volume 1 : issue 1 spring 2013nonpareil

the university of chicago food magazine

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experimental cooking: gnocchi editionhow to survive the dining hallhome is where the hearth ispeeking at kilwin’schicago restaurant weekchocolate pudding with cherry and almondblood orange roast chickenbon appétitthe other new yearenvisiondo: gastro-conferencethe swede in the kitchen

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Dearest readers, eaters, and lovers of all things culinary,

Though it may be easy to forget in the middle of all our classes and extracurricular activities and late-night procrastination, the University of Chicago is situated in one of the largest cities in the world, one whose food scene is vibrant and bubbling. And everywhere on campus, you can find foodies: those who will shell out money for the best cupcakes, travel all the way up to Lincoln Park or further for the best sushi restaurants or hoard high-grade snacks in their room, who spend weekends baking or have cooking parties with their friends.

Into this scene enters Nonpareil. Frequently, we are asked what the name means. Like the tastiest of foods, the name has more than one layer of meaning to complement each other: nonpareil refers both to a certain type of round sprinkle and the round cookies that are frequently covered with them, and also means “no parallel”. For a food magazine for a school filled with witty, intelligent, and food-loving people, it seemed extremely appropriate. Like all journeys worth making, the making of the University of Chicago’s food magazine has been a complicated and sometimes frustrating process, but despite all the ups and downs, we finally did it.

From recipes to fudge shops to Chicago Restaurant Week to reflections on being Swedish and what that entails in the culinary sense—it is with deep pleasure and excitement that we bring you the beau-tiful inaugural issue of Nonpareil. For those who religiously follow Iron Chef, the Food Network, or Martha Stewart; for those who spend hours Yelping new restaurants or looking at those oh-so-tantalizing photo-graphs of food porn in the middle of the night when you should be studying or sleeping (we’ve all been there); for those who live for bold new flavors and the special glisten of perfectly prepared food, for whom the seduction of your taste buds is the best kind of seduction—this one is for you.

Sincerely,

YOUR FOUNDERS

G N O C C H Iexperimental cooking

Ingredients

6 large Idaho potatoes2 tablespoons salt, plus 1 teaspoon¼ teaspoon freshly ground white pep-per2 eggs, beaten1 ½ - 2 cups all-purpose flour, plus

more for your work surface2 tablespoons butter½ cup heavy cream1 (10-ounce) box frozen peas, thawed2-3 ounces of spinach1 ounce of tartufo (black truffle paste)

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4 5 6

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by matt raigosa and frank qiancontributors

(from lidiasitaly.com)

As a lover of Italian cuisine, I knew that for my first column this dish would have to be Italian, but not greasy. I de-cided that boiling some pasta made from flour just wouldn’t cut it, but boil-ing pasta made from potatoes was per-fect. Because gnocchi in cream sauce is one of my favorite dishes, I decided to try to make it from scratch.

Not to toot my own horn, but this was the best gnocchi I’ve ever had. I’m sure that there is better gnocchi out there, but not in Chicago. Really,

I think it was the black truffle paste that made the dish since I have never had it with that ingredient. The gnoc-chi was light, like a cloud, and fluffy like picked cotton, with a texture nei-ther too smooth nor overly sticky. The sauce was rich and savory. I also added arugula just to experiment, and I have to say, I’m not going to go back to the days of arugula-less gnocchi. The slightly bitter, unique taste and crunch of the arugula contrasted the smooth-ness of the gnocchi and creaminess of

the sauce. The peas and spinach added a burst of sweetness with every bite. Overall, it was a savory, sweet dish that was accented by the expensive black truffle paste. •••

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How to Survive:UCHICAGO

DINING

The edibles offered by the din-ing halls on campus are notorious for barely living up to their name. Cereal, ice cream, and toast are generally the “safest” and best-loved options, but, if you’re willing to spend a little extra time figuring out what to eat, you can make the dining hall’s offerings work for you. Case in point: sandwiches. I eat at Pierce, where the sandwich bar itself is pretty sparse, but the panini press is willing to toast (almost) any-thing.

The key to making interesting sand-wiches is to make use of the grill items, hot entrees, and salad bar fixings. If you’re a vegetarian, you can put to-gether a tasty sandwich by mashing chickpeas and feta cheese from the salad bar with olive oil and Dijon mus-tard from the sandwich station, as well as lemon and honey from the tea area, then spreading the mixture onto whole grain bread with spinach, cucumbers (preferably the marinated ones), and/or carrots. Cold or panini-pressed, this is one of my favorite sandwiches to have for lunch.

But if you’re of the carnivorous per-

suasion, grab a chicken breast from the grill station and make a sandwich with Sriracha sauce, Swiss cheese, Di-jon mustard, and lettuce. Even better, if it’s burrito day, ask for just a tortilla (or if you’re me, then a tortilla with the beans and hopefully guacamole). You will probably be asked again if you’re sure, because it’s a strange request,

but the dining staff will comply. Fill it up with corn and black beans from the salad bar, maybe some chicken from the grill, and some pineapple salsa if they’re offering it that day. If you’re feeling ambitious, fold it up and also ask to have it panini pressed: You won’t regret it. •••

by Holly Zaharchuck contributor

+ + +

Whole Wheat Bread

chick peas Veggies

feta cheese+lemon

+ Honey+

olive oil + dijon mustard

+press it!

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home is wherethe hearth is

AN INSIDE LOOK AT THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO’S OWN MASTER CHEFAND HIS WANDERING UNDERGROUND RESTAURANT

by jenny swannmanaging director

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appears in the lobby and leads the bewil-dered group past cubicles and book stacks to a secluded study room on the third floor. The otherwise unremarkable room has been transformed into a temporary restaurant: china dishes and handwritten menus share the table with little pots of pink flowers, and the entire southern wall has been turned into Lipman’s makeshift kitchen. We get settled in and he serves us a shot glass filled with what could eas-ily be mistaken for sand, along with one caution: don’t eat it all in one go. We tilt back the glasses and encounter the first of many edible surprises of the evening: the moment the powder hits our tongues, it transforms into a caramel as toothsome as any you might find in a wrapper. “Tapio-ca maltodextrin,” says Lipman in response to the collection of pleased and mystified faces, “it makes pretty much anything into a powder.”

The surprises continue over the course of the dinner. We sample edible flowers, powdered olive oil, dehydrated blackber-ries, sheets of balsamic meringue, and even chocolate wine made in a centrifuge. But the most unexpected element of the eve-ning came disguised as a “?” on our menus between the fourth and fifth courses. As we nursed steadily intensifying sugar rush-es, Lipman disappeared for a few moments and returned with the entire ensemble of Unaccompanied Women who serened-ed us with singing Valentines. As Lipman served dessert to the performers, I spoke with my tablemates about everything from favorite food blogs and bread baking ad-vice to the perks being an English major and the ups and downs of taking a quarter off. This seems to be one of the greatest perks of dining at the Hearth. The unusu-al setting and eclectic collection of people tends to bring even the shyest diners out of their shells and makes for very honest and interesting conversation among com-plete strangers.

If this massive undertaking sounds

It is February 13th and I have some un-usual dinner plans. I know exactly what I’ll be having for dinner, but I have no idea who I’ll be eating with. I also have no clue where the dinner will be served. Just be-fore 6, an email arrives in my inbox that gives me a little direction: at 8pm, I am to be waiting in the first floor lobby of the Regenstein Library. That is all.

This may seem like a pretty cryptic way to find one’s food for the evening. But this level of suspense is normal at The Hearth, an underground kitchen founded and run by first-year undergraduate Robert Lip-man. Even though it is only a few months old, a seat at one of the monthly meals is already an incredibly hot-ticket item: nearly five hundred people entered the lottery in the hopes of scoring one of the ten avail-able seats at his last event. The menus are centered on themes ranging from “Coffee” to “Miyazaki” and are posted on Lipman’s website before the lottery opens. But even if you know the names of the dishes you’ll be eating, the dinner is far from predict-able. The dishes themselves may be a little hard to visualize (“Walnut, Cream, Dust”), and no one but Robert knows the dinner’s location until a few hours before the event.

At 8pm, I arrive in the first floor of the Reg and meet my ten dinner companions for the first time. There are fourth years, third years, second years and even a re-cently graduated alumnus. The diners hail from both coasts and the Midwest and their majors range from English to Econ and MELK. A few of us had met before, and others are complete strangers. But one unites the group: a major sweet tooth. To-night we are testing our sugar tolerances, for February’s theme is “Just Desserts” in honor of Valentine’s Day. Each of the five cavity-inducing courses is modeled after a dessert from a fine dining establishment around the world, ranging from Copenha-gen’s Noma to the French Laundry in Lip-man’s native California.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Lipman

exhausting, it is. By the end of the meal, Lipman is visibly wearied. Each dinner requires countless hours of research and planning, about 15 hours of prep work in his dorm kitchen and a large degree of un-certainty. In most cases, Lipman has never attempted the dishes before. The after-noon of the dinner often involves sever-al calls home for advice from his mother, a former cookbook author and Lipman’s culinary inspiration. Each dinner also re-quires time spent working out the logistics involved in conducting a complicated pri-vate dinner in an on-campus location (Q: How does one transport a stocked refrig-erator into the Reg? A: Pretend you are a delivery person and someone on the third floor placed an order).

But for all this effort, Lipman only re-quests enough compensation to cover the cost of the ingredients for the meal. The total bill for the five course, multi-hour af-fair clocked in at $25. Some might wonder why a man like Lipman, who claims that there is no limit or boundary to what he’d spend on a meal, doesn’t charge more for the Hearth dinners. After all, the demand for the dinners is great enough that he could jack up the price and still fill the ta-ble. But for Lipman, the answer is simple: “I don’t want to push the boundaries of what college student can spend,” he says, “I want them to go in feeling comfort-able and be surprised.” If you are lucky enough to get a ticket, Lipman delivers on his promise: The Hearth is nothing if not unexpected. •••

As a self-diagnosed foodie in Hyde Park, I’ve been dying for a world-class candy shop in the neighborhood. A place that makes me want to brave the coldest winter night just to devour their ice cream. A restaurant that com-pels me to return the instant I leave merely to stare in awe at their inven-tive candies. Kilwins is a fine plane to indulge a sweet tooth, but I found it too easy to leave without wanting more.

Kilwins abandons the ‘ye olde’ choc-olate shoppe’ feel for a more sleek and modern look. As you enter Kilwins, white reflective walls greet you. On your left are the fudge selection, then the chocolates, and finally the ice cream. Several giant pictures of can-dy adorn the walls, hanging above the quintet of small tables near the back of the store. Pop music quietly plays, al-lowing for easy conversation between friends. I have mixed feelings regard-ing the surroundings. At the time they

felt open and energetic, infused by lively colors refracting off the white walls. Yet thinking back now, the shiny blank surroundings can give Kilwins a slightly sterile look.

The service is friendly and remark-ably efficient. I never waited more than ten seconds for their assistance, while at the same time they never seemed too pushy. The employees’ smiles nev-

er left their faces even as I mumbled through my order with my standard UChicago awkwardness. More impor-tantly, I was offered a free sample of fudge immediately upon entering—an offer you cannot refuse.

Kilwins has a wide selection of chocolates, fudges, ice cream, and

toffees. Between the samples and my actual order I indulged in their choco-late fudge, pecan turtles, mocha chip ice cream, and chocolate raspberry ice cream. The fudge was pure all the way through, without nuts or raisins. The turtles feature milk or dark chocolate, a whole pecan, and light caramel. The raspberry chocolate has actual pieces of raspberries in the ice cream, and

the mocha chip is not creatively named, containing precisely mocha ice cream and chocolate chips.

The chocolate fudge flavor was dark and intense, with slightly higher notes of sweetness in the background.

The creaminess of the fudge instantly struck me: my teeth sunk into it like a warm marshmallow. This fudge was far less viscous that most others, a fluidity that I enjoyed. On second bite, howev-er, I noticed a layer of thickness at the top. The fudge had been out so long a film had formed around it, making for

KILWIN’S52nd

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Dorchester

Blackstone

Harper

“The ice cream and fudge both had rich chocolate flavors that are hard to resist. At the same time, I found it all too easy to share the fudge with a friend. A great candy shop ought to make friends either fight for their food or buy more.”

BY BEN FLEISHER AND JEANNE LIEBERMANcontributors

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the discomforting sensation of biting from a hard candy into a cream.

I had a similar experience with the chocolate raspberry ice cream. The fla-vor smoothly blended the sweet choc-olate and tart raspberries, accenting notes with the occasional bite into a berry. Yet the consistency was closer to a rice pudding than an ice cream — the velvety chocolate seemed to have small seeds in it, distracting from the flavors.

The mocha chocolate chip stood out above the rest. Deeper tastes of the coffee stood in amazing contrast to the bright chocolate chips. The tex-ture, however, set it apart from other ice creams. It had a remarkably thick consistency, broken by the occasion-ally melting-in-your-mouth chocolate chip.

I felt neutrally towards the choco-late turtle. If you like more pecans and less caramel in your candy, this treat is for you. The earthy pecan worked per-fectly with the milk chocolate, making a fine candy. But as for the sweet and salty tang of caramel that underlines the chocolate and contrasts beautiful-

ly with the pecan? I found it wanting. I physically saw caramel coming out of the treat, but it didn’t translate into taste. Yet, even without the caramel the chocolate and pecan engaged in a fun battle between nutty and sweet.

I would return to Kilwins. Even if the turtle was light on caramel, it still presented an admirably tasty treat. The ice cream and fudge both had rich chocolate flavors that are hard to re-sist. At the same time, I found it all too easy to share the fudge with a friend. A great candy shop ought to make friends either fight for their food or buy more. Kilwins was good, but not great. •••

If you’re new to cooking and still feeling unsure of yourself in the kitchen, making fudge is a great way to build your culinary confidence. Most fudge recipes are variations on a simple mixture of semi-sweet chocolate, sweetened condensed milk and butter. From this base you can add everything from nuts and pretzels to dried cherries and sour patch kids. For a great variation in texture, try including one crunchy mix-in and one fruity pick. This rec-ipe uses cinnamon toast crunch and crystallized ginger, but any mix of crisp and chewy will do.

INGREDIENTS14 ounces sweetened condensed milk17 ounces semi-sweet chocolate chips1 1/2 tablespoons butter2 cups Cinnamon Toast Crunch cere-al, crushed4 ounces crystallized ginger, chopped

INSTRUCTIONS1 Prepare your mix-ins and assem-ble them near your work station.2. Find a large baking pan with 1-inch tall sides and line with wax paper. 3. Combine sweetened condensed milk, chocolate chips and butter in a pot or double boilerA double boiler is preferable, but any pot will work as long as you stir the mixture con-stantly and are careful not to over-cook it. 4. Place the pot on medium-low heat, (if using a double boiler, heat until the water is at at a steady boil.) Stir the mixture constantly until the ingredients melt, about 3 minutes. 5. Stir until the mixture tbecomes shiny, about another 2 minutes. Reduce heat to low and add the Cinnamon Toast Crunch and crystal-ized ginger. Stir very quickly until the ingredients become completely homogenous. Immediately remove from heat. 6. Spread the mixture into prepared pan and smooth with spoon. 7. Refrigerate at least 5 hours, or until firm.

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ChicagoRestaurantWeek

2013

Conducted by the James Beard Award nominee Andrew Zimmerman, the Miche-lin one-starred restaurant Sepia moves to the Jazz Age melodies of Louis Arm-strong and Cole Porter. The interior, with its weathered brick, old photographs, and vintage decorations, hearkens to 1920s Chicago, while avoiding excessive nostal-gia. Everything is tasteful, elegant, and refined. However, the three course restau-rant week dinner menu failed to live up to these expectations.

The three-course dinner menu began with either a papardelle with venison sugo or a salad of mustard greens and chicories with bosc pear, almonds, and a saba vin-aigrette. The papardelle was perfectly al dente, but the hearty venison sugo was so minimal in proportion to the papardelle that the dish at times only hinted of there ever being venison. The salad was rath-er underwhelming though the flavors did dance pleasantly among the sweet pear, nutty mimolette, and sharp greens.

The main course consisted either of

pan roasted coalfish with smoked potato and clam chowder or slow cooked breast of veal with barley risotto and gremolata. The coalfish served was of a minimal size—barely an ounce—, and the chowder was equally minimal. Portion issues aside, the dish was cooked well; although the skin noticeably lacked crispness, the water-cress complemented the soft delicate fla-vor of the fish, which also paired well with the chowder which was smoky without being overpowering. The veal was served in a pinwheel shape atop a bed of barley risotto. The jus from the veal gave the ri-sotto warmth and body, but the veal itself was overpowering in flavor and was hard to finish.

The offerings for dessert were either a chocolate tart atop a graham cracker or a coconut pecan cake with caramel rum syrup—both of which were given as quite meager portions. The chocolate tart was unspectacular, being not much more than chocolate ganache atop a round graham cracker with a bit of merengue with some

chocolate and Bailey’s sauce pooled about for plating aesthetics. The coconut pecan cake, though, was perfectly concocted. The fluffy, rich cake had a solid balance of coconut flavor which was brought out nice-ly by the caramel rum syrup. It was unfor-tunate that there was not more of it.

Dinner ended with complimentary cof-fee, which, although freely flowing, was accompanied by commercial sugar pack-ets—something not usually seen in ex-pensive restaurants. I wondered why the coffee was offered after dessert, when I would have much preferred to have coffee with dessert.

I desperately wanted to enjoy every-thing about Sepia, and everything seemed to be pointing to a great evening, that is, until the food came out. I was left won-dering how this could have happened. The décor was phenomenal; the staff, profes-sional and efficient; the reputation, impec-cable. However, the food—the very reason one eats at a restaurant—was just so un-derwhelming.

s e p i a

David

Burke's

Primehouse

Chicago Restaurant WeekFebruary 1 - 10Lunch:: $22Dinner : $33 or $44

David Burke’s Primehouse’s restaurant week menu offered appetizers including a wedge salad, lobster bisque and savory fusion dumplings, while customers could select their entrée from a choice of filet mignon, 40-day dry aged beef burger or a pan-roasted salmon. For dessert, the Primehouse offered a sampler trio of chocolate mousse cake, s’mo-res ice cream and a cheesecake pop. While waiting for our food to arrive, the servers pro-vided us with crisp and airy cheese popovers served in a metal measuring cup, which were delicious and so light that they didn’t spoil our appetites for the courses to come.

The fusion dumplings were savory and featured non-traditional fillings of lamb and lobster. The lobster filling was the more striking of the two and tasted tangy and flavorful beside the more dull-seeming lamb. Beef was the main highlight of the entrée menu, as is appropriate for a steakhouse;

David Burke’s uses a dry-aging method to intensify the flavor of their USDA prime grade beef. The cunningly named Burker shunned traditional burger toppings like tomatoes and lettuce order to spotlight the tender, filling, slab of beef that was more substantial than the bun containing it. The filet mignon was also tender and pleasantly devoid of fattiness. Our entrees were accompanied by two sides: a creamy plate of mashed potatoes with basil and a dish of sliced mushrooms with onions, both of which perfectly complemented the beefy meals.

Of the trio of sweets we ended our meal with, the creamy chocolate mousse with an intense chocolate flavor and soft marsh-mallow topping that was easily the winner. For this hearty meal, the $22 price tag was definitely a complete steal.

With over 48 locations in 20 states, the Capital Grille steakhouse boasts high stan-dards. Their steak typically costs between forty and fifty dollars, making Restaurant Week the ideal time to try out their premi-um selection for a great value. The restau-rant is wonderful for a night out, with high ceilings, an expansive dining room, and a beautiful open kitchen creating a classic ro-mantic environment.

For the first appetizer course, I opted for the Clam Chowder over the salad. The soup did not strike me as very exceptional; it was a standard cream soup, very creamy but on the blander side.

For the main course, I ordered a medi-um-rare Parmesan and Herb Marinated Tournedos. The tournedos, more common-ly known as a type of filet mignon, was ex-tremely tender at the center but the rest of the steak was slightly overdone. The rim was a little stiff and hard to chew. It was garnished very simply with only parme-san, herbs and cherry tomatoes. My favor-ite part was the sauce, which flavored the meat and left a lasting savory impression.

As for the sides, the mashed potatoes

were very average, a little too rich and creamy for my preference. The creamed spinach, although also very buttery, was better—it felt lighter than the mashed po-tatoes, and the onion and garlic blended into the cream without being overwhelm-ing.

For dessert, I ordered the Classic Crème Brulée, a smooth vanilla custard with a crisp caramelized top layer. The berries were fresh and slightly tangy, balancing nicely with the rich custard. My friend ordered the Flourless Chocolate Espresso Cake, a great choice for those who don’t like des-serts as much. The cake is very light and not too sweet. The flour creates a powdery nice texture before it melts in your mouth.

But overall, I was a bit disappointed with Capital Grille Restaurant Week menu. They do feature the most popular main dishes but the quality of the steak was underwhelming, and the appetizers were generic, especially compared to some of the more fun and creative options offered by other Restaurant Week participating restaurants.

Roka Akor, a contemporary steak, sea-food and sushi restaurant, has been gaining popularity for their fresh and flavorful sushi since they opened in July 2011.

For their second Chicago Restaurant Week, Roka Akor offered a $22 lunch menu with starters of white miso soup, Wagyu beef and kimchi dumplings, and spicy crispy butterfish roll, and a choice of one out of three entrées served with steamed rice. Op-tions for the entrée consisted of the salmon teriyaki with pickled cucumber, the cumin BBQ pork loin with shaved vegetables and cilantro, and the grilled seasonal vegetables with truffle soy butter.

My two friends and I began the meal each with a bowl of their soothing white miso soup, which complemented the crispi-ness of the beef and kimchi dumplings. The spicy crispy butterfish roll was a combina-tion of velvety and crunchy, cold and hot. The chilled fish and jalapeño slices from the roll topped off the hot starters.

I ordered the cumin BBQ pork loin with shaved vegetables and cilantro, but also had a taste of my friend’s salmon teriyaki with pickled cucumber. Unfortunately, I did not have the chance to try the grilled season-al vegetables with truffle soy butter… they were some expensive seasonal vegetables.

The chefs grilled the salmon and pork under a neon purple hood decorated with

a collection of hand-cut nails, right in the center of the sleek, timber interior of the restaurant. It was a homey and refreshing change to actually see my food cooked. Even though there was live action grilling, there was no smoke to cloud the stylish ar-chitecture of the wine collection or bar.

Roka Akor’s cumin BBQ pork loin with snippets of cilantro was an explosion of fla-vor. The addition of cumin and cilantro to the more traditional BBQ flavor made the bite-sized slices of succulent pork sweet and spiced. (It slightly reminded me of a north-eastern Thai dish that is eaten with sticky rice.)

My friend’s order of the salmon was cooked perfectly, the fish firm and tender. This entrée was served simply with a wedge of a lemon and homemade teriyaki sauce. Each bite was a zesty and buttery blend of salmon flakes, and nibbles of the crisp pick-led cucumber balanced out the palate.

Not only did the taste of the food sur-pass my already high expectations, but also the service was impeccable. My drink was never half empty before the server refilled it, which was very often because I had to chug water to prevent myself from stuffing my face with such good food. The friendli-ness of the staff members brought warmth to the elegant and modern atmosphere, making my experience tasty and relaxing.

Roka

Akor

Capital Grille

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chocolate pudding

with cherryand almond

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Chocolate Pudding with Cherry and Almond

-er, via Smitten Kitchen

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chocolate pudding

with cherryand almond

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Chocolate Pudding with Cherry and Almond

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blood orange roast chickenBY HOLLY ZAHARCHUCK

contributor

skin-side down into the hot oil, letting the skin brown and crisp. Fry the blood orange quarters alongside the chicken. Turn the chicken and orange slices over after about 4 minutes. Toss in the desired amount of olives.3. While cooking the chicken, oranges, and olives (around 3 min-utes on this side), quarter the remaining 2 blood oranges and juice into a bowl.4. Remove the fried orange quarters and set aside in a small ov-en-proof dish. Pour the chicken stock and blood orange juice into the skillet and add the remaining orange quarters.5. Place the skillet in the oven and cook for ~15 minutes until the chicken is cooked through. If you press down on the flesh near the bone and the juices run clear, or, if you push down with your fingertip on the thickest part and the flesh feels firm, then it is done. Remove the skillet from the oven and place it back on the stove. Take the chicken out of the pan, place on a plate (with high enough sides to contain the juice that will seep out during this resting process), and set aside for roughly 8 minutes. This allows the juices to redistribute throughout the meat and prevent it from drying out. In the meantime, simmer the sauce, olives, and oranges over medium heat and place the fried orange quarters in the hot oven.6. Once the chicken has rested, the sauce has reduced, and the orange quarters have caramelized, you’re done. Serve with the watercress, which should be dressed with the remaining table-spoon of olive oil and a sprinkle of salt. Squeeze the fried, roasted orange quarters over the chicken just before eating.

(original recipe)

Winter food for me is full of warmth and citrus. The days are short and produce is expensive, but a plethora of blood orang-es, Meyer lemons, and tangerines are in season and at the peak of their bright, sweetly acidic flavor. I love making use of citrus during these cold months, not only because they are in season and therefore (comparatively) cheap, but also because they bring such vivid flavors to warm, cozy meals. For Valentine’s Day, I wanted to create a meal that was centered around blood or-anges, since I thought this would be an appropriate focus for the holiday fare. They have a unique, sweet flavor and are visually stunning, with their mottled crimson-orange flesh. The brininess of the olives pairs well with the sweetness of these oranges, and both acidic components balance the earthy cumin and succulent roasted chicken. •••

INGREDIENTS4 bone-in chicken thighs2 tablespoons cumin2 teaspoons salt1 ¼ tablespoon olive oil, divided3 blood oranges¼ - ½ cup marinated green olives, depending on your love of olives½ cup chicken stock1 bunch watercress, washed and stems removed

INSTRUCTIONS1. Preheat the oven to 450°F and warm a medium, oven-proof skillet with 1/4 cup olive oil over medium-high heat. Stir together the cumin and salt in a small bowl. Pat the chicken thighs dry and sprinkle on the cumin-salt mixture. Massage the mixture into the chicken.2. Cut one of the blood oranges into quarters. Lay the chicken

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bon appétitA quarter abroad doesn’t last very long. It’s enough time to finish a

civ sequence, of course, but a mere ten weeks in Paris just wasn’t long enough.

It wasn’t long enough to explore the back alleys of Montmartre or the narrow pedestrian-only streets of the zones piétonnes. It wasn’t long enough to shop at every outdoor market or talk to every vendor, and it wasn’t long enough to find the cheapest espresso or have break-fast on every bridge as the sun rose over the Seine and burned the mist away. Ten weeks wasn’t nearly long enough to try every pastry, or hunt down the absolute best croissant in the city. But that’s not to say I didn’t try, adhering to a strict regimen of two pastries a day.

I heard whispered rumors of a croissant so fresh, so good, that steam rose out of it when it was broken open. There was talk of a falafel to rival true Middle Eastern falafel–crisp balls of falafel, fried eggplant, purple cabbage, tahini dripping down the sides. There were escargots to try, and crème brûlées around every corner, and good French cheese at little fromageries open to the street. A small wheel of camembert I bought was so stinky I had to throw open the windows in my room until it was eaten.

Paris to me was a city of friendly faces: of storekeepers asking where I was from and where I learned my French, whether or not I’d like to try a sample of this or that chocolate or ice cream flavor (to which the reply was always oui, s’il vous plaît). It was a city of cobblestoned streets and lovely old churches and bookstores and French history and culture. But what impressed themselves indelibly upon each of my experiences were the smells wafting from the bakeries, the taste of a chocolate eclair, the satisfaction after a good French meal.

There were the glazed madeleines at Blé Sucré on that rainy day in November. The mulled wine and ham and cheese sandwiches at the Montmartre wine festival. The mint tea and baklava at the Grande Mosquée de Paris. The poppy seed and apple strudel from a Kosher bakery on the rue des Rosiers in the Marais. Row upon row of fresh-ly baked tartes citrons, macarons, pains au chocolat, pains suisses… And then, always, a quick stop (or an entire afternoon) for an espresso. Paris opened up to me when I began to explore that aspect of French culture which is so deeply influential and so important to the rhythm of life in the city: the cuisine. •••

BY ANDREA RUMMELcontributor

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“

that steam rose out of it when it was broken open.

I heard whispered rumors of a croissant so fresh, so good

that steam rose out of it when it was broken open.nonpareil 16

”

I heard whispered rumors of a croissant so fresh, so good

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the other new year

MING HIN CUISINE, bursting with festive red and gold colors behind its inconspicuous entrance, was even more jam-packed than usual on the Saturday before the lunar new year. A milling crush of hungry patrons gazed hungrily at displays of rice cakes and red candies littered on backdrops of red paper.

January 10th marked the change in the twelve-animal cycle of the Chinese zodiac cal-endar from the year of the dragon to the year of the snake. Though countries all over Asia celebrate the lunar new year with different customs and foods, the Chinese new year (called the Spring Festival) is always a major event. Families hold huge reunions and gather to cel-ebrate with alcohol, red envelopes of money for the children, colorful decorations, shouted greetings of good fortune and, of course, dishes and dishes of lavishly prepared food.

There are many traditional Chinese dishes that are created to properly celebrate and wel-come the new year. They are mostly chosen for their names, which are infused with sym-bolism for fortune and luck. These dishes include spring rolls, dumplings, and sweets, all of which were abundantly featured around Chinatown. Many restaurants, including Ming Hin, had special additional meals that also featured delicacies such as lobster and fish.• Potstickers and dumplings, with a wide variety of meat and vegetables fillings, are eat-en because their shapes resemble older forms of money called ingots. They are thought to bring in fortune in making money throughout the new year. • Spring rolls get their name from their immense popularity during the spring festival which augurs the lunar new year. Frying these rolls turns them a deep golden color, which links them to treasure and fortune. • Fish, or yu, is a homonym with “surplus”, and is typically eaten with the hope that each year will bring a surplus of good fortune.• Rice cake, or nian gao, isa steamed dessert traditionally made with glutinous rice flour and sweetened with sugar and fruits. The cake is a staple food during the Chinese new year, and the name plays on the word for “high”, which can be applied to improvement in business, school, or other areas of life.• Oranges and tangerines are also auspicious symbols. Their bright colors and names are associated with gold, fortune, prosperity and luck. They are popular as ornaments and deco-rations, and are also served after savory meals.

AS A DIM SUM HOTSPOT, the Saturday morning preceding the Spring Festival was a pre-dictably busy time to be visiting Ming Hin. Ming Hin produces some of the best dim sum in Chinatown, and our morning’s orders didn’t disappoint. The shrimp-filled potstickers were perfectly crispy and were served with hoisin and sweet and sour dipping sauces. The shu-mai, neat blocks of silken tofu and spring onion pancakes were all delicately flavored and lacked the deluge of sauces, salt, oil or flavorings that characterize more sub-par Chinese restaurants.

Because the Spring Festival is traditionally a time to eat sweets, we also ordered a few Westernized dishes which have become staples of Chinese food throughout Hong Kong and the mainland. The glaze-drizzled baked pork buns were warm, soft, and far superior to the pasty buns offered by many of the Chinatown bakeries. We also ordered a sampling of Por-tuguese egg tarts, which were small, flaky, and wonderfully buttery. After the meal, we ven-tured out to buy a small rice cake from the bakery across the way and enjoyed a few small, sweet bites to round out the morning meal. •••

review: ming hin

BY ANGELA QIANeditor-in-chief

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Unlike their breadier Western cousins, rice cakes possess a chewy, slightly gummy texture. They are traditionally steamed rather than baked and derive their sweetness from the glutinous rice flour, unrefined sugar, and additions of dried fruit or dates.

INSTRUCTIONS1. Place 2 cups of water and brown sugar in a medium saucepan. Set over medium heat and stir occasionally until the sugar has completely dissolved, about 10 minutes. (Do not let it boil.) Remove from heat and let cool until warm to the touch.2. Meanwhile, fill a 14-inch wok with about 1 1/2 inches of water and place a 12-inch bamboo steamer inside. (The water should not touch the bottom of the steamer.) Bring the water to a simmer over medium heat. Coat a 9-inch round cake pan with vegetable oil; set aside.3. Place the rice flour in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment. With the mixer on low speed, slowly pour in the sugar-water mixture, beating until smooth, about 2 minutes. If needed, stop to scrape down the sides of the mixer with a rubber spatula.4. Add the measured oil and continue beating on low speed until the batter is smooth and the oil is incorporated, about 5 minutes. Add the almond extract and beat until just incorporated. Pour the mixture into the prepared pan.5. Carefully place the pan in the bamboo steamer or on top of the foil coils. Cover the bamboo steamer with its lid or cover the wok or frying pan with a tightfitting lid or a sheet of aluminum foil. (Do not cover the cake pan di-rectly with a lid or foil.) Steam until the cake is very firm to the touch, about 3 hours, checking every hour and replenishing the wok or pan with hot tap water as needed. While the cake is still warm, garnish with the dates (if us-ing) and sesame seeds. Let cool on a rack to room temperature. Run a knife around the outside of the cake, then slip a thin spatula under the cake to lift it out. Serve it sesame seed side up.

INGREDIENTS2 cups water, plus more for steaming1 (1-pound) package Chinese brown sugar1 pound sweet rice flour (about 3 cups)2 tablespoons vegetable oil, plus more for coating the pan2 teaspoons almond extract10 dried seedless Chinese red dates (also known as jujubes) for garnish (optional)1/2 teaspoon toasted sesame seeds, for garnish

chinese new year steamed rice cake(from chow.com)

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PROMOTION AND

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I am not a good Swede.

Though the genetic lottery grant-ed me almost six feet of daunting

Scandinavian height, I am otherwise separated from my heritage. I strug-gled vainly with the names of Swedish cities in Steig Larsson’s Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (Bjorneborgsvagen?). I couldn’t pick the Queen of Sweden out of a crowd of one. To be honest, I know shamefully little about the land of my ancestors. But there is one thing I can say with certainty about the Swedes: They know what they’re doing with butter. More specifically, they know what they’re doing with butter cook-ies. The people of Sweden seem to have mastered the art of crafting but-ter and sugar into every conceivable form: puffed or flat, chewy or delicate as lace, pressed in molds or sliced into logs, doused in pearl sugar or dotted with fruity jam. My personal favorites are Kolakakor, affectionately known as Swedish Cola Cookies in my family.The recipe for these goodies was

passed along to my mother from a Swedish friend many years ago, and I was in grade school when the two of us made them together for the first time. Kolakakor are the Scandinavian versions of chocolate chip cookies: unpretentious, but comforting in their simplicity. The dough is a creamy mix of butter, sugar, flour, and baking soda with a splash of vanilla and a drizzle of dark Swedish syrup, though Karo will suffice in a pinch. Together, my mother and I mixed the dough and turned the honey colored lump out onto a baking sheet. We rolled it out with steady, even movements until it covered the pan in a paper-thin lay-er. After a leisurely stint in the oven, the cookies caramelized into a toasty nut brown color and smelled exactly how a homemade cookie should smell:

that addictive mix of warmth and va-nilla and sugar that Bath and Body Works has tried so hard to bottle but has never successfully matched. While the cookies were still warm, my moth-er and I carved them into irregularly sized strips like little toasty tangrams. Though I have never fully understood why we intentionally slice them into unequal pieces, it is a tradition-- and as is often the case with these matters, that is reason enough. The cookies themselves are humble affairs. Their crumbly forms lack thick pillows of frosting or mountains of colored sprin-kles. They do not shock the eye with garish colors or the mouth with cav-ity-inducing amounts of sweetness. They merely sit idly on the counter while you eat one. And then two. And then seventeen. After all, they are so impossibly crumbly and delicate that they couldn’t possibly contain any cal-ories.Can the consumption of Swedish

Cola Cookies make me more Swedish? Probably not. But in spite of this, they do not fail to make me feel more Swed-ish. My childhood was not character-ized by a particularly strong sense of cultural tradition, and as a result the space between me and my Scandina-vian roots often feels as great as the distance between Chicago and Stock-holm. But these cookies, while modest and unassuming, have the miraculous power to draw me a little closer to my heritage. The simple caramel strips stand as testament to the deep cul-tural and emotional power of food, for they accomplish the herculean task of drawing me closer to the land of my ancestors. Not bad for a cookie that only requires six pantry staples and a half-hour stint in the oven. •••

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editor-in-chiefmanaging director

public relationstreasurer

design staff

contributors

angela qianjenny swannma’ayan maltercatherine leehyeong-sun chodavid huangelisa lijenny maoben fleisherkay lijeanne liebermanfrank qiannick rekenthalermatthew raigosaandrea rummeltananya thamthiengsherry tsengholly zaharchuck

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