Double-Bone Pork Chop with Maple Jack Daniel’s Bacon Sauce
Coca-Cola Pork Belly and Grilled Short Ribs
Grilled Quail with Smoked Quail Eggs
Grilled Fermented Black Bean Flat-Iron Steak with Nước Chấm
Broke my teeth when my pedal broke and I flipped over the handlebars riding my bicycle home from Oddfellows. I was twenty-six at the time.
I’m really happy my father-in-law is a dentist.
Oddfellows was beautifully fucked up.
Brian and Kei always had crazy ideas. Buying a 1973 Winnebago Indian that barely ran could have been the best idea they ever had. They got this fucking thing for like $3,000. Brian and Kei turned it into a faux-fur-covered interior with a wood-burning oven that we had in a parking space behind the restaurant. It served as a private dining room where we only played Neil Young. And someone stole my records; if you find them or you have them, please return them to me. Soon word spread and people would call the restaurant and ask, “I heard you have a Winnebago where there are no rules. Can I rent it for my bachelor party?” And we would say, “Of course!” We thought we were killing it because we would charge them $100 on top of their food and beverages.
Another crazy idea was our Grazing Nights. Every Sunday we would charge $15 for an all-you-can-eat buffet, unless you were our friend, which meant it was free food and, most of the time, beer. It was the opposite of every buffet you have ever experienced. We would fill our twenty-six-foot-long marble table entirely with food. It started with charcuterie, which we bought from stores—thousands of dollars of prosciutto legs, cheese, and bread. Next, we did two twenty-six-foot-long subs. A bakery in Kensington Market made eight-foot-long sub rolls that we connected and filled with charcuterie that cost, all together, $3,000. I remember forty people showing up (half of whom were our friends so they ate for free). Who wouldn’t want to go to a restaurant and slam one of our famous cocktails—called Death Mule—and eat a fucking one-foot slice of sub? Or how about summertime Taco Hell, years before Toronto’s epic taco fad, where we had all-you-can-eat bowls of salsas, stewed meats, and freshly made tortillas? Imagine a world where there is free, unlimited guacamole. It would be a street party where there would be sixty kids outside on the street drinking beers and eating tacos. We were never busted by the cops. In the winter, we settled into Pierogi Night in Canada, where we would play old VHS tapes of the Summit Series—a series of hockey games between Canada and the USSR in 1972—on loop. The table would be filled with fried and boiled potato, cheese, pork and potato, and beef and potato pierogis complete with green onions, sour cream, applesauce, and caramelized onions. I loved Pierogi Night because our dishwasher, and my hero, Jesse B. Harris would boil and fry all the pierogis while I took part in the festivities by doing everything I could get my little hands on. Nose beers, wink.
Grazing Nights is one of the main reasons why Oddfellows no longer exists. We lost so much money on them. I’ll just say that we were ahead of our time. Every Toronto restaurant or bar that seats fewer than sixty ripped our vibe, even if they didn’t realize it. We were the first hipster restaurant, in the truest sense. Young punks serving great food (sometimes) and shitty cocktails, and trying our best to provide hospitality in our unique way, not turning down the music for anyone, and having the best time of our lives. People were at the house party that we had five nights a week in this very small, special space that we happened to call Oddfellows.
We were ten years too early (due to our lack of experience), but that’s one of the things I love about restaurants. Brian and I talk about what would happen if we reopened Oddfellows. We know how to run restaurants now: We understand real food costs, inventory, labor costs, and that you don’t have to give every person you know free beer all night, every night. We understand that you don’t have to listen to Hüsker Dü, the Replacements, or Cro-Mags at full volume at 6 p.m., when you first open your doors. We understand that doing coke most nights of the week doesn’t make you work harder.
We had a great, all-star-level team at Oddfellows: Mattitude, Jenny Orenda, Allison, Bloody, Millman, Grandma, Vrooman-Captain Buzzkill, Shelly, Joe, Streets, Jesse B. Harris, and Dark Darrell. I knew that Kei—who we called the Dark Overlord—was often cold, but he cared very much about us and deep down loved us very much. He was the serious one. I’ve always been in awe of both Kei and Brian. The most important things I learned from them are restraint and when to stop. Without both friends I wouldn’t have my appreciation for design.
“Fake it till you make it” is a great saying, but if you never make it, you’d better have enough common sense to shut it down. Playing restaurant is one thing, but destroying a restaurant because of your stupidity, ego, and heavy drug use is another. Oddfellows closed in two years. When I think back about my time there, I always wonder how I didn’t get fired. We’ll have our memories, forever. RIP Oddies.
The Winnebago that changed the world
(Left to right) Brian, me, Jesse, and McLeod hanging in the Winnebago
We traded Vice a Christmas party for a full-page ad in the print magazine. It was a photograph of this tattoo on my butt advertising the restaurant. I don’t know if it was smart or not, but our restaurant is now closed. Some would say I’m a genius, some would say I’m an idiot. I’ve had a lot of mistakes to learn from.
I know it says “for two,” but I’m assuming you are a popular person who needs to cook for lots of cool people.
I think this dish is the reason Brian Richer and Kei Ng wanted to open Oddfellows. They were obsessed with using pressure cookers. Opening and releasing the pressure at the table in front of guests with the incredible aroma . . . I was left with the job of making this dream come true. Brian and Kei sourced the small individual pressure cookers in Little India on Toronto’s east side. We would make a stew with venison, beef short rib, and lamb, potatoes, rutabaga, and parsnips. This was a very hearty stew: If the world ended, this would be the stew you needed to fight off an army of zombie werewolves. We would make large batches of the stew, and then when an order came in, we would fill a small pressure cooker halfway with cold stew and a little beef stock, then warm it with the lid off. On pickup we would add butter, lots of thyme, sliced green onions, a little more seasoning, if needed, and a little shot of lemon juice to really balance it out. Then we would place the top on and pressurize the stew. It would take only a few moments.
Then we would give this meat bomb to our brave servers and even braver customers. We would stop everything in the kitchen to watch every time to make sure it didn’t explode. You would have to let that steam fly out of the little chimney, or it would completely explode. The moment the server opened it and there was no explosion, we would go back to work. We had only one explosion over two years—our manager at the time released it seconds too early, and hot, bubbling stew flew everywhere. Luckily, no one was really burned, but it was scary and we learned our lesson.
We loved the smell of the stew filling our small restaurant. (We hoped everyone would order it!) We would serve the stew with grilled sourdough bread and honey butter, horseradish bacon-creamed fingerling smashed potatoes, and a bunch of roasted vegetables. This is how you make stew!
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SERVES: 8
PREP TIME: 4 HOURS
PLUS 1 DAY
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FOR THE STEW:
1 deboned venison shoulder, cut into 1-inch (2.5 cm) cubes
1 deboned leg of lamb, cut into 1-inch (2.5 cm) cubes
6 deboned beef ribs, cut into 1-inch (2.5 cm) cubes
2 pounds (910 g) pork belly, cut into 1-inch (2.5 cm) cubes
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
All-purpose flour
Canola oil
4 onions, diced
1 leek, cleaned and diced
2 pounds (910 g) cremini mushrooms, chopped
2 stalks celery, chopped
2 carrots, peeled and chopped
2 parsnips, peeled and chopped
1 celery root, peeled and chopped
1 rutabaga, peeled and chopped
4 tablespoons (65 g) tomato paste
8 cups (2 L) red wine
8 cups (2 L) beef stock
½ bunch thyme, leaves picked and chopped
1 bay leaf
½ bunch parsley, chopped
FOR THE HORSERADISH BACON-CREAMED FINGERLING SMASHED POTATOES:
2 pounds (910 g) fingerling potatoes
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
½ pound (225 g) slab bacon, sliced into lardons
2 tablespoons prepared horseradish
1 cup (240 ml) heavy cream
1 bunch green onions, sliced
FOR SERVING:
Bread and butter
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Make the stew: Season the venison, lamb, beef, and pork with salt and pepper and dust with flour. Set a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat and pour 1 inch (2.5 cm) of oil. Sear the meat in batches, then place on a baking sheet. Take your time and make sure the meat is browned evenly and the flour doesn’t burn, about 4 minutes per side.
Preheat the oven to 300°F (150°C). Pour out half the oil, then add the onions, leek, mushrooms, celery, carrots, parsnips, celery root, and rutabaga and cook until sweated, about 10 minutes. Add the tomato paste and stir into the vegetables. Add all the meat back to the pot and pour in the red wine and stock; stir with a wooden spoon and scrape the bottom of the pot, then add the thyme, bay leaf, and parsley.
Cover the pot and cook in the oven 2½ hours; if the meat is not tender at that point, cook until it’s tender.
Let the stew cool, then refrigerate 24 hours. You always want to serve stews the next day—it really makes a big difference. The taste and consistency is always deepened.
Make the horseradish bacon-creamed fingerling smashed potatoes: Place the potatoes in a large pot and fill with cold water; add salt. Bring to a boil and cook until fork-tender, 15 minutes. Drain and set aside. (The potatoes can keep in the fridge for up to 3 days.)
In a large pan set over medium-high heat, cook the bacon and render until crisp and there’s plenty of fat. Pinch the potatoes with your fingers so they are smashed, bursting them open, so they can get crisp and crunchy in the bacon fat. Add to the pan and cook, about 2 minutes per side, flipping so they are crisp on both sides. Add the horseradish and cream; reduce until it looks like bacon-potato porridge, 1 to 2 minutes, then add some salt, if needed, a bunch of pepper, and a ton of green onions.
Serve the potatoes alongside the stew. Grill some bread and serve with cold butter.
Note: When reheating the stew, do it slowly—there’s a lot of fat and collagen that takes time to warm up. Always start over low heat and add a little water to help at the beginning. Adding water will not dilute the stew. You can also stir in some butter, if you’re really feeling gully.
There’s nothing more Canadian than covering a pork chop with a maple bacon sauce. This is a dish that people still ask me about nine years after we opened. I’m talking about you, Junzy! Maybe just one person, but still . . . the salty, fatty, crispy, molasses-y, Jacky-mustardy sauce is what really made this pork chop. The chop itself was a great piece of meat (by no means, don’t let me mislead you), but if you put that sauce on a burning diaper filled with baby shit, you would be sucking that sauce off it like a soup dumpling from Chinatown.
Ask your butcher for a center-cut double-bone 15-ounce (430 g) pork chop. This is the Rolls-Royce of pork chops. Also ask to keep a fat cap on—tell him not to trim that fat too much.
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SERVES: 4
PREP TIME: 2 DAYS PLUS 30 MINUTES
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10% brine (this page)
1 (15-ounce/430 g) double-bone center-cut pork chop
½ pound (225 g) slab bacon, diced
4 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
1 shallot, peeled and diced
2 tablespoons Jack Daniel’s whiskey
3 tablespoons maple syrup
1 tablespoon Kozlik’s Canadian Mustard (Triple Crunch) or another kind of grainy mustard
¼ cup (60 ml) demi-glace
Juice of 1 lemon
Canola oil
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 tablespoon thyme leaves
1 tablespoon rosemary
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Brine the pork chop 24 hours (see this page). Dry the pork chop with paper towels and air-dry 24 hours on a wire rack set on a baking sheet in the refrigerator. (Do not season with salt and pepper.)
In a medium pan set over medium heat, cook the bacon until golden and crisp, 10 minutes. Add 1 clove of the garlic and the shallot; deglaze with the whiskey, maple syrup, and mustard, and finally, add the demi-glace. Cook 10 minutes; you will know it’s ready when it bubbles up like caramel. Add the lemon juice, and if it’s too thick, add a few tablespoons of water. Keep warm on the stove.
In a cast-iron pan set over medium heat, pour ½ inch (12 mm) of oil; sear the pork chop on both sides until golden brown, 5 minutes per side. Pour out half the oil, return the pan to the stove, and add the butter, the remaining garlic, and the thyme and rosemary. Baste the pork chop with a spoon and cook 3 minutes per side 3 times, flipping 6 times total, basting continuously. When done, place on a rack on top of a baking sheet and pour the butter over it. Let the pork chop rest at least 10 minutes before serving.
Pour all the sauce on a plate, then carve the pork chop, fan it out, and display the beauty.
Buuufffffaaalllllloooooaaafffff! What the fuck is Buffaloaf? The idea was water buffalo meat loaf. We came up with this name the same way we did with many dishes at Oddfellows—over beers and lots of smokes. We would always have a name for a dish before the dish itself. Most of the dishes came from jokes, inside jokes, or just complete stupidity. The hardest part of all of this was trying to remember the next day . . . what were we talking about last night at 4 A.M.? Making meat loaf out of water buffalo and calling it buffaloaf? We planned this all out very meticulously. We wanted to serve it on a jail-style square plate: a nice square of buffaloaf, cream corn, mashed potatoes, roasted mushrooms, tomato conserve and gravy, and maybe some carrots. With this came many questions: How can we get jail-style plates? How do we get water buffalo meat? Will people eat buffaloaf? Has this idea gone too far? Are we completely insane? Have we become unhinged? No way! Everyone will love buffaloaf as much as we do! And we will become rich, successful restaurateurs because of this buffaloaf! I’m pretty sure we weren’t the first people to think that we could get rich off a meat loaf . . . or were we?
You can only find water buffalo in Africa or Asia, so more likely you’re going to use bison. If you can’t find that, you can use beef or whatever red meat you want. I think meat loaf done really well is an incredible classic, and everyone should know how to make it.
If you’re lucky enough to have a proper butcher, he or she can grind the meat for you (and you can ask to have ground pork back fat added to the mixture). But if you have a meat grinder at home, cube the meat and pork back fat and place in the freezer for thirty minutes before grinding.
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SERVES: 4
PREP TIME: 2 HOURS
—
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, plus more for the loaf pan
2 tablespoons canola oil
1 onion, finely diced
1 leek, cleaned and finely diced
3 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
2 pounds (910 g) ground bison meat
½ pound (225 g) ground pork back fat
1 cup (240 ml) ketchup
3 eggs
1 cup (100 g) dry bread crumbs
3 tablespoons tomato paste
2 tablespoons chopped sage
2 tablespoons chopped parsley
2 tablespoons (34 g) kosher salt
25 cracks fresh black pepper
—
In a medium pan set over medium-high heat, melt the butter and oil. Add the onion, leek, and garlic and caramelize them nicely, about 10 minutes. Remove from the heat and pour into a bowl; cool to room temperature, then place in the fridge 30 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C). Now we make a giant meatball: In a large stainless-steel bowl, place the bison and pork fat and add the cooked onions, leeks, and garlic with all the fats and oils. Add ¾ cup (180 ml) of the ketchup, the eggs, bread crumbs, tomato paste, sage, parsley, salt, and pepper. Mix together and work it like a giant meatball.
Heavily butter a 9¼ by 5¼-inch (23.5 by 13.3 cm) loaf pan, then line it with parchment paper. Fill it to the top with the meat, making sure it’s as tight as you can get it. Bang the pan against the counter a few times to get out the air bubbles and to make it compact. Cover the top of the buffaloaf with the remaining ketchup.
Bake in the oven until a thermometer inserted into the meat registers 145°F (63°C), about 45 minutes, then remove from the oven and let cool 20 minutes before you slice a perfect piece of buffaloaf.
I’m indifferent to veganism. I never understood the mock-meat thing. If you were a vegan, wouldn’t you just want to eat vegetables? I totally respect someone who has the willpower to never eat a pepperoni pizza or a cheeseburger. A lot of my friends were vegan at one point. So when I opened Oddfellows, my best friend, Liam, asked if I would make a vegan club sandwich. This tempeh club made vegans really happy and made me very upset. It was such a pain to make during service.
Our dishwasher at Oddfellows was Jesse B. Harris, who is an unreal artist and an amazing partner to Michelle and a father to Salvatore Zoo. He was the real MVP and became a pro at making and assembling these sandwiches. We would often find ourselves crushed during service trying to make six club sandwiches. It would shut down the kitchen. Our kitchen was so small, we would have baking sheets on the top of the dishwasher to use to assemble these clubs. I would grill the tempeh, portobello mushroom, and bread. Jesse would assemble the whipped avocado, alfalfa, tomato, lettuce, and onion. For a small three-man team, Mattitude, Jesse, and I crushed those vegans with the best vegan sandwich they ever ate. Vegans can’t keep things simple—just make a sandwich with grilled vegetables and smash.
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SERVES: 6
PREP TIME: 1 HOUR AND 30 MINUTES PLUS 1 DAY RESTING
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FOR THE PORTOBELLOS AND TEMPEH:
6 portobello mushrooms, stems and gills removed
1 cup (240 ml) good soy sauce
3 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
1 medium knob ginger, peeled
¼ cup (60 ml) rice wine vinegar
6 dried shiitake mushrooms
3 tablespoons sambal
4 green onions, chopped
½ cup (120 ml) olive oil
1 pound (455 g) tempeh, sliced into 6 portions
FOR THE RRP BBQ SAUCE:
3 tablespoons canola oil
1 onion, peeled and sliced lengthwise
4 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
3 roasted red peppers, sliced lengthwise
1 cup (240 ml) ketchup
½ cup (120 ml) molasses
1 cup (240 ml) apple cider vinegar
¼ cup (50 g) granulated sugar
2 tablespoons smoked paprika
1 tablespoon dry mustard
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 tablespoon ground coriander
1 tablespoon ground ginger
1 tablespoon dried red chile flakes
FOR THE PICKLED RED ONION:
1 red onion, sliced into medium rounds
Pinch kosher salt
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
Juice of 1 lemon
2 tablespoons white vinegar
FOR THE WHIPPED AVOCADO:
1 avocado
1 cup (250 g) soft tofu
Zest and juice of 2 limes
1 cup (240 ml) olive oil
Kosher salt
FOR ASSEMBLING THE TEMPEH CLUBHOUSE SANDWICH:
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
12 slices whole-wheat bread
Olive oil
Butter bib lettuce leaves
1 heirloom tomato, sliced
Alfalfa sprouts
Olives, for garnish
Pickled hot peppers, for garnish
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Make the portobellos and tempeh: Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C). Put the portobellos in a deep baking dish and pour in the soy sauce, 2 cups (480 ml) water, the garlic, ginger, rice wine vinegar, shiitakes, sambal, green onions, and oil. Swish it all around, wrap the baking dish in aluminum foil, and cook in the oven 30 minutes. Remove from the oven and let cool to room temperature. Put the portobellos and tempeh in a small container; ladle some of the liquid over them, cover and place in the fridge 24 hours.
Make the RRP BBQ sauce: In a medium saucepan set over medium heat, pour the oil and cook the onion and garlic until caramelized, about 5 minutes. Add the roasted red peppers, ketchup, molasses, apple cider vinegar, sugar, paprika, dry mustard, cumin, coriander, ginger, and chile flakes; bring to a boil. Add 2 cups (480 ml) water and simmer 45 minutes. Transfer to a blender and blend until smooth. (Make sure to fill the blender only halfway so it doesn’t explode all over you and your kitchen. If you have a hand blender, you can use that.) Let cool, then pour into a container, cover, and place in the refrigerator 24 hours.
Make the pickled red onion: Place the onion in a mixing bowl; add the salt, sugar, lemon juice, and white vinegar. With your hands, mix and massage the onions, then submerge them (as they start to pickle, they will release water). Let sit 1 hour (you can mix until they start to turn pink). This is a very quick easy pickle. When the onions start turning bright pink, place them in the fridge.
Make the whipped avocado: Place the avocado and tofu in a food processor. Add the lime zest and juice and blend. Pour in the oil in a single slow stream, processing. Add salt to taste and place in an airtight container in the refrigerator. Put the pit of the avocado in the container to help with oxidation.
Make the sandwich: Preheat the broiler and place a rack in the middle of the oven. Drain the tempeh and portobellos and put them on a baking sheet; season with salt and pepper. Place the baking sheet in the oven and let the tempeh and portobellos get some color, 5 minutes. Be careful not to burn them! Add the RRP BBQ sauce on the tempeh, then return to the oven to scorch the top of the BBQ sauce. Remove from the oven and put the mushrooms on top of the tempeh.
Broil the bread, drizzle with some oil, and sprinkle with salt and pepper.
Spoon a good amount of whipped avocado on two slices of bread, then add lettuce and tomato on the bottom; season with salt and pepper. Place the tempeh with the portobello on top, then add a bunch of pickled red onions. Top with a fluffy layer of alfalfa sprouts and the second slice of bread. Cut the sandwich in half and skewer with an olive and pickled hot pepper. Now make six of these at once without Jesse B. Harris. Good luck.
I’m not sure what technique this is, but grilling raw pork belly pretty much until it’s burnt, then braising it in a Coca-Cola–soy sauce mixture for a few hours, then grilling it again turns out to be okay. The short rib came after, with just a simple French-style browning and braising in red wine, and then we made a barbecue sauce for it. I’m not sure why I thought Asian pork belly with French beef short rib covered in barbecue sauce would be good, but it sold a lot and people loved this dish.
We served it with a parsnip puree and grilled green onions and a Chinese-style condiment with ginger, green onions, and salt. This dish sums up Oddfellows to me: The restaurant wrote its own rules, and it was one of a kind. And it definitely did not care what people thought. Co-owner Kei Ng taught me a lot, and this pork belly technique was one of them. He’s from Malaysia, and this is not a family secret or anything like that—this dish is purely wild style. To this day, my wife wants me to make it, and I still have never made it at home! Writing this story really got me thinking about it, so maybe now I’ll cook it. This is very easy if you have a grill; if you don’t, just use a cast-iron pan like you would with the short rib.
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SERVES: 4
PREP TIME: 1 DAY PLUS 2 HOURS
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FOR THE BEEF SHORT RIBS:
10% brine (this page)
2 (6-inch/15 cm) beef short ribs
2 cups (480 ml) red wine
½ cup (120 ml) soy sauce
½ cup (120 ml) maple syrup
1 cup (240 ml) ketchup
½ cup (120 ml) yellow mustard
1 onion, chopped
1 carrot, peeled and chopped
1 stalk celery, chopped
3 cloves garlic, peeled
2 tablespoons ground cumin
2 tablespoons ground cardamom
2 tablespoons ground coriander
2 tablespoons smoked paprika
2 bay leaves
1 bunch parsley
1 bunch thyme
½ cup (120 ml) white vinegar
FOR THE PORK BELLY:
4 cloves garlic, peeled
1 knob ginger, peeled
½ bunch cilantro
4 green onions
2 (16-ounce/475 ml) cans Coca-Cola
1 cup (240 ml) soy sauce
2 pounds (910 g) skin-on pork belly
8 dried shiitake mushrooms
FOR THE PARSNIP PUREE:
4 parsnips, peeled and cut into 1-inch (2.5 cm) cubes
Heavy cream
¼ cup (60 ml) maple syrup
¼ cup (½ stick/55 g) unsalted butter
FOR THE GRILLED ONIONS:
12 green onions
Juice of ½ lemon
1 tablespoon olive oil
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Make the short ribs: Brine the ribs (see this page) for at least 24 hours.
Preheat the oven to 300°F (150°C). Place the short ribs in a Dutch oven and add 4 cups (960 ml) water, the wine, soy sauce, maple syrup, ketchup, mustard, onion, carrot, celery, garlic, cumin, cardamom, coriander, paprika, bay leaves, parsley, and thyme. Bring to a boil and cover; roast in the oven 2½ to 3 hours. (You can do this at the same time the pork belly is being braised.)
Remove the short ribs from the Dutch oven when the meat is tender but before it’s falling off the bone. Place the braising sauce in a blender and blend, adding the vinegar. Pass the sauce through a fine sieve. Put the short ribs in a container, cover with sauce, and refrigerate for 24 hours.
In a medium pan set over medium heat, warm the short ribs in the sauce. Remove the short ribs from the sauce and grill lightly and slowly while basting with the sauce. We are just looking to add a nice glaze, so about 2 minutes per side and keep it moving.
Make the pork belly: In a blender, place the garlic, ginger, cilantro, and green onions and blend to a pulp. Transfer to a large bowl and pour in the Coca-Cola, soy sauce, and 2 cups (480 ml) water. Place the pork belly in the marinade and refrigerate 24 hours.
Remove the pork belly from the marinade and get your grill really hot. Blacken the outside of the pork belly all the way around, about 5 minutes a side. The sugar from the marinade should make this pretty easy. Return the pork belly to the marinade, which will now turn into the braising liquid. Add the mushrooms.
Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C). Place the pork belly and liquid on a baking dish with aluminum foil. Cover with more foil and braise in the oven 2½ hours.
The pork belly is done when you can stick a wooden skewer through it with just a little resistance. Remove the aluminum foil cover and let cool to room temperature. Remove the pork belly and place in another bowl; strain the braising liquid over it and discard the solids. Wrap the bowl with plastic wrap and place in the fridge 24 hours.
The next day, remove the pork belly from the braising liquid and portion into 4-ounce (115 g) pieces. Warm the braising liquid and use it as a glaze when you grill the meat. Gently grill the pork belly until it’s crisp and fatty, about 5 minutes per side, and brush the glaze over it with a pastry brush.
Make the parsnip puree: Place the parsnips in a pot and add just enough cream to cover; bring to a boil, then simmer until the parsnips are fork-tender, 15 minutes. Transfer the parsnips to a blender; add the maple syrup and butter and blend until smooth. If desired, strain through a chinois.
Make the grilled onions: Grill green onions until wilted and mix with the lemon juice and olive oil.
To plate: Slice the pork belly and the short ribs; serve with a bowl of parsnip puree and green onions.
Quail is sick. Oddfellows was sick. At Oddies we didn’t have a lot of space so quail made more sense to serve than chicken. Having quail on the menu was all about time and efficiency. It was great that we could throw a few on the grill and serve them up quickly. Do what we did: grill some quails, make some tartar sauce, and have at it!
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SERVES: 5
PREP TIME: 2 HOURS PLUS AN OVERNIGHT BRINE
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FOR THE GRILLED QUAIL AND HERB MARINADE:
5 quails
10% brine (this page)
½ bunch parsley, finely chopped
½ bunch tarragon, finely chopped
½ bunch basil, finely chopped
½ bunch mint, finely chopped
½ bunch cilantro, finely chopped
½ bunch chervil, finely chopped
2 tablespoons peeled and minced garlic
1 shallot, peeled and minced
Olive oil
Zest and juice of 1 orange
Zest and juice of 1 lemon
3 mandarin oranges, halved
FOR THE TARTAR SAUCE:
2 quail eggs
1 stalk celery, diced
1 shallot, peeled and diced
8 cornichons, diced
2 green onions, thinly sliced
1 cup (240 ml) mayonnaise
½ tablespoon chopped tarragon
½ tablespoon chopped chervil
½ tablespoon chopped parsley
Zest and juice of 1 orange
Zest and juice of 1 lemon
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
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Make the quail: Cut each quail in half with kitchen scissors and brine (see this page) for 24 hours.
Make the herb marinade: In a bowl, place the parsley, tarragon, basil, mint, cilantro, chervil, garlic, and shallot; cover with oil, and add the zest and juice of the orange and lemon.
Cover the quails with the marinade, then lay them flat on a baking sheet and let sit in the fridge 1 hour. Remove from the fridge 30 minutes before grilling.
On a hot grill, grill the quails skin side down first. You want to let them cook quickly, so don’t move them right away—you want them to get some color before turning. Cook them most of the way on the skin side, then flip the birds over to the meat side and cook until medium, about 3 minutes a side. I like a lot of char on this dish. As the quails are grilling, grill the oranges cut side down until charred and dripping with hot, acidic, sweet juice.
Allow the quails to rest a few minutes. Dip in the juice from the oranges and a liberal amount of the smoky, tangy tartar sauce (recipe follows).
Make the tartar sauce: If you have a smoker, get it smoking with your favorite wood. Pour 4 cups (960 ml) water into a heatproof bowl. Smoke the water 1 hour, then strain the water through cheesecloth and place in the fridge. If you don’t have a smoker, don’t worry—just skip this step.
Bring a small pot of water to boil; once it’s boiling, add the eggs and cook 4 minutes, then place directly into an ice bath. Let cool. Carefully peel the eggs, then place them in the smoked water 24 hours in the fridge. As is, these smoked quail eggs are the perfect snack. If you don’t have a smoker, don’t worry—regular eggs will be fine.
Place the celery, shallot, cornichons, and green onions in a bowl. Remove the quail eggs from the water, drip dry, and cut in half and then into quarters. Place the diced eggs in the bowl and add mayonnaise to combine all the ingredients; you want it to look lumpy. Add the herbs to the mixture, along with the zest and juice of the orange and lemon. Season with a pinch of salt and a few cracks of pepper.
When Kei Ng was the chef at the restaurant that bore his name, he made a classic steak dish that was fermented in black bean puree and served with a fish sauce dipping sauce. We changed a few things when we brought the dish to Oddfellows, but it was pretty much the same. The fermented black bean puree marinade was pretty intense and made this steak an umami grenade, and the super-punchy fish sauce dip put it over the top. It was on the menu for only the first few months because it really didn’t fit everything on our “Canadian” menu. We had this bright acidic Malaysian-style grilled steak floating on a menu of a lot of heavy foods. It’s tough taking some things off the menu, but this just interrupted the flow. A lot of people didn’t like grilled steak and spicy fish sauce ten years ago, I guess. Now that dish would be on fire. One more reason Oddfellows was ahead of its time. The sauce was a Mattitude creation—the base was Thai bird’s eye chiles, the cilantro roots, fish sauce, and palm sugar. We are not going to be seasoning with salt because the marinade is quite salty and so is the fish sauce.
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SERVES: 4
PREP TIME: 30 MINUTES, PLUS 24 HOURS MARINATING
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FOR THE MARINADE AND STEAK:
1 cup (185 g) fermented black beans (found in a Chinatown store or on the dark web, hopefully)
8 cloves garlic, peeled
1 knob ginger, peeled
1 bunch cilantro
Canola oil
1 cup (240 ml) soy sauce
½ cup (120 ml) ketchup
½ cup (120 ml) hoisin sauce
4 (6-ounce) flat-iron steaks
FOR THE NƯỚC CHẤM:
10 Thai bird’s eye chile peppers
1 knob ginger, peeled
4 cloves garlic, peeled
3 tablespoons palm sugar
Roots of 1 bunch cilantro
½ cup (120 ml) fish sauce
1 teaspoon brandy
2 tablespoons rice wine vinegar
Zest and juice of 3 limes
Stems of 1 bunch cilantro
Olive oil (optional)
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Make the marinade: Put the beans in a blender. Bring 3 cups (720 ml) water to a boil, then pour over the beans; let sit 30 minutes. Add the garlic, ginger, cilantro, 1 cup (240 ml) oil, the soy sauce, ketchup, and hoisin sauce. Blend until smooth.
Place the steaks in a baking dish and pour the marinade over them. Cover the dish in plastic wrap and refrigerate 24 hours.
Make the nước chấm: With a large mortar and pestle, smash the chiles, ginger, garlic, sugar, and cilantro roots until the mixture has the consistency of pulp. Place in a bowl and add the fish sauce, brandy, vinegar, 2 cups (480 ml) water, and the lime zest and juice.
Slice the cilantro stems as you would chives and add to the sauce and stir. If it needs a little fat, you can add some oil as well. Keep the sauce in a container, and before serving, shake. The sauce keeps in the refrigerator for 3 to 4 days.
Make the steaks: Wipe off the steaks with your hands. If desired, rub in some canola oil. Place them on a plate.
Get your grill nice and hot and place your steaks lined up at the two o’clock position; after 3 minutes, turn the steaks to the eleven o’clock position (this will give you nice grill marks). Then flip to the other side and repeat. Six minutes per side should do the trick. Let the steaks rest, about 10 minutes, then slice against the grain and place on a plate.
Serve the steaks with the nước chấm.
“This Wheel’s on Fire”
