Savoy cabbage–what’s not to love? It’s basically a giant Brussels sprout!
The influence of my culinary school indoctrination has been waning over the past few months, and I’m glad of it. All the important techniques I learned are intact–at least I like to think they are–but I am beginning to trust my own palate again. Right after graduating, I was scared to give a dinner party without buying veal demi-glace. Well, it’s very expensive, and Escoffier’s mother sauces are not necessarily my mother’s sauces.
On Monday night, after twelve hours at work styling photo-ready French toast and filet mignon, I had a very particular sort of hunger: I was starving, but if you’d taken me to Per Se, I would have cried. I needed the very antithesis of luxurious and careful food. And so I rode the subway downtown to Fanelli’s and asked the waitress if I could have a glass of bourbon and a plate of green beans. From what I can tell, they parboil the beans, sautee them briefly and then smother them in a really buttery tomato confit–quite rough, really: unskinned and still a little seedy. But delicious.
I’m still paying back some sleep debt, and remained exhausted the next day. When I feel like this, I want comfort food–but my sort of comfort food, not the terrifying mac & cheese, TV dinner plates or brownie explosions that North Americans have decided are comforting to them. I want thin rice noodles in good, salty broth, or a big mound of one of my favourite vegetables (asparagus, zucchini, anything cruciferous), umamified with oyster sauce or bacon fat, to eat in one sitting and share with no-one.
I remembered I had half a head of Savoy cabbage in the fridge, left over from my evening of borscht-making, as well as the sweetly perfumed laap cheung (dried Chinese sausage) and big bag of dried shitakes I’d bought in Flushing. I soaked the mushrooms in boiling water to rehydrate them, started to braise them in a mixture of chicken stock and oyster sauce, and in another pan began to crisp up my laap cheung and colour the shredded cabbage in the rendered sausage fat. When the cabbage had softened, I added the mushrooms, their braising liquid and a good handful of roasted garlic cloves (which I buy in a jar–they keep their shape nicely) and gently simmered the whole thing until I had a mellow and fragrant braise to pour over boiled white rice.
I felt restored.
The ramekin of chili soy bean sauce pictured next to the cabbage dish is out of deference to my boyfriend, who, like many Americans, does not know what to do with a bowl of straight white rice. I refuse to put soy sauce on the table, but doubanjiang I will allow. We both agree that this particular rendition of it–soy beans instead of broad beans; beans left whole instead of ground to a paste–could well be a crossover hit “down South”.
Braised Shitake Mushrooms and Savoy Cabbage with Laap Cheung and Roasted Garlic–Serves 2
INGREDIENTS
15-20 dried shitake mushrooms
1/2 head Savoy cabbage, in long shreds
2 laap cheung, sliced thin on the bias
10 roasted garlic cloves
1 pint chicken stock
3 tbs oyster sauce
1 tbs vegetable oil
2 tbsp cornstarch, dissolved in a little cold water (a “slurry”)
METHOD
Place mushrooms in a pot and cover with cold water. Bring to the boil and remove from heat, leaving to soak for 15 minutes. Drain, rinse in cold water and remove stems with paring knife.
Mix chicken stock and oyster sauce in a saucepan and add soaked mushrooms. Bring to boil and reduce heat to a gentle simmer. Cover and simmer for 10-15 minutes.
While mushrooms are simmering, heat oil in a deep saucepan and sautee sausage slices until golden. Add shredded cabbage and sautee until beginning to colour.
Transfer the mushrooms and their braising liquid to the saucepan containing the cabbage and sausage. Add the roasted garlic cloves. Cover and simmer gently until cabbage is soft, about 20 minutes.
Remove lid and slowly add cornstarch slurry to the braising liquid in small increments, allowing 30 seconds for the starch to cook and thicken the sauce before re-adding, if necessary. The desired consistency is glossy and a little thinner than a gravy.
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