Margy's Beijing Journal: Hot Pot

Tonight was Margy's introduction to Mongolian hot pot. (I don't think it counts that we've visited the dreadful J.P. Lee's in Millburn, NJ, a Mongolian barbecue place that's like a less fun version of a hibachi restaurant.) The joint was hip and classy, and parties could seal themselves off from the throng by closing what Margy described as a shower curtain around their table.

Legend has it, Margy says, that Kubla Khan brought hot pot to Beijing from Mongolia, though tonight I believe someone else delivered it to Margy's table. A big pot of broth was set over a burner in front of the diners, and Margy and her companions used chopsticks to grab a slice of meat from a tray and then swirl it around the broth for a scant minute until it was cooked. After the meat came a plate of dumplings, which were bathed in the broth in the same way. To the left of the broth is a bowl of tripe.

Me, I had Vietnamese food on Baxter Street in NYC -- not bad, but hardly a trip to the Forbidden City followed by a hot-pot feast.

Two Heads Are Better Than One

When Sonny presented us with that head of orange cauliflower a few weeks ago, I already had white cauliflower sitting in the fridge. I'd bought it at the farmers' market but hadn't used it, and it was in danger of expiring. And now its colorful cousin was threatening to upstage it entirely.

But still, I hate wasting food.

So I took the white cauliflower, trimmed a couple of brown spots, and made soup. I threw in about half of the orange cauliflower as well, saving the rest for something where it would retain its shape (which became last Wednesday's pasta dish). The soup was wonderful, and I froze some. We had it for dinner tonight.

Cauliflower has a great rich texture when pureed, which was enhanced by a bit of potato. And I added a chile and some cumin for a hint of curried flavor. I'm not happy about the weather turning so chilly so fast, but at least I'll always have an excuse to make soup.

It's All in the Condiments

Lentil soup is a staple around here, because it's simple to prepare, freezes well, and makes a great quick dinner. But it helps to surround lentils with other fun stuff.

Like green beans.

Kidding -- green beans are wonderful, but I'm not sure I'd call straight-up boiled ones fun. I'm referring to the little bowl of roasted tomatoes with thyme and garlic. Whenever I've picked enough tomatoes from the garden, I toss them with salt, pepper, thyme sprigs, and garlic cloves and throw them in a not-too-hot oven for a couple hours. (As is so often the case, this brilliant idea came from my mom.) After barely half an hour, amazing things begin to happen. The aroma, savory and herbal yet a bit acidic, is enough to torture me, and it only grows more intense and tantalizing. Then when the tomatoes are finally finished -- some shriveled and deflated, others wrinkled but still plump -- I cover them with olive oil and put them in a jar, and they keep in the fridge for a long time. They make the ultimate condiment (see the rib eye from a few days ago).

Tonight I spread the tomatoes on a toasted roll as I ate the lentil soup, and that made dinner a lot more fun.

Celery Soup, It Ain't

Margy and I were at Juilliard to see a theater workshop directed by our friend Essho, and after the show we were starving and there was no time to waste. We passed a few anonymous-looking pizzerias and Mexican joints, and then across the street we saw a Chinese noodle shop, Bos.

There was a recent Time Out endorsement hanging in the window, and we walked in, sat down, and ordered some shrimp toast and a couple bowls of noodles. The shrimp toast was excellent, but the noodles were a bit of a letdown. The noodles themselves were al dente, but the broth was bland and the pork was chewy. I ate enough to satisfy my hunger, but on those few occasions when I'm not excited by my meal it's hard for me to go the distance. I was mortified when the waiter came by and with a puzzled look asked us, "You're done?" I hate not pulling my weight. But one thing I cannot do is force myself to eat when my heart's no longer in it.

The bygone Cafe Le Wok on 35th made a much better noodle soup, and they never got attention from any local magazines. What a shame -- if they had, the place might still be there today.

Cel-Ray

I bought a bunch of celery at the farmers' market on Sunday, to use when I boiled the chicken. And when I say a bunch, I mean a bunch.

It was organic, and for, I think, $3.50 (easily the most I've paid for celery) I got a lot of it. I tried using as much as I could at every opportunity, but the thing wouldn't dwindle. And it was unlike any other celery I've seen -- the stalks were really thin, very dark, and superdense. It was impossible to crunch on a raw piece without chewing for five minutes afterward. Not only that, but the base of the bunch was caked with dirt and mud... and pretty well crawling with insects. A beetle sauntered out onto my kitchen table as I pulled away a few stalks, and later I found a slug, alive and well and, presumably, well fed.

But oh, the flavor of this celery!

When I told Enzo about the giant green tree that was taking over our fridge, he suggested I use any leftovers to make soup. And so, after scrub, scrub, scrubbing the hell out of each and every little piece with a stiff brush -- Margy doesn't like slugs in her soup -- I boiled the celery in chicken stock along with carrot and onion, and later I added some celery root and a potato. Once the celery became tender (which took a long time), I poured everything into a blender and pureed it. Exciting things were starting to happen.

But... the stuff was way too fibrous, so Margy got out her Foley food mill, and we passed the soup through it to smooth out the texture. This took some time, but it needed to happen. And I had planned to add some cream to the final product, but the soup was so lush and rich that I didn't bother. It was like having all the savory flavor of celery concentrated into something far more satisfying and substantial than celery itself.

Next stop, cauliflower.

Chicken Bath

I'm pleased to relate that one of the easiest possible dinners is also among the most satisfying.

After making those grand pizza gestures yesterday, not to mention eating heroic quantities of food, we needed something simple. So, inspired as usual by my mother's meals, I threw a chicken in a pot with some vegetables, covered it with water by a few inches, tossed in a few potatoes after the bird had simmered for about an hour, and then another hour later we had a light and tasty meal that would yield both leftover chicken and a few quarts of ready-made stock for the freezer. Besides occasional stirring and salting and tasting, the work was done in five minutes.

More Lentils

Lentil soup with friselles. A match made in Italian-American heaven!

Good Ol' Lentils

Lentils are divine all by themselves, but still, don't forget the bacon!

The Freezer Opens Once Again

I'm going to call this BLT soup: bacon, lentil, and tomato.

Chicken Soup, East

I stored the remaining steamed chicken in its wonderful broth of soy sauce, sesame oil, and wine, and when it was time for leftovers, I cooked some capellini and poured the chicken and broth over the pasta for an almost souplike concoction. It was incredibly flavorful (the aroma didn't really linger this time), and a dusting of chopped toasted peanuts gave the whole thing a bit of crunch.

Humble Pea

The freezer is our friend.

After hideously long days for both Margy and me, a frozen container of yellow split pea soup was our lifeline. Yeah, it always takes longer than I expect to actually defrost and heat the soup, but I'm not complaining. I even took time out of my busy evening to make a salad to get us some nutrients. We've had some virtually vegetable-less meals of late (I'm talking to you, Corner Bistro -- your slice of iceberg doesn't count).

This was a particularly good batch of pea soup, though I can't remember when I made it exactly. It seemed like I used extra pancetta, which is always a swell idea.

After the Lamb

For our post-Easter lunch, Margy's mom served lovely turkey BLTs and tomato soup.

A Simple Clam

All this time on earth, and I'm just getting around to Japanese clam soup.

You could say I've been preparing myself all these years. I needed to explore flashier clam potions -- chowder, spaghetti alle vongole, thick and potent Chinese clam soup -- before boiling things down to their essence: broth and clams. This was about as simple as it gets, just a clear dashi stock with a little soy sauce and maybe a hint of sweetness, plus a few scallions and two tender clams. As we loosened our clams with chopsticks and slurped the meat down (chewing, of course), Margy and I agreed it was the perfect way to start a meal.

Nikko, Whippany, NJ

And Back to Pea Soup

Easy come, easy go.

On the trip back the plane food was even worse. No way am I showing you the funky little microwaved turkey and cheese sandwich they slipped us. But once we got to our place and took a nap, even though we were still feeling all flipped around, Margy and I had a hot bowl of the ol' faithful, split green pea, with some Stoned Wheat Thins. It was pretty good.

We were home.