread. Even when you're doing bread bakery numbers.

In the past two days, we have made:
- 18 9" diameter white sourdough boules
- 16 hand formed ciabatta
- 110 4" brioche
- 105 white dinner rolls
- 13 9" rosemary and green olive boules
- 12 7" rosemary batards
- 8 14" braided challah
- 6 5" diameter orange panatone
- 12 8" long sunflower seed bread

Phew....and that's only half of it...there's more below...

rosemary batard (photo by wm. christman)

- 16 10" diameter focaccia (with 5-6 different toppings)
- 40-50 pieces of fresh naan
- three large sheets of lavash
- about 36 lebanese thyme flatbread
- a pile of soft pretzels
- a pile of fresh pita bread

Two days of production (four hours each, so really just 8 working hours), lots of mixing, testing, stretching, forming, shaping, cutting...running back and forth between ovens and benches, ducking the steam vents in the deck oven when baking bread, or delivering most of what we produced to the lunch crew to put out for lunch (or breakfast the next day) and much more...it just goes on and on.

And all throughout, the slightly tangy smell of fermenting bread, long and wide bread benches scattered with flour and ingredients, white coated chefs-in-training scurrying in and around the work areas, multiple sheet pans of shaped and resting loaves, the roasted smells of freshly finished bread cooling on racks...and unless you see it first-hand, there's nothing like this.

And for me, this is heaven.

Well, the trip to Tokyo was a smashing success but work and other tasks got in the way of posting anything. Yes, the stories of risotto finished in a giant wheel of parmesan, the night of two, back-to-back salaryman-stylee dinners, and Nagoya's Yabaton with it's unique take on tonkatsu and an equally cool sumo wrestler pig logo will all be posted here in the next few weeks. Promise.

But there's something a bit more urgent going on now though. Today, I found myself an actual "enrolled" student (more on that in a minute) at the CIA (the Culinary Institute of America) at Greystone in St. Helena up in California's wine country.

But now, I'm actually here and spent my first day in a week-long "boot camp" in Baking and Pastry Arts. Even though it is only a week, I am treated like a real student right down to the uniform and having to follow a relatively stringent set of rules when in the kitchens and classrooms. Hierarchy here is a real key and once you're actually in the mix, it is vital to your survival, for both you and your classmates.

I have worked to some extent in similar environs with my friend Tom Dowdy at the incredible parties he put on twice a year for 10 years. Much of what I experienced today looks exactly like those times. And this first day was as fun, frustrating, exhilarating, tiring, and fulfilling as that first December dinner party where I worked for Tom. Driving back to my hotel this afternoon had me in (happy) tears because of the sheer emotion of just this one day.

In the production portion of today's session, my chef partner and I (a recent graduate from UC Berkeley named Daniel) set out to create a sour cream pound cake, roughly eight pounds of pie dough (for tomorrow's production), and misé en place for both scones and coconut cream pies (also for tomorrow) starting at roughly 9:30 am this morning.

In the baking corner of the kitchens, all ten students hurried around - everyone looking a bit out of place and dazed by the intensity of it all. Weighing, measuring, fetching, and toting all manner of ingredients made the time fly by. Daniel and I were on our way to finishing mixing and getting our pound cake batter into rectangular forms when I noticed an errant bowl of sugar sitting on the counter.

I slumped a little inside because it was at that moment that Chef Brown, our instructor for the week, was over to check the consistency of our cake batter. I sheepishly said that I had forgotten to cream the sugar with the butter. Argh! Since everything else was already mixed, we had no way out. "It's ok and you're here to learn but you need to start again," said Chef Brown. "Get going, it's getting close to lunch."

As with many team activities, making mistakes is normal and dwelling on it doesn't make it any better but it is pretty damn humbling. Daniel and I set about to re-measure, re-mix and get to the ovens as quickly as possible. Glancing at the clock showed it was 11:35 am and we needed to get the bread in the oven before lunch at noon.

We eventually got everything finished and into the oven at around 12:25 pm which left about 5 minutes to grab lunch and get back to our stations for the pie dough and misé en place activity. While that was going on, we walked quickly back and forth between the work spaces and the convection ovens every 5-10 minutes checking our somewhat late bread, and we must have looked as worried as expectant fathers. About 15 minutes before the evaluation session (for all of the product the five teams made), we pulled our pound cake out to let it cool.

The most thrilling and nerve-wracking part of the day was when Chef Brown cut into each item giving critique and praise (where warranted, of course!) for each item. Another team was assigned the same pound cake and they received their critique first. Their bread looked gorgeous on the outside and was deemed "pretty good" but with some incomplete marbling in the final product. (The cake featured a dry streusel that was sandwiched between two portions of batter. It was then "cut" with a knife - drawing the knife through the batter to give a "marbled" look when baked.)

Our cake wasn't nearly as pretty but was nicely coloured. Cutting into the cake showed real great marbling (Daniel was responsible for that!) and got a "this is really good" comment from Chef Brown. So for our first miscue (with about 10 pounds of ruined cake batter) and then rushing around like madmen to finish and not having (very much) lunch, we did very well under pressure. Daniel and I exchanged wide smiles and subtle high-fives and we got some nice compliments from other students tasting our product.

That was Day One. I'm exhausted. I'm happy. I feel like I really and truly accomplished something. And it's just Day One. And now I'm wondering why it took me this long to get myself up here.

More tomorrow.

I have been coming to Japan every year for the past seven or eight years. Before that it was a few times per year on business. Friends and colleagues still ask why I like coming here. Unfortunately, there's no real one word or phrase answer to that question.

...but the devil... has been busy posting as fast as humanly possible given all the stimulus here, food-wise but today, as I exited a train on the Yamanote line in Meijiro, I stopped and looked around. I decided that it is time to attempt to answer this nagging question.

There is just something magical about Japan, and Tokyo especially, that transcends any stereotype of geisha, all-sushi-all-the-time, people being jammed into trains, or Asian mysticism. If you look really, really hard, you will see proud people everywhere, going about their business in a (mostly) quiet way, enjoying some pretty simple pleasures.

Food is a big part of that but so is the way people socialize, their attitudes about subtly but definitively expressing themselves (the picture above is but one example I found today), how they dress (it seems like everyone you see is dressed to kill), and how they treat one another (with kindness and definite respect). So I can attempt to answer the question by saying that when I'm here, I feel so much more like I am part of something that cannot be duplicated in the US.

Wanting and being wanted is a big part of being in love. You feel both elated in the moment and a bit scared that it might somehow go away in an instant. I've got it bad for Tokyo (and the rest of Japan) and it is now time to put the love affair into long-distance mode. And like a far-away lover, I'm already yearning to come back and resume the romance. I don't know if it will be next year or in a few years but right now, the future doesn't matter but spending my last 24 hours intensely loving this city does.

(We have many more posts in the works about these two food-laden weeks in Tokyo and those will resume after we return to the US next week...thanks to all my friends here that provide invaluable input and discoveries, thanks to you for staying tuned and for all of the kind compliments about ...but the devil sends the cooks..

The staggering number of noodle restaurants, joints and hangouts in Tokyo means that your noodle cravings will never become a problem. A fair number of them also make their own noodles by hand and those are the shops that are worth searching out.

Hegisoba Kon (へぎそば昆) is one that takes great pride in their handmade noodles. So much so that they stay up real late to indulge their patrons with large flat trays of cooked to perfection soba. And that's after a healthy set of izakaya dishes. Or as a friend told me, "you might think that you cannot eat another bite but once you taste their soba, you get hungry all over again".

On our visit to Shinjuku's Hegisoba Kon, most of the parties already there were tucking to small plates of sashimi-thin sliced roast duck, little bowls of deep fried soba noodles and beautiful green ginko nuts, or collars of salt-grilled saba (mackerel). We did the same and after about an hour, I began to wonder when we were going to get to the main soba event.

"Relax, eat some of this, have some more beer..." was the refrain as we continued to snack on deliciously simple izakaya fare. A yuuba-cheese plate made it way out and the fried tofu skin cradled a bit of medium sharp white cheese. It was nearly oil-less for being fried; crisp, gooey and delicious.

Another hour passed, more beer and shochu was poured and one of our group actually had to catch his last train home and had to, regrettably, forego the soba. Eventually, the remainder of the group decided to order soba. I was about ready to burst from all of the food that we had already eaten.

An enormous tray of soba arrived and I simply didn't believe that we'd be able to eat it all. Although the soba was piled up, the tray was not too deep but it did give the impression of "lots".

Little cups of tsuyu (a thin, broth/soy-like sauce) also appeared with a small amount of wasabi and thinly sliced green onion - this was zaru-soba...cold noodles dunked into tsuyu, a typical way to eat it.

The soba itself was very subtly green as it was made with seaweed which imparted a very slight briny-sweetness. It was perfectly cooked - chewy but slightly soft. Slurping up mouthful after mouthful, the tray was soon empty and every bit was delicious.

Most soba places end their soba course with a small pot of soba-yu (the water in which the soba was cooked) to mix with the remaining tsuyu to create a warming and healthy drink to end the meal. Although you're forced to be a bit of an alchemist to get the soba-yu and tsuyu proportions just right, it is a perfect way to end a relaxing fabulous meal.

one of Hegisoba's soba masters (photo by wm. christman)

Long past the time to catch the last train home, we left Hegisoba Kon just before 2 am but we were barely the last party to leave. You don't have to stay until late but you will want to stay for a while and experience some of the best soba in Shinjuku, if not Tokyo.

---
Hegisoba Kon
2-13-11 Shinjuku Shinjuku-ku, Tokyo, Phone: 03-3354-2927
Open Mon-Sat 6pm-1am Closed Sunday
Nearest station: Marunouchi line, Shinjuku-Gyoen Station. (5 min walk)
Toei Shinjuku line, Shinjuku-San-Chome Station. (2 min walk)
Google Map: 東京都新宿区新宿2-13-11

It's not often that we post scenery here at ...but the devil... but if Tokyo is all hustle-bustle then the countryside of the Kiyasato area is a serene oasis.

(photo by wm. christman)

There's lots of great food out here as well (as the yakiniku above demonstrates) and a fine place to spend the weekend.

(Kiyosato is about 2 hours by car almost due west of Tokyo.)

Tokyo changes as fast as it stays the same. In some areas, five years ago looks completely different than today. Other remain the same year after year or even decade after decade.

Manshuri Saikan (満州里菜館) has been around since the early 1950's and turns out an impressive number of Chinese dishes. But the one I'm the most familiar with and fond of is their roasted garlic gyoza (niniku gyoza).

(photo by howard kveck)

A friend and I made it there in 2005 and were very taken by the delicious little morsels. And this past week, four years later, I stopped by to see if the restaurant and their garlic gyoza were still there.

Everything about Manshuri Saikan was exactly as I remember it. The understated entrance and the spartan but friendly interior. The menu was still packed with lots of Chinese dishes, soups, and dumplings. But it was the gyoza that were the target of the day.

The niniku gyoza are a bargain at 5 for ¥550. Two orders of those and some rice makes a nice light lunch for two (or a regular lunch for one). Each gyoza has a large roasted clove of garlic inside of it that dwarfs a minimal amount of the usual minced meat and vegetable gyoza filling.

The garlic is soft, sweet, fragrant and almost potato-like in texture that plays against the crispy underside of the gyoza. A bit of a dip into some soy, vinegar and chili oil mixture adds a bit of astringency. If it sounds like each gyoza is a real mouthful of delicious, you'd be right.

It would take several weeks for one person to eat their way through Manshuri Saikan's menu but coming for the gyoza is all I need. If tradition holds true, I should be able to return here in four years and still rave about their roasted garlic gyoza. I'm hoping that I won't be waiting that long.

Nicely seared steaks with all the trimmings. Not a rarity in Tokyo by any stretch but Meat Yazawa does it for a reasonable price and they do it well. And it's way too much fun to imitate gravelly voiced, serious Japanese samurai movies stars saying "mee-to yazawa" (ミート矢澤).