Sanma Comes but Once a Year

Sanma, salted and broiled

“You are just like Japanese!”  The woman sitting next to me at the bar nearly jumped out of her seat with surprise. For the last hour she had been conspicuously studying my moves.  Sitting alone at the bar of this small izakaya off The Strip in Las Vegas I was a bit of an anomaly.  Amongst the tightly packed tables, I was one of only a handful of non-Japanese faces.

Just then I had removed the spine from a long, thin fish in one movement.  A moment earlier, perhaps sensing this wasn’t my first time eating sanma, my curious neighbor had leaned over and mimed my next steps for eating this strange fish.  She indicated I was to grasp the tail between my thumb and fingers and pulling back in a clean motion bringing the tail toward the head of the fish.

I followed her advice and like that, two salt crusted, slightly charred fillets were separated from the head and the tail both attached by the spine. I had performed the motion, she said, “just like Japanese.”

This was my first experience with sanma, a Japanese fish that makes its short appearance each fall.  I wish I could say I had known what I was ordering but, like most of my dining experiences at this restaurant, the discovery was a happy accident.  I had learned eating at Abriya Raku to defer to the specials board.  Even if the writing on their movable blackboard menu was illegible and the waiter’s description incomprehensible, if I just pointed to a few items these would eventually show up, and I was never disappointed.

Bones removed with the guidance of my new Japanese friend, I found sanma has the sort of rich, firm flesh that I find delicious in other small oily fish.  Mackerel, sardines, and fresh anchovies are all similar in this way.

It would be a while before I saw sanma again.  This fall it made a brief appearance at the Lobster Place, the fish wholesaler with a retail outlet in the Chelsea neighborhood of New York.  Intrigued, I figured it couldn’t be too difficult to prepare at home.  A bit of research revealed recipes that did not differ much from what I often do to sardines.  Guts removed by the fishmonger (apparently some Japanese prefer cooking it with the organs still inside), I made long slashes in the skin and salted the flesh for a quick fifteen-minute cure.  Under the broiler the thin fish needed no more than 4 minutes per side for the flesh to be nicely charred. 

Salt curing the sanma before cooking

A squeeze of lemon and quick spine-removing gesture later and we were sitting down to a light supper of fish that you normally don’t find outside of Japanese restaurants.

The next week at the market we were back hoping for a repeat sanma dinner.  Sadly, in place of the whole fish were thin, boneless fillets.  Without the slender body and delicate spine the fish lost a bit of its magic.  That day we passed and opted instead for the humble whole sardine.  For me, a fish that comes but once a year deserves to be treated with the utmost respect and little does more to honor a fish than cooking it whole, just like Japanese. 

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Hidden Soho: 3 Retreats from the Maddening Crowd

This is the time of year when those of us who live in New York begin to avoid Soho like the plague.  If the throngs of tourists are bad September to April, they are doubly so once warm weather hits in May.  But sometimes, even the most jaded of us residents need to head down that direction to load up on hiking gear at the new REI, stock up on basics from Japanese transplant Uniqlo, or, if we are feeling ambitious, browse the boutiques on the outskirts of the neighborhood looking for unique summer dresses.

Shopping always works up my appetite and hoards of tourists work up my irritation.  To unwind and recharge I’ve filed away a few hidden spots outside of the Soho norm to take a break, relax, and recharge before heading back out to the mean city streets.

Ceci-Cela: Located adjacent to one of the busiest intersections in the neighborhood, it might be hard to fathom this little café as a peaceful retreat.  Perhaps it is that from the front, Ceci-Cela appears to be nothing more than a bakery serving cappuccinos to go.  But make your way past the glass case filled with football-sized croissants and pain au raisin, and you find a small back room set up with a half dozen tables.  Not a place to spend an entire afternoon but Ceci-Cela is great for a morning coffee break or afternoon tea before heading back out into the maddening crowd.

Sunrise Mart:  You are probably wondering why a Japanese food store made the list.  What can I say, I find a certain zen wandering through neatly stacked rows of nori and soba noodles. As for food, this is no ordinary market.  Sushi, curry, and noodles are made to order.  If you are in a rush, bento boxes prepared the same day are stacked in the open cooler.  Grab a $2 Ito-En iced tea from the cooler, pull up a seat at one of the wooden tables at the front of the store, and you have excellent lunch plus great people watching on par with the fancy restaurants around the corner, minus the long wait.

Despaña:  Just to the east of Sunshine a few blocks is another market-meets-café, this time of the Spanish variety. Crossing the threshold of Despaña I feel my angst fade away followed by the recognizable grumbling in my belly.  The cheese!  Mahon and garrotxa call to me.  The meat!  Dark red chorizo and glistening pink Iberico jamon bekon. But those are for later.  My tired body needs food stat and Despana delivers.  A case of bite-sized pinxtos tempts with skewered stacks of peppers and cured anchovies on rounds of bread.  But for those days where blood sugar levels hover precipitously low, I go right for one of the large bocadillos.  On a recent weekday I settled into a stool at a communal table methodically munched on the El Quijote- a sandwich layered with dried cured pork loin, manchego cheese, quince paste, and drizzled with olive oil.  Washed down with a sweet and sour Spanish lemon soda, I was once again ready to face the crowds.  

Ceci-Cela: 55 Spring St., New York, NY

Sunrise Mart: 494 Broome St., New York, NY

Despaña: 405 Broome St., New York, NY

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Movie and a Dinner: Jiro and Sushi Azabu

Nigiri at Sushi Azabu

Last weekend I went with John to see “Jiro Dreams of Sushi” expecting an hour and a half of food porn.  We were not disappointed.  In shot after shot delicate slices of toro and kampachi dripped on mounds of perfectly molded rice, soy sauce lightly washed over with the stroke of a brush. 

But this story of a man, possibly the most famous sushi chef in Japan (and the only sushi chef with three Michelin stars) is much more than sushi porn.

It is the human story of a man who humbly strives for perfection in this one task. From Jiro to his sons to the man who sources tuna, a few common themes emerged.

1.     Absolute dedication to craft.  There are several beautiful shots of Jiro’s oldest son sitting outside the dining room in the morning waving sheets of nori over smoking kindling.  The work appears dull and monotonous but he approaches it in the methodical, committed fashion that he will later use to mold rice and slice fish.  In Jiro’s world, even the mundane task of toasting nori requires complete devotion.

2.     Filial responsibility.  Much is made in the story of how the younger of the two sons left Jiro’s several years ago to start his own restaurant knowing in Japan that his older brother would be heir to Jiro’s place.  Much is made of watching the older son now in his mid-fifties still working side by side in obedience to his father, never knowing when his time will come.

3.     Loyalty reigns.  All the suppliers interviewed for the movie make the point they feel honored Jiro chooses to buy from them.  The rice supplier is in return so loyal that he refuses to sell the rice he gives Jiro to anyone else, even when one of the top hotels in Tokyo comes asking.

4.     One can always do better. This was actually a motto of my grandmother’s when I was growing up.  Jiro embodies this ethos.  Even at 85 he still comes to work everyday constantly trying to improve on his life’s work, certain that each day he can make sushi just a little bit better than he did the day before.

Dining Room at Sushi Azabu

Later that week John and I dipped into Tokyo-style restaurant Sushi Azabu tucked away in the basement of Greenwich Grill in Tribeca.  This is no California roll sushi joint. Instead this diminutive den focuses on simple pieces of fish on rice, a few rolls, and a handful of Japanese small plates. 

Memories of Jiro fresh in our minds we went for nigiri- fish on rice plain and simple.  From the mackerel to the tuna, amberjack to salmon, each piece was exquisite.  Even before the fish arrived we marveled at the delicate chopsticks and the mesmerizing colors of the hand-blown glass sake carafe.  Both, we were told, were specially selected and imported from Kyoto craftsmen, an attention to detail and authenticity of which I think even Jiro would approve.

After the movie John commented that “Jiro” should be required viewing for anyone who wants to understand business in Japan.  I would add that “Jiro” should be required viewing for anyone who wants to know what it takes to become a true master at a craft- some talent is important, yes, but more than that it is the dogged determination to be better at what you do every day.  To know, as Jiro does, that even when you have already surpassed the competition, the task is never truly complete.

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Late Night Booze with a Side of Food

Grilled Squid Tentacles, Kasadela

If I told you we were headed to a drinking establishment that has food, you’d probably be thinking there was a night of Bud Light and chicken wings in front of you. This would be a reasonable assumption in many parts of this country but not if I was taking you out for izakaya.   

If the Japanese know how to eat, they also know how to drink.  So much so in fact they devote an entire genre of restaurant to drinking and the foods designed to snack on while throwing back a Sapporo.

Lucky for us on this side of the Pacific, Japanese transplants have done a good job of setting up shop in cities across the US.  And where there are Japanese people looking to drink, you are sure to find an izakaya restaurant. 

In Portland, Oregon, there is no question what you are in for at Tanuki.  “No Sushi, No Kids” is the rule at this dark, often loud, cubby of a restaurant.  Small plates are served alongside large beers and flowing sake.  For the truly adventurous, the chef offers omakase- just like in sushi, you sit back and let the restaurant pick your food.  My brother, Paul, would do this frequently during a period when he was traveling to Portland for work.  Going there myself around the same time, I found much of the food to be a tad salty for my taste- soy sauce, miso, seaweed, salted plum, are used liberally.  “But all the better for drinking,” said Paul.  He has a point.

In Vegas later that year with both my brothers in tow, I had hoped to take them to one of my favorite off-strip spots to eat: the chic and spectacular Abriya Raku.  Sadly, arriving at the restaurant at 11:30 pm we were told there would be an hour wait.  When we asked for suggestions on where else to eat, the Japanese waiters at Raku directed us to Ichiza Sake House, the staff’s choice for after work drinking.  On the second floor of a strip mall on Spring Mountain Road, Ichiza was overly lit and rocking at midnight, tables crammed with dozens of people and even more drinks.  The menu at Ichiza doubles as wallpaper. Apparently the rotating list of special small plates is too many to commit a standard menu, instead they are handwritten in English and Japanese and pinned to every inch of available wall space.  From what I remember, we drank well and ate a bit too- fried rice, dumplings, a strange jellyfish salad- all for about the price of a shrimp cocktail and a martini on The Strip.

A couple of weeks ago, Paul and I yet again were in search of late night booze with a side of food, this time in New York City.  On the recommendation of our cousin, we headed deep into Alphabet City to Kasadela.  Maybe it was the remote location, but the atmosphere was a bit more serene than past izakaya outings.  That being said, a table of Japanese patrons with large bottles of Kirin and liters of sake confirmed that the priorities of Kasadela still lay firmly on the bar side of the restaurant.  Shishito peppers were deliciously charred and nicely salted if not quite as many as our appetite demanded.  Fried chicken came soggy but a pork belly and kimchi special as well as a plate of grilled squid legs satisfied, particularly alongside a Kirin Ichiban and a carafe of dry Junmai Gingo. 

Overall, the food at izakaya restaurants I’ve patronized Stateside has a record often brilliant and sometimes just meh.  But then again, that is not really the point is it?  As long as the beer and sake keep appearing, a plate of expertly fried rice and maybe a handful of grilled shishito peppers is really all you need.  At least, I’ll take that over Bud Light and chicken wings any day. 

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Hey Ramen Head! More Ways to Get Your Soup Noodle On

Spicy Cumin Lamb Noodles in Broth, Xi'an Famous Foods

Hey there, Noodle Heads, great news: there is more to the world of noodles in soup than just ramen. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for ramen.  But there seems to be a ramen shop on every corner these days.  And after so many meals of heavy pork broth and curly wheat based noodles sometimes I’m looking to switch it up a bit.  Lucky for me, in New York at least, there are plenty of other joints where I can pull up a stool, grab a set of chopsticks, and starting slurping noodles in aromatic broth whenever a craving hits.  Here are just a few:

Soba:  I wish I could clone Cocoron in the LowerEast Side.  I love soba, I love their health conscious menu, and I love that they are open until the wee hours of the morning.  (My soba cravings seem to intensify the later and later I’ve pushed my bedtime.)  Of course, I like to balance health with, well, pork.  So I take my gluten free buckwheat soba and ask the cheery folk at Corcoron to ladle on bonito broth, sprinkle on some seaweed for green, and pile on sliced pork and kimchee for extra flavor.  Moderation in everything.

Pork and Kimchi Soba at Cocoron, NYC

Pho: New York is no Los Angeles when it comes to Vietnamese pho.  Vietnamese restaurants in New York seem to throw more of their weight behind well-executed banh mi leaving the bowls of rice noodles and rare beef that is the national dish of Vietnam as an afterthought.  But with much research, I’ve found a few places worth seeking out if only for the pho.  V33 Golden City in midtown does a respectable pho complete with fragrant, star anise laced broth.  What’s more, they score points for doing it well even on delivery.  Pho Bang is worth the Chinatown trek.  For less than $8 one can feast on a large bowl of the stuff with all the trimmings and spice it up to taste with the many condiments laid out on the table.

Xi’an Noodles: This might not be a category of noodles anywhere outside the city of Xi’an in China, with the exception of Xi’an Famous Foods in New York City. This mini chain of restaurants pays homage to the city for which the restaurant is named, mixing the spices of the Middle East that arrived in Xi’an via the Silk Road, with the wide hand pulled wheat noodles common across Northern China.  The spices with the noodles in rich both makes for one satisfying bowl of Asian noodle soup.

Cocoron                                  61 Delancy St., New York

V33 Golden City                    14 E. 33^rd St., New York

Pho Bang                               157 Mott St., New York

Xi’an Famous Foods             Multiple locations, New York


Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

LA Weekend: No Car, Never Better

Tacos al pastor at Los Campos Tacos

Picture this: Los Angeles with no traffic.  No driving up and down crowded streets looking for parking.  No passing on that third glass of wine in anticipation of a long drive home. Impossible, you say?  Sure it is possible.  All you have to do it leave the car behind.

Is it easy to travel around California’s most infamously traffic-clogged spread out city without the use of a car?  Yes and no.  It really depends on where you are staying and what you want to do.

It was in that spirit a couple of weeks ago John and I spent a long weekend in Venice Beach and purposefully decided to do without a car.  We were looking for a beach hotel with proximity to long, ocean runs.   We needed access to great food and some cool bars.  And everything needed to be no more than an easy walk, bike ride, or taxi away.  

Here’s how we did it.

FRIDAY

Pork Cheeks at La Cachette Bistro

Afternoon: Arrived at the Hotel Erwin in time to watch the sun go down from our ocean view room.   Located one block from Venice’s famous boardwalk, music wafted up from the street where someone seemed to be playing Jimmy Hendrix at any hour of the day to the beat of the drum circle out by the sand. 

Evening:  Our friends picked us up for a group dinner at the consistently delicious French bistro, La Cachette, three miles north in Santa Monica.  Pork cheeks, cassoulet, tuna tartar, frisée salad, even a vegan plate for one friend all served with the utmost graciousness from the staff.  They didn’t even seem to mind we closed down the place.

SATURDAY

Morning: Walked catty corner to the hotel for lattes, full leaf green tea, and New York Style bagels at Collage Cafe.

Afternoon: Ran up the paved boardwalk past Santa Monica pier and back.  Rewarded ourselves with tacos al pastor and jamaica at Los Campos Tacos next to the hotel- as good as any taco stand in LA. 

Tagliarini Nero with Calamari at Tasting Kitchen

Night: Walked up to Abbott Kinney, Venice’s main artery of hipster life.  Pre-dinner, The Otheroom was unusually empty.  Pulled up a stool for an AllagashWhite and a glass of French Sauvignon Blanc.  Up te street, we scored a table in the main dining room at Portland influenced TastingKitchen after only a twenty minute wait.  Feasted on gnocco fritto and burrata, escarole salad, tagliarini nero with squid, and buccatini amatriciana.  Caught a ride home with our dinner companion. 

SUNDAY

Seared albacore with yuzu at Wabi Sabi

Morning: Round two at Collage Café plus the New York Times from Beach Market by the Marina del Rey pier.  Sunday paper was totally worth the 1.5 mile round trip walk.

Afternoon: Rented bikes and pedaled up to The Huntley Hotel in Santa Monica for lunch.  The valet parked our bikes in a hidden back area.  No one seemed to mind our slightly sweaty bodies as we tucked into cappuccinos, flatbread pizzas, and towering turkey sandwiches while taking in the epic coastline view from Penthouse, the top floor restaurant.  Continued the bike ride until the sun went down.

Evening: Pretty chilly out so caught a cab ($7) to the far end of Abbott Kinney for a solid sushi dinner at Wabi-Sabi.  Sipped on gold-flecked Bunraku sake while munching on seared albacore sashimi with yuzu.

MONDAY

Morning: Round three of coffees, bagels, and New York Times.  Almost like we were in New York but with better weather and an ocean view.

Afternoon:  Round two of beach run plus tacos and hibiscus drink.  If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. 

Fluke crudo at Gjelina

Evening: Met up with some old friends for beers at Larry’s,  a slick new beach bar around the corner from the hotel.  Perfectly empty in December, I could see how this joint with its massive tap beer list and airy rooms is probably packed during the summer season.  Caught a ride to Gjelina on Abbott Kinney.  Ignored their hour wait warning based on experience.  30 minutes and a glass of wine later our party settled into seats by a heater on the patio.  Cured meats, mushroom toast, caramelized Brussels sprouts, cheesy arugula pizza- the courses and the wine kept on coming.

TUESDAY

Pork and Fermented Bean Curd at Mao's Kitchen

We bid farewell to Venice by shaking it up- our run was followed by lunch at the appropriately Venice-cool Chinese restaurant Mao’s Kitchen, conveniently located next to the coffee shop and across the street from the taco stand.  Dumplings and stir-fried pork with fermented bean curd hit the spot. 

We walked, we ran, we biked, and occasionally caught a ride.  Happy well-fed bellies, plenty of sunshine and open water, LA was at its best and the car was never missed. 



Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

NYC Asian Eating Weekend, In Pictures

A long weekend of eating in NYC.

Clockwise from top left corner.

1. Spicy Regular Ramen (pork) with thin noodles at Kambi.
2. Crispy Szechuan Lamb at Chinese Mirch.
3. Crispy Spring Rolls at Omai.
4. Lemongrass beef rolls at Omai.
5. Me eating Thelewala Chicken Roll at Thelewala- fried eggs, onions, spices, lime.
6. Spicy Cumin Lamb Noodles in Soup at Xi'an Famous Foods (eating while drinking Negro Modelo at The International Bar in the East Village).
7. My brother, Paul, eating the Chapli Roll at Thelewala- minced lamb, spices, lime.
8. Center- Miso Ramen with shredded chicken and fried garlic at Rai Rai Ken. 


Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Why British Food Doesn't Suck

What is British food exactly? And while we are at it, what is French food or American Food? When the best food in the United States is often a Californian take on Italian, a Texan take on Mexican, or a New York take on French, even American food is hard to define. British food, long maligned for bland tasting meat pies, soggy chips, and mushy peas, has developed over the years, just like the United States and even France.

With the long history of colonialism and now influx of immigrants, Britain has picked up a cosmopolitan mix of peoples and their foods along the way. That Brits have long loved Indian curries is no secret, but upscale South East Asian, Italian-style wine bars, and even artisanal Japanese noodle making are infiltrating the heart of the British dining scene.

With that in mind, on a recent trip to London I set out to discover some new British restaurant arrivals drawing inspiration and menus from different parts of the globe. If my research is any indication, the world continues to shrink and the food in London is better for it. One can only imagine what “British” food will pop up next.

Koya: There is nothing like long, hot, homemade noodles bathed in rich miso broth on a cool London day. Koya, in Soho, is a narrow and brightly lit enclave of traditional Japanese udon in the heart of the theater district. It would be an understatement to say my bowlful of handmade noodles in miso with ground pork and green onion was a mouthful. But I was up for the challenge, taking the noodles one dip of the chopsticks at a time, slurping up the umami rich both between bites. Koya also succeeded with an unusual and gamey miso cured venison special and crisp green salad topped with fried lotus, all washed down with homemade ginger tea.

Bocca di Lupo: If the difficulty in getting a reservation is any indication, Bocca di Lupo is no secret to Londoners. Known best on the West side of the pond as the author of 2010’s “The Geometry of Pasta” cookbook, chef Jacob Kenedy is turning out the sort of consistently excellent Italian fare that makes you want to finish your plate and order again because each successive course seems to get better and better. On my recent visit, the much-lauded fried balls of mozzarella were the least interesting dish if not bad at all. A plate of crudo- sea bream, red prawn, and creamy scallop- came drizzled in rosemary oil. Herbaceous and yet distinctly of the sea, it was as if the fish had taken a stroll through a pine forest and emerged delicately scented on the plate. Orchiette pasta was tossed with crumbled spicy homemade sausage and arugula. While sausage of pork and foie gras, rustic in presentation, was nothing but decadent in the mouth.

Cay Tre: Perhaps it has yet to figure out food costs, but Cay Tre, a classy Vietnamese newcomer, is loading their pho with beef. In the classic Vietnamese noodle soup, rare slivers of beef normally act as more of a garnish than a focal point. At Cay Tre, the bowl is all about the beef. Loaded with sirloin, tendon, and brisket, their pho is a meatier version of the classic while still redolent with star anise and filled with the biting grassiness of greens and the licorice of torn basil tangled together with just cooked rice noodles. Two elegantly fried head-on prawns embedded in a cake of grated sweet potato was a tasty starter when rolled in lettuce and dipped in a classic sauce of vinegar, chilies, and sugar.

Polpo: Polpo, part of a hip 18 month-old mini-chain of London wine bars, is the one that started it all. Even though Polpo is Italian, don’t come expecting pasta, because you might not find it. But do come open to a raucous dining scene that might well be going off into the ten o’clock hour on a Monday night, unusual in this city. Pizzettas are small and thin crusted with a nice chewy interior and crisp edge. Faro might star in lieu of risotto as it did on a recent night paired with rich braised lamb. Asparagus was in peak season on that visit, served simply and deliciously blanched and smothered in anchovy butter. Wine is delight to drink at Polpo as many options come by the quarter, half, or full bottle. And should you arrive early or come without a reservation, a speakeasy hidden in the basement appropriately called The Campari Bar is a delightful way to spend the wait over an aperitif. Or linger late take in a nightcap downstairs. That is if you didn’t close down the joint over dinner like I did.