Lechon (or, How to Commit Suicide by Deep Frying)

Lechon Kawali

One of the most iconic traditional pinoy dishes is lechon, the spit-roasted pig. Sadly, I have neither a whole pig, large skewer, nor a large fire, not to mention the wherewithal to clean, season, and skewer a whole pig. Which is why I opted for lechon kawali, the indoor version that involves boiling, drying, and deep-frying pork belly.
It's a celebration of fat. Making it helps you realize it's basically a bacon slab deliberately cooked in such a way so the thick layer of fat under the skin doesn't melt away. You want that fat. You need that fat. It's good eating, that fat. Looking at lechon kawali is looking at a chunk of boiled, deep-fried fat that's been seasoned with a touch of meat.

This is atypical Filipino family party food, but my mom never made it at home. And now I know why. My soon-to-be mother-in-law taught me her simplified method that replaces frying with a turbo broiler, but since I don't have a one I had to mix and match various methods.

You will need...

3-4 lbs. pork belly, cut into strips
salt & pepper
cane vinegar (sukang maasim)
a large pot
a lot of piping hot oil for frying
acceptance of your own mortality
a splatter shield
a draining station (paper towels, or a slotted baking sheet set over paper towels, etc.)

Cut the pork belly into long strips, about 1 - 1 1/2" wide. Season with salt and pepper. Boil for about an hour, until the meat is tender and the layer of fat has swollen considerably. Remove the strips and let dry on paper towels for at least one hour.

The proper post-boiling step as taken from the terrific book Memories of Philippine Kitchens...

"3. While simmering the pork, preheat the oven to 400. Using tongs, transfer the pork to a roasting pan fitted with a wire rack, pat the pork dry with paper towels, and brush on both sides with vinegar. Transfer to the oven and roast for 20 to 30 minutes to dry, turning onces with tongs. Remove from oven and keep in a cool place to dry for another 4 hours."

Then fry the pieces about 6-7 minutes until the skin is crispy all the way through. Set aside to drain and cool.

Now, I'm making a point of referencing and quoting because that isn't what I did.

Following the boil, I gave the strips several pat downs, cut them into large chunks, and popped them into the freezer for about ten minutes while I heated the oil. Despite the vast majority of recipes I looked up -- you know, the recipes based on generations of experience -- recommending to dry the pork for a prolonged period, I went with the one recipe that said one hour of air drying would do the trick. Yeah, not so much.

Quick and dirty science lesson if you've never thought about why hot oil goes batshit crazy when water is introduced: water and oil do not mix (clearly I am a genius). When molecules of water are surrounded on all sides by hot oil, the water instantaneously boils. The resulting vapor then goes racing up towards the surface and looks around to see there's a microwave and a floor and my face within reach, and explodes like so much nitroglycerin.

Of course, I knew this and figured all the drying was for this exact reason. But, damnit, I wanted lechon kawali NOW!

Well, it seems pig fat does a reasonable job of holding a lot of water. I'm going to estimate that the top of my microwave is about three and a half feet above the stove. Scorching vegetable oil exploding through a splatter shield and above the microwave might possibly be the scariest thing I've witnessed in person.

Anyway, be sure to fry the pieces until they are crispy and don't give under a little pressure from tongs. Lechon sauce would be nice (like Mang Tomas "All Purpose Sauce"), but Camille simply likes to drizzle some vinegar over it. The crispy, rich fat and the lean meat, combined with the acid saltiness of the vinegar makes for some addicting, life-affirming food.
Paksiw Na Lechon

And it doesn't stop. No, the real beauty of lechon is the leftovers can be cooked into a completely different dish. Most Filipino restaurants are casual turo turo joints, which means "point point." But when I'm in line with my tray, staring down at my choices, I'm always looking for one thing: paksiw na lechon. (As for the Filipino trend of doubling up on words... don't don't ask.)

Using vinegar, soy sauce, brown sugar, and a whole lot of "All Purpose Sauce" to stew the meat and reverse all that drying and deep frying, paksiw na lechon is more hearty and savory. It's absolutely required to have rice on the side to soak up the juices (not that any Filipino would be caught dead eating this without a side of rice). Unlike lechon kawali, the meat takes center stage. The pork flavor really comes to the fore with the sweet and tangy stew, the richness of the fat working more as a balancing counterpoint.

I used a recipe from pinoycook.net which basically calls for letting the meat break down in the stew, then adding All Purpose Sauce (which, by the way, is used for all purposes lechon, but nothing else) to smooth things out. In restaurants, it's usually fairly thick, but this preparation is runnier, more in line with most stews.
Salty, sweet, savory. I love this stuff.

Bar Crudo propositions

Unfortunately, San Francisco's quaint, little raw restaurant Bar Crudo is too unpretentious, endearing, and charming for bright lighting that befits a point-and-shoot camera, so I don't have pretty photos of their simple yet beautifully presented food. I would have brought my digital SLR, but seeing as how I had a gift-wrapped 11th Anniversary iPod in one pocket and an engagement ring hidden in another, I did not have the room nor the inclination to bring the super duper camera. More on that in a bit.

First of all, this may sound silly, but Los Angeles is just too sunny. Even when it rains, it's sunny. So, my annual Christmas trip back to Northern California is always a breath of fresh, brisk, damp, jacket-required air. Camille once visited Bar Crudo without me and sang its praises, and I coincidentally read a review at Eat, Drink, & Be Merry (which includes terrific photos), so I figured it would be a nice, romantic spot for our anniversary. My imminent proposal was a big factor in the decision, too -- I didn't want to break out the ring only to have the bill shoved in my face by a harried waiter at a bigger, busier restaurant.

Bar Crudo is an intimate place featuring a tiny kitchen and bar downstairs, and a loft up top containing about nine or so tables. In my experience, raw food is presented without too much adornment, the more to highlight the single flavor/texture being presented. Bar Crudo's menu is a selection of mostly raw seafood, but sushi this ain't. Each dish is a sublime and subtle yet complex layering of ingredients. It is food preparation of the highest order, but using differing ingredient combinations instead of cooking techniques to create the flavors. In some ways, this is even more difficult than running proteins through a gamut of searing/braising/roasting/frying because these dishes require a high foodie vocabulary. I get the sense that chef/co-owner Mike Selvera has tried all of these ingredients every which way you can imagine, and knows how best to play them off of each other. Absolutely sublime.

Small Seafood Platter
Well, it's a plate of shrimp, crab legs, oysters, clams, and mussels on ice. I love this stuff with the exception of the clams (there's a reason "clammy" is an adjective, and a bad one at that). When oysters and mussels fresh, and they were, then they are sweet and delicate, without that rank sea smell you get at supermarket seafood counters. Very good, but I'm not going to go on hyperbole overload (yet). I will, however, stand up and cheer for Bar Crudo's various types of tobiko. The seafood platter comes with the standard sauces you'd expect (cocktail, vinegar, etc), and then there was the familiar snow-like look of tiny, briny fish roe. Except it was bright yellow and tasted distinctly of lemon.

I had no idea you could flavor tobiko. When it comes to movies I like, I can typically point to one scene that wins me over, where in my head something clicks, I tell myself it's a good movie, and the film can do no wrong from that point on. I had that very feeling when I first spooned the lemon tobiko onto a tiny, juicy oyster and sucked the thing into my mouth. Bar Crudo can do no wrong.

Crudo Sampler
I warned you about the hyperbole and here it comes. The Crudo Sampler is like a canvas of fish with various produce and sauces as paint. The flavors compliment, amplify, and otherwise kick things up a notch. This is where things got eye-opening for me.

First up is the Rhode Island Fluke, topped with fennel, orange, and pomegranate seeds. At first, I thought the fluke was yellowtail. It's similar in color and texture and has a mild sweetness. Fennel has a vague licorice flavor (I guess anise would be the proper culinary term) and smells almost like citrus, so it pairs well with orange. The pomegranate provides not only an extra bite, but a tangy, sweet punch.

Next was the Arctic Char, a fish in the salmon family. For some reason, salmon and dill go together. A dab of creme fraiche blends things together more and also balances with the second flavored tobiko of the night, wasabi tobiko. Seriously, who knew you could do this to tobiko? And this wasn't colored horseradish masquerading as wasabi, this was full-on, balls-out, spicy wasabi tobiko. It's like gourmet pop rocks.

Following this was a raw scallop topped with a celery root puree and finished with a fairly standard but still delicious classic, tuna with soy, ginger, and scallions. Basically a big, single piece of ahi poke. All in all, a tremendous single plate of food.

Lobster & Beet Salad
What really sold this dish for me, aside from the perfectly-cooked lobster and fresh beets, was the addition of the pistachios. There was burrata cheese and figs amidst the arugula and a vinaigrette, too, but the pistachios really punctuate the salad and, in the words of The Dude, really tie the room together. The whole thing was sweet, fresh, buttery, juicy... and then the pistachios knock it out of the park. This is what I'm talking about when I say a high foodie vocabulary -- I never would have thought to put lobster, beet, fig, and pistachio together. Yum!

Seafood Chowder with Smoked Applewood Bacon
Again, perfectly-cooked fish that was still juicy and flaky despite having been stewed for God knows how long. It's a nice, rich take on clam chowder, and the smoked bacon flavor is subtle but distinct. It's the perfect soup for a damp San Francisco night.

So, back to that proposal business. We had a pretty late reservation, so by the time we were finishing the chowder, we had the loft entirely to ourselves. I gave Camille her anniversary gift, the iPod, which I preloaded with a video slideshow featuring pictures of us and our various adventures. Except for the handful of photos at the end, which were pictures of me taking an engagement ring out of a bag and offering it up to the camera.

Camille actually looked a little confused, which was when I plopped the ring down on the table in front of her. She offered up her hand, I slid the ring on, and that was that. Pretty smooth, if I do say so myself.

It's worth noting that I never verbally asked the question, and she never verbally responded. Good thing I have a really expensive degree in film to help me communicate these things. Perfect woman, perfect meal, perfect night.

Thanks, Bar Crudo.

603 Bush Street (at Stockton)
San Francisco, CA
415.956.0396
www.barcrudo.com

Bacon Days, Part 2: Bacon-Wrapped Scallops

Oddly, I can't think of a restaurant where I've had bacon-wrapped scallops, or even a cooking shown where I've seen it prepared. I certainly didn't invent them, but somehow it's entered my bag of tricks. Maybe because it looks fancy and makes a good impression. Though it's a little time-consuming because of the bacon, it's pretty straightforward.

I use the frozen scallops from Costco, which are actually pretty large. Each one's about two or three bites, so while I think of it as an appetizer, three or four of these bad boys on a plate with some greens and some vegetables would make a solid meal, too. The light sweetness of the scallops and the savory, rich, crispy bacon are a natural fit. It's light and fatty surf and turf (kind of). And I'm telling you, it's a conversation starter.

16 scallops (1 bag from Costco), thawed. Fresh is nice, too.
16 slices of bacon. Most packs of bacon are not 16 slices, so you're screwed here. Buy two.
16 toothpicks. These also don't come in boxes of 16, so you're screwed again.

Obviously, you can make more or less, but you're pretty much guaranteed to have extra bacon or extra scallops and definitely extra toothpicks.

Be sure to remove the toothpicks you need before you touch anything raw, or else you'll end up with 484 toothpicks with raw bacon/scallop juice drying on them.

Cook the bacon first. You can do this in a frying pan, but I'd recommend cooking them in the oven. Especially if you have one of those oven grill pan deals that'll let the bacon fat drip down into a pan. A lot easier.

So, preheat your oven to 350 while you're getting everything else together, and then cook the bacon 4-5 minutes, about halfway. Don't cook them all the way as you want them pliable. They should turn from their raw, pale pink into a slightly-cooked, pale light brown. Set aside and let cool.

Heat a frying pan on high heat.

Once the bacon is cool enough to handle, tightly wrap one slice around each scallop, securing with a toothpick. Revel in their beauty.

Make sure the pan is hot, then cook in batches. Sear, cooking about 3-4 minutes on each side until browned. The scallops will shrink slightly and little gashes will open up. Cook until the juices stop running. Set aside to cool slightly. Season with salt and pepper if you want, but you don't need to.

If you're feeling saucy, lay down a bed of greens on a plate and place the scallops on top. Serve and revel in your guests' gushing remarks of your culinary prowess.

Bacon Days, Part 1: Bacon-Wrapped Hot Dog

When you start a conversation about hot dogs in Los Angeles, talk invariably turns to Pink's. And, in a way, Pink's does represent all that is Hollywood. Lots of glamor, lots of hype, and an ultimately empty experience. Pink's is like watching a cool trailer for a big summer movie 10 months in advance, waiting with dreams of how awesome it will be, and clawing for seats on opening night, only to realize it involves an annoying CGI character named Jar Jar who speaks quasi-ebonics with a cartoon Jamaican accent. In a word: disappointing.

While I plan to do some serious, in-depth hot dog research, just off the top of me head I'll name four hot dogs better than Pink's: The Wiener Factory in Sherman Oaks, Dodger Dogs at Dodger Stadium, Costco Polish Sausage at your local Costco Wholesaler (yes, THAT Costco Wholesaler), and the bacon-wrapped hot dog carts orbiting most sporting events.
Speaking of sporting events, allow me to serenade Pink's with my most favorite stadium chant...

Over-RATED! (clap-clap, clap-clap-clap)
Over-RATED! (clap-clap, clap-clap-clap)

Back to the bacon-wrapped dog, which apparently is a Mexican creation. If you don't think encased meat encased in more meat is appetizing, also consider that the kindly, Spanish-speaking illegal immigrant purveyors typically transport the dogs, sliced onions, and sliced bell peppers in used plastic grocery store bags, untying and dumping as needed. This is probably why the LA County Department of Health folks don't give permits for such things. But don't worry you're pretty little nose off with such details.
If the kindly, Spanish-speaking illegal immigrant asks if you want it with everything, "everything" typically includes grilled onions and peppers, mayonnaise, and mustard. The dog itself is pretty standard fare, most likely whatever was on sale that week at Ralph's or Vallarta or the back of some truck. It's the crispy bacon coating that elevates the entire affair to high levels of sublime. It provides a crunchy texture, a fatty richness, saltiness, and a seared smokiness. The bacon brings bite. It turns an everyday, ordinary hot dog into a... well, a multi-layered extravaganza of animal parts that you wouldn't otherwise eat. The bell peppers provide sweetness, the onions do that airy heat thing that onions do, the mustard adds a little tang, and the mayo goes all mayo on you.
It's victory in a bun. If these people sold horchata, I'd probably get lost in a daze of culinary goodness and stumble into traffic.

UPDATE: Bacon-wrapped hot dog vendors fight for their rights!