siegelonthefly

My food at Blue Ginger—Ming Tsai’s restaurant in Wellesley, MA—was as much a meal as it was music. And you could tell this wasn’t Ming’s first tour. The Chef’s interpretation of Asian cuisine was a concert where every instrument—flavors, ingredients—worked together in seamless harmony. Meat and poultry like steady percussion, sauces like thumping bass, and spices like wailing guitar.

The restaurant, while dim-lit, had an open feel—the dining room was spacious and the kitchen was an essential part of the eating experience, visible from any table. An intimate venue, not small by any means, but certainly not Gillette Stadium. The opening act came in the form of a Ginger Storm, which the drink menu described as Gosling’s rum “blended with house ginger syrup, fresh lime juice and a splash of soda”—a take on a Dark N’ Stormy. This refreshing cocktail was a nice, cool start to the meal. The ginger, lime and rum all worked toward a single flavor. It certainly wasn’t the main attraction, but it got my adrenaline pumping and let me know that Ming’s music is about balance. With each sip, I enjoyed the reverberating bite of ginger.

Our knowledgeable waitress let us know that the Shitake-Leek Springrolls (appetizer) and Sake-Miso Marinated Alaskan Butterfish (entree) were the restaurant’s signature dishes. Considering this was my first time at The Ginge’, I went for both. The former came out accompanied by leaves of lettuce, a slaw with what looked like shaved cabbage and radish, and a chili dipping sauce. I was instructed to wrap the springrolls in the lettuce with a bit of slaw, and dip—much like eating a meat-filled lettuce wrap at at a Korean BBQ restaurant. This medley resulted in a symphony of clean flavors—the maestro at work. The sweet Shitake mushrooms added a meaty texture while the slaw provided crunch and an acidic bite. The dipping sauce produced the final note—heat.

Then came the top billing. The Butterfish—browned and with perfect grill marks—stood front-and-center. Green circles of Wasabi Oil with a Soy-Lime Syrup adorned the outside part of the plate. What’s more, two vegetarian sushi rolls stuffed with Soba Noodles, sat in a bed of sea-weed salad. Once again, every single component contributed to the wholeness of this dish. The Butterfish and Wasabi Oil were Paul McCartney and John Lennon, respectively. The former a warm, sweet, perfectly cooked piece of fish and the latter a biting, fiery compliment–a perfect marriage that produced balanced flavor. An absolutely natural combination resulting in mellifluous music. The noodle-stuffed sushi rolls and seaweed salad were, of course, George and Ringo, bringing their wit and playfulness into the mix.

For the encore I went with the Tahitian Vanilla Crème Brulée, a decadent guitar solo inside a sweet rendition of “Free Bird.” The sticky, crunchy top layer gave way to a creamy, fluffy base—another melodious mixture. I raised the candle at my table, my lighter, in satisfaction.

And after I finished dessert, and the curtain dropped, the man himself, Ming—the rock star—came to our table to see if we enjoyed the show. This, of course, happened upon request to our waitress. But no matter. We let him know how much we appreciated the meal, the performance, and he was nice enough to snap a picture with me. A true masterpiece.

“It’s the Paris Hilton of meats…there’s nothing there…everyone wants a piece of it, but no one knows why.”

This gem comes from a 2009 conversation between Mario Batali and Anthony Bourdain—a renowned chef and accomplished travel/food writer, respectively. Batali is talking, of course, about the Filet mignon—the swanky steak that television, movies and popular culture tell us we’re supposed to love. In French, “Filet mignon” means “cute,” or “dainty” filet. Sounds like Paris Hilton to me. Think about it: If someone asks you to name the most expensive, elegant cut of beef out there—you’d probably say “Filet mignon” without hesitating. But, as Batali points out, the Filet Mignon has about as much substance as a coked-out hotel heiress.

I came to think of this after a trip with some high school friends to Maine, where we had dinner at the Wells Beach Steakhouse in Wells. The restaurant offers a variety of hearty entrees—veal chops, pork chops, lobster, Filet mignon (!)—all of the highest quality. When it came time to order, the group went almost unanimously, and not surprisingly, for the Filet. I couldn’t blame them—and I can’t say I dislike the Filet. I had actually ordered it my last time at WB and enjoyed it. It doesn’t taste bad, but…at any rate, I ordered the New York Strip, a steak I knew had a higher fat content, and according to what I’ve heard, Fat = Flavor.

I immediately noticed the Strip’s flawlessly seared crust. I made my first cut and saw that the medium-cooked meat was perfectly pink. When I took my first bite, I got the crunchy texture of the former and the tenderness and rich flavor of the latter. As if this weren’t enough, my steak was accompanied by smooth cream-of-spinach and fluffy whipped potatoes. I looked around and saw my mates enjoying their Filets. These “dainty” cuts were no doubt cooked well, and I’m sure they were tasty (more so after adding sauce—Teriyaki, Bordelaise). But while their steak had the flash of a Lamborghini Gallardo, mine had the class and caliber of a 1953 Cadillac Eldorado.

Consider this: it is well-known that the Japanese variation of beef—Wagyu, or Kobe beef—is, hands down, the world’s most flavorful meat. Why is it so flavorful? Because it has an incredibly high fat content and consistent marbling! So, by basic logic we can conclude the following: If steaks with high fat content have the most intense flavor (Wagyu), then steaks with absolutely no fat content (Filet mignon) have little to no flavor at all, which is why our friend the Filet is sometimes wrapped in bacon and almost always accompanied by some type of sauce. We’re convinced that a lean steak is a tasty steak—but that’s simply not true. I’m not referring to the gristle that hangs off the side of a steak. I’m talking about the marbling that makes the meat melt in your mouth. But I guess that won’t change our opinions. I suppose we need a Filet mignon like we need a sextape filmed in night-vision.

Apparently we’re not just frying candy bars, twinkies and butter anymore. Ha!–that was merely foreplay leading up to the fried-fetish orgy that took place in San Diego this past weekend. Kool-Aid–our beloved, cavity-forming drinky drink–now comes in deep-fried form! I suppose Charlie Boghosian, the chef who created this diabetic delight, and who is working tirelessly to keep local cardiologists in practice, thought a fried batter of water, flour and the powdery drink mix was the next logical step in culinary evolution. Gosh, you’d think this guy has read The Omnivore’s Dillema or at least seen Forks over Knives. Just listen to Boghosian talk; he doesn’t seem too concerned about the effects of his product. From the looks of it, he’s not just the President..He’s a Client! Anyway, the ‘Kool-Aid Frites’ made their artery-clogging debut on Father’s day–a perfect gift to dads everywhere that came with a free refill of their Zocor prescriptions. Oh, No!…Oh, YEEEAAHHH!!!

There are pleasures to eating a lobster whole—cracking claws, extracting tail meat, slurping sweet juices from detached appendages. It’s a rewarding process that requires determination, medieval castration tools…and a bib. But there are times when one craves the taste of lobster without the fuss—without hands covered in clarified butter and tiny puncture wounds. Enter the lobster roll—a simple New England classic consisting of three elements: lobster meat (knuckle, claw, tail), mayonnaise and a hot dog roll. We normally associate lobster rolls with New England, specifically Maine, and I can securely say that the versions you’ll find in New York and Connecticut (wannabe New York) will be shit by comparison—despite my admitted inexperience with the latter. The beauty of eating a lobster roll is that it demands from you no hard labor. It merely yields the sweet, tender, fishy flesh of our most beloved crustacean inside a soft, familiar bun. If you’re like me and hate mayonnaise, it’s normally applied in small doses. Besides, good lobster meat has the power to obscure the taste of even your least favorite condiment.

A few days before Christmas, craving some summertime flavor, I went to the Cherry Street Fish Market in Danvers, Mass to get one of their lobster rolls. Normally, I ‘d go to Kelly’s, but Cherry Street , given its proximity and affordable prices, proved the better option. When I walked in, the place was packed with customers looking to fortify their Christmas menus. I looked around and saw every possible New England seafood option: oysters, crab, scallops (including Bay scallops) and of course, still-live lobsters in a giant tank. Simply put: the market smelled like the ocean, not necessarily like fish, but salty and fresh. I got the lobster roll for a criminal $9.99, compared to the $17 I’d pay at Kelly’s.

When I unwrapped the sandwich, the first thing I noticed was the brilliant red and white color of the tail and claw meat. What’s more, Cherry Street didn’t skimp—they loaded the hot dog roll with meat and very little mayonnaise. A taut, bloated masterpiece. The first thing I did was grab a fork to try the lobster itself. There’s something luxurious about enjoying lobster meat without having to scavenge for it. So I put down my monocle, put my pinky up, and devoured this seafood delight in about one minute. What can I say?–the meat was tender and sweet, in need of no adornments. I enjoyed it with some potato chips and a beer—a summer vacation in the dead of winter.