Mercato del Pesce and Caffe Italia

Last week my dad took Nick and me to the Italian neighborhood on Harlem Ave., where my grandma used to live. The ostensible purpose of our trip was to visit Palermo Bakery, one of the best places for cookies in Chicago. (And we found a cassata, but more on that later). But while we were there we stopped at Caffe Italia, a slick, touristy-looking caffe that actually turns out some genuinely spectacular food and coffee.

The "octopus sliders" appetizer above was miraculous for $9.50. The octopus was tender and perfectly cooked, and nicely grilled and charcoal-flavored. We also got one of their brick oven pizzas. We finished with a round of corretto, espresso that's been "corrected" with a small teaspoon of grappa.

After lunch we went to Mercato del Pesce, the fish market next door. Mainly, I wanted to see if they had baby octopus like the one we'd just had at Caffe Italia.



Turns out they did!



Turns out I really like taking pictures at fish markets.












Caffe Italia
2625 N Harlem Ave
Chicago, IL 60607

Mercato Del Pesce
2623 N Harlem Ave
Chicago, IL 60707

Mongolian Food: Buuz (Steamed Mongolian Dumplings)

Of all the food I tasted in Mongolia, buuz, the country's dumplings, are the dish that won my heart. The recipe is pretty much exactly the same as for khuushuur, the fried stuffed pancakes, but instead of being formed into flat, oblong envelopes and deep-fried, the dough is pleated into a round packet the size of a baby's fist and steamed until cooked through.

The mutton inside is flavored with onions, garlic, salt and pepper. During Mongolian New Year, people make thousands of them. You often hear people asking, "How many buuz did you eat today?" "Oh, only 300."

It wasn't New Year when we visited, but nearly every restaurant we stopped at had buuz on the menu and dining rooms full of men slurping away at a white soup made of buuz floating in milk tea. These buuz were made for lunch by Bata's wife and daughter-in-law, whose names I didn't manage to catch. Mongolian food doesn't involve a lot of vegetables, so buuz and milk tea are considered a full and satisfying meal. Bata's family put out a particularly impressive spread by including a salad of homemade shredded and pickled carrots.

Jian Bing (spicy crepes): A step-by-step guide to my favorite Beijing street food

My first apartment in Beijing was in a classy neighborhood near Chaoyang Park, with lots of children and no nearby street food presence at all. Really, when I came home in the small hours of the morning, I'd have to order McDonald's delivery if I wanted anything to eat at all.

After about a year and a half I moved to a much smaller apartment near the Worker's Stadium, where I was surrounded by lively bars and all the street food I could possibly want. There was a chuan'r guy selling grilled skewers, boiled skewers, and fried skewers of everything from cumin/chili lamb chunks to whole chili peppers. My personal favorite, though, were the jian bing stands that dotted the street in front of my apartment selling spicy crepes.

First you take the crepe batter and pour a bit on the grill.



Then you spread it into a circle with this little tool. So far this process isn't much different from ordering from a crepe stand in Paris.



Then you crack a fresh egg onto the center of the crepe, break the yolk, and spread it around so it completely covers the crepe.



Next you flip the crepe over so the egg side is on the grill, then brush the top of the crepe with chili oil and sweet flower sauce (tian mian jian, the sweet brown bean sauce seen in the front. Sometimes it's called duck sauce or brown bean sauce or a million other names. Look for 甜面酱.) You can omit the chili oil if you don't like spicy, but I love it.



Then you sprinkle a small handful of diced spring onions and cilantro over the top. (You can omit the cilantro if you have that issue where you think cilantro tastes like industrial soap).



Now this part is crucial, and is also the part that's been stymieing my efforts to reproduce this snack at home: Then you put a small sheet of fried dough in the middle of the crepe, fold the sides over it, then crack the ends of the fried dough sheet a quarter of the way up, fold the ends of the crepe over the dough, then fold the whole thing in half again to make a little pocket.







Then, if you're Mrs. Hu, who owned the stall closest to my door, you put a piece of paper around the thing, drop the whole thing in a plastic bag, and sell it to me for 3 yuan (47 cents).

These are truly magical end-of-the-night foods: A little sweet, a little spicy, a little savory, a little chewy, a little crispy, a little crunchy, a little fresh and a little fried, and it all comes together in this mind-blowing, savory mouthful.

Note: Jian bing are also an excellent and popular breakfast-on-the-go for early morning commuters, but not for me because I only wake up that early if there's a fire.

My big fat cannoli from D'Amato's Italian Bakery

Allow me to introduce you to the Big Cannoli from D'Amato's Italian Bakery in Chicago. It comprises one giant cannolo stuffed with 40 mini cannoli.

From the little scarecrows on top and the "Happy Thanksgiving" stick, you can probably tell that this is a Thanksgiving cannoli. But fear not, you can also get Christmas cannoli, birthday cannoli, or "My cannoli love cannot be appeased by just one measly cannolo. I require a ginormous cannoli stuffed with dozens of other cannoli."

I'm not saying I've eaten a whole one by myself, because that would be crazy. (I'm not necessarily saying that I haven't. Just that it would be crazy.)

Sesame and Egg Jiaozi

Sadly, I left China a couple days ago and am now back in Chicago. Before I left, though, Mrs. Zhao and Mr. Shi came over for another cooking lesson. This time we did jiaozi, or dumplings. I've cooked a lot of dumplings before, but this set was an interesting variation that was stuffed with a crisp filling of toasted sesame seeds, scrambled eggs and diced spring onions.

To start, make a standard batch of dumpling dough. Nick is at a Shang history conference at Rutgers this weekend. When he gets back, I'll put up a standard "dumpling dough" post that shows how to knead, roll and pinch dumplings. (I'm waiting for Nick because he's particularly gifted at kneading things. Also because it's difficult to photograph yourself while covered in flour.)

Until I get that up, the recipe is basically as follows:
250g flour
130-140g water

Put the flour in a bowl and slowly add the water in stages. Mix well until you have a very smooth ball. Then cover it with a damp cloth and let it sit for 15 minutes. When it's done setting, knead it again and roll it into a long piece. Then cut it into 32 equal pieces. Take those and roll them into balls with your hands and then discs with a rolling pin.

OK, now we can get on with the interesting part of this recipe: The filling.

1lb white sesame seeds
6 eggs
1/2lb small spring onions
1T table salt
1T 13 spice
1T dark soy sauce
MSG optional



Toast the sesame seeds on the stove until very lightly browned. You can just lay them in there and give them a toss every once and awhile while doing the rest of your prep work.



Combine the eggs in a bowl and mix with chopsticks.



Scramble the eggs in about two tablespoons of cooking oil.



When the sesame seeds are toasted, crush them by rolling them with your pin.



Mix the sesame seeds and scrambled eggs.



Mince your greens, and add those to the mix.



Add the salt, 13 spice, dark soy sauce, and then look around for the MSG. When you find there isn't any in the house, like Mrs. Zhao did, proceed without it.



Mix the filling well.



Take your dumpling dough chunks (see above) and roll them out into wrappers.



Fill each one with about one rounded tablespoon of filling. Mrs. Zhao closes her dumplings in the casual way, by pinching it at the top, then squishing the sides together with both hands while holding the top closed with her thumbs.



When complete, boil, steam or fry like any other jiaozi.



These are a great combination. I love spring onions, and the toasted sesame seeds give them a great scent and crunchy texture. As an afterthought, these things are actually vegetarian! Good to know.

I almost forgot the airag (fermented mare's milk)

Whoops! While I was putting up the other Mongolian food posts, I very nearly forgot to include the airag, fermented mare's milk. It's a thin, relatively sour and acidic beverage with a flavor that seemed closest to an extremely tart yogurt. It has a good fizz and a light but noticeable alcoholic kick. The first sip is awful; the second is mildly disturbing. The third is awesome.

Mongolian Food: Khorkhog (Real Mongolian Barbecue)

The first time I had "Mongolian barbecue" I was in Indianapolis at what was basically a build-your-own stir-fry joint. I don't remember if it was good or bad, just that there was a buffet line of vegetables and sauces, and some nice gentleman cooked it all in a giant novelty wok.

It turns out there's nothing Mongolian about that (you can tell by all the vegetables. My entire time in Mongolia, the only vegetables I saw were cabbage and potatoes). On the last day of our trip, Minde said he'd cook Mongolian barbecue for a special treat. According to Mongolfood.info, the dish Minde was calling "Mongolian barbecue" is khorkhog and consists of mutton cooked in a container with hot stones.

That night we were staying in a ger with a nomad family that used dung for their fires instead of wood. At first I was disturbed by the idea, but I found it kept the ger warm much longer than the wood fires did. I'm a dung-power convert. While Minde and the family built the fire, I noticed them adding a bunch of flat, oval-shaped stones to the stove with the cow dung. I hadn't noticed them doing that at the other ger we stayed in, so I figured it had something to do with the heat source. I was wrong; it had to do with the menu.



When the fire was hot, Minde brought out his large cooking pot filled on the bottom with water and salt. He laid in a couple mutton ribs.



Then pulled one of the stones out of the fire ...



... and added it right on top of the meat. (Yes, the dung-rock was touching the food-meat).



It got very smoky very quickly.



Minde continued to layer mutton ribs and rocks until he was out of mutton. Then he began fitting some new potatoes in between the stones.



Finally he covered the entire thing in cabbage leaves and covered the pot.



The pot was then hefted back on top of the stove, where it was allowed to sit for an hour.



After letting the barbecue stew for 60 minutes, Minde unveiled it:



Then he used a fork to separate the barbecue into two bowls: one with potatoes and cabbage, and one with meat.



We ate the cabbage and potatoes with forks, and the mutton with our hands right off the bone.



I did my best, but no could match our host, who pulled out a small knife and cleaned the ribs and shoulder bones so thoroughly of any meat, fat or gristle that they looked like they'd been made from Plaster of Paris for a 3rd grade science class.

Later we threw them to the dogs, who raced right to the Americans, where the bones were covered in delicious little flecks of smoky meat. The slower dogs were left to sniff around at the clean, dry, white bones left by our hosts. I have to admit I felt a little sorry for those dogs; they looked utterly disappointed by the whole affair.