how to eat like a bird

a soft-boiled egg with pine nut sauce

For a long time, my breakfast of choice was a nice, cold can of very crisp Coke. I've altered that a bit with choices ranging from fizzy Kombucha to eight cups of mellow green tea to iced coffee spiked with sugar and milk. But the methodology has remained the same, in that I stick to beverages that can double as a drug. I am not interested in solids before noon and it's hard to fit in breakfast when I wake up 20 minutes before needing to be somewhere. Like, say, it is the weekend and I am to meet a friend at 4pm, I will wake up at 3:40.

But I am trying to change that as apparently, eating breakfast is the most important thing you can do, next to exercising, to maintain a healthy weight. And apparently all the CEOs in New York are up and about early--by 6am, having already done with their run around the reservoir. I think I read this in 1999, so you see how I am on top of things.

I tried to make this dish for two weeks. I was attracted to its simplicity in terms of both time and ingredients list, and while something with anchovy paste might be a turn-off for breakfast, I think a bit of fish paste, nuts and eggs are a fine way to begin the day--all that protein! And many Asian cultures have a savory breakfast with a bit of fish and rice to start the day, or even just some miso soup.

But this recipe, even with just five ingredients, takes a little bit of planning, as you have to soak the pine nuts the night before, and then you have to pull out your spice grinder (or mini-food processor or mortar and pestle or bag and hammer) to grind the nuts. A soft-boiled egg only takes three to four minutes, but the water has to come to a boil--it was all too much for me to take in the morning. After two weeks and half a cup of wasted pine nuts, I gave up on this for breakfast and made it for the simplest of suppers.

You shouldn't make this if you detest anchovies or never use pine nuts (not worth the cost for a simple dish meant to be made impromptu with staple items). Do make it if you love salty-pungent dishes like a good bagna cauda or a midnight repast of eggs. Over asparagus or with a side of toast, this would be a complete meal. The pine nut sauce (or paste, as it turned out) lasts all week and I had plenty leftover, so afterwards a quick breakfast is actually possible.

I think the recipe as posted here on the Splendid Table web site is off. I cut it in half, but even 2 tablespoons of anchovy paste seem way too much, as that would be seemingly half a tube. And the amount of honey seems miniscule. So I just adapted it to taste, and you should, too. This wimpy base should be a safe starting point. 

Adapted from Around the Roman Table: Food and Feasting in Ancient Rome by Patrick Faas

Soft-boiled eggs with pine nut sauce

• up to 4 eggs
• half a cup of pine nuts
• 1 teaspoon anchovy paste or garum
• 2 tablespoons of honey
• black pepper to taste

Soak the pine nuts in water overnight or for a few hours. Grind them and mix with the honey, anchovy paste or garum, and black pepper. Heat in a double-boiler (or bowl over pot of boiling water). Meanwhile, soft boil the eggs. (Place eggs in a pot of cold water and cook for 4 minutes after the water has come to a boil.) Immerse eggs in cold water before peeling them. Serve with the sauce.   

small bites: a roast pork sandwich at Chino’s

Back in 2005, New York magazine named this palm-sized concoction one of the best new sandwiches of the year. Three years later and off the radar, it’s still incredibly good. They mound a generous amount of delicate roast pork onto a seasoned and toasted steamed bun and garnish it with mild kimchi, cilantro and a creamy, house-made mustard sauce that makes it complete (and arguably worth the whopping $9 price tag).

The better deal is at lunch, when Chino's offers two small plates for $12. You can get the same-sized sandwich plus something else. But even if you can’t get there for a weekday lunch, this sandwich is kind of worth it (if you are of smallish figure with a non–bear-like appetite). I was surprised to find that while I wasn’t full after eating it, I wasn’t at all hungry three hours later. (Four hours later was a different story).

Chino’s is at 173 Third Avenue, between 16th and 17th Streets.

a kimchi bokum bap with egg

You can make so many things if you happen to have a tub of kimchi in your house at all times. One of my staple items, which I never tire of, especially when I have leftover brown rice on hand is this simple kimchi bokum bap, or stir-fry with potatoes, onion, kimchi and rice. Whether you use white or brown, leftover rice works better than newly steamed because there’s less moisture and little risk of it getting mushy. I like brown rice because it stays intact and has more of a bite to it, especially when you let it stick to the pan and get a little toasted in sesame oil.

Chop a smallish Idaho potato (or 2 large red potatoes) and half an onion into small cubes and stir-fry in a pan over medium heat. I usually start off with grapeseed oil, but you can use sesame. If you find that the potatoes are sticking to the pan too much, add a little water and cover with a lid. Also, salt and pepper the whole thing. Sometimes I add a dash of soy sauce.

When the potatoes are almost done (still too firm but edible), add a handful of chopped up kimchi. When the kimchi is fairly translucent (it should only take a couple minutes more if your kimchi pieces are small), I add sesame oil and my cooked rice. I stir everything together and turn the heat up, letting the rice sit in the pan and get toasty. Some people like a crust to form, like in a paella or a dol sot bee bim bap. And some people like to add Spam or ham, carrots or peas.

Basically you can use whatever you like or have on hand. It’s one of those dishes. It’s also one of those Jesus dishes, in that a small volume of a few humble ingredients can feed multitudes. Or well, at least three or four, as the above does. I also like to fry an egg in sesame oil and place on top. The yolk mellows out the acidity of the kimchi and it is all very yummy, indeed.

too much of a good thing

Marcella Hazan’s simple but rich tomato sauce is one of the most blogged about recipes on the Web. You need only a can of tomatoes, about half a stick of butter, and half an onion. Add a little salt and cook everything in a pot, first over medium heat to get it going, then at a low simmer for under an hour. (Leave the onion intact, as it’s only there for flavor and meant to be discarded at the end).

I made this recently with a small can of tomatoes (15 oz.) and what butter I had leftover—probably 4 tablespoons, and it was tremendously satisfying, turning a dry goods staple—year-old spaghetti noodles—into something of a velvety treat, while remaining on all fronts a model of economy. You need only a dollop of sauce to dress your noodles, and in terms of effort, you barely have to move for this one.

So then I wanted more. I got a bigger can of tomatoes (28 oz.), and misremembering the original directive of 5 tablespoons of butter per large can of tomatoes, dumped in a whole stick, thinking I was doubling the proportions of my previous success. More or less, I was, but I overlooked the fact that I would be eating a lot more of it, and repetitively, for more than a day. It was buttery and luscious and all too much. I longed for salmon and greens and nutty brown rice, all things I usually don’t long for.

The lesson here, I believe, is that if you’re going to eat something amazingly rich, either eat a reasonably small portion to enjoy the taste without feeling guilty, or eat quite a bit of it, so much so that you become sick of it and actually want its antithesis—in this case, lean protein, and yes, even exercise. The latter is in theory, of course. But I did have grilled salmon the next night, and it was good.

the best brussels sprouts

The Spotted Pig in the West Village can transform even brussels sprouts into something of an indulgence. My friend had ordered them along with some swiss chard because she needed something green against our backdrop of chicken liver on toast, gnudi in a butter sage sauce, creamy deviled eggs, and boozy prunes wrapped in bacon. And while the chard was salty, it served its function admirably, providing some vegetation that tasted lighter and cleaner than everything else at the table. But the brussels sprouts were something else altogether.

They looked innocuous enough, charred nearly black but unadorned in a simple bowl. But the outer leaves were a little crisp and nutty and rich enough that at one point I thought maybe they’d been finished with some Parmesan cheese. And the center was a sweet nugget with nothing cruciferous about it—it had more the molten texture of a roasted chestnut. Comfort food at its finest, yet seemingly still a vegetable.

I was flummoxed enough to inquire as to what was going on here—the first time I’ve ever asked a server how something is prepared. Usually I’m too shy or assume it’s too complex an issue to venture into. But she came back from the kitchen with the pleasingly simple response of:

1): Blanch them in highly seasoned water (stressing “highly”).
2): Pan-fry them in lots of butter (stressing “lots”).

So there it was. Not a secret at all, but rather, like everything else on their menu, an alchemy of salt and butter.

I don’t approve of recipes where vegetables are transformed with a lot of fat. Why would I want a cauliflower gratin when I can have macaroni and cheese if it’s virtually the same thing as far as nutritional components? But I was already hooked on these, and while the brussels sprouts were perhaps bathed in butter, they were still the mainstay of the dish, not hidden by 10 other ingredients. I’m a sucker for rustic simplicity (any dish with only three components), so I tried these at home.

I blanched (inserted in boiling water) them for a couple minutes in water with maybe three times the amount of salt I would use for pasta (you should use more), then pan-fried them in half a stick of butter, which was really much more butter than was needed for eight brussels sprouts. Most of it was left in the pan at the end, thankfully. The house smelled marvelous and my cat was beside himself as the butter turned nutty and golden-brown. I didn’t cook them long enough as I had to take them off the pan before the butter turned black, so didn’t get the same consistency. But the outer leaves tasted wonderful, and they were still pretty good.

My friend also ended up making these, and I think with better success. She blanched the sprouts in water seasoned with pepper and more salt than I had used for a longer period of time--about five minutes, before pan-frying them in butter on low heat, as if caramelizing onions, for at least 30 minutes. And she said they could have used 30 minutes more, perhaps. She used two sticks of butter for two pounds of brussels sprouts. They weren’t exactly the same as at the Spotted Pig’s, she said, but fantastic all the same. Even members of her family who didn’t like brussels sprouts really enjoyed them.

exceeding expectations

This article was the most emailed article on the NY Times Web site for a while, even amidst all the Sturm und Drang of the neverending campaign and oh, prostitutes. It proposes that the number of push-ups you can do is an easy way to evaluate your overall fitness.

A 40-year-old woman should be able to do 16, and a man of same age, 27 push-ups. I am 33, and it turns out I can do three, which was a great and unexpected boon for me. I was for sure thinking I could do no more than one, shaky arms and all. But I pulled off three full-length ones. So, yeah for me! Don't judge me complacent though. I'll try working on it, as it's good to catch yourself when you fall at age 85--or really, at any age.