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On David Chang
Momofuku Ssäm Bar, from initial glances, appears somewhat unwelcoming for non-New Yorker parents. Or at least my own, who treated me to a birthday dinner there two weeks ago. Ed Levine and Frank Bruni have vaguely noted mild ageism at this and the other, ramen-serving Momofuku (which only offers bar seating) but are seasoned, unlike my mother, to the flocks of young foodies in Manhattan’s vanguard eateries. The cursory experiences at these restaurants (others in this category might include the highly-buzzed Little Owl and Spotted Pig) are apparently constructed for or in favor for young people, who make up the usual majority of their occupants, and make little fuss about no-reservation policies, loud music, and tiny, unflinching menus. The trend here is in demystifying, or plainly lowering, fine dining; food is always the focus (often with a radical chef lingering in the background), presented in a simple and informal (but heavily designed) space and organized in regularly rotating menus, constructed of ingredients from local producers. While this movement is essentially nation-wide at this point due to print and television, its saturation and propulsion in New York City might seem convincingly anarchic to outsiders. There are many angles in this support of sustainablity and “localism”: Dan Barber’s pastoral fervor at Blue Hill; Tom Colicchio’s radically simplified menus at Craft. But these exist primarily in haute-cuisine; I feel more effective examples are to be found in the New York Times two-star or New York Magazine $$ to $$$ categories — which include both branches of Momofuku.
Momofuku’s onus is more cramped Chinatown than minimalist Midtown, affected deeply by Chang’s preferences for hardcore punk, tattooed servers, thick slabs of Berkshire pork belly, kimchi and Dr Pepper1. This mixture of East and West, of high-cuisine training and low-cuisine presentation, is hardly (and thankfully) a typical Pan-Asian experiment, and has everything to do with Chang, who was raised in a strictly Korean household, lived in North Carolina and Japan, and cooked at Craft and Café Boulud, developing distinctively strong opinions about food he eats and prepares. His innovations at Momofuku Noodle Bar were fittingly rewarded with a recognition in Food & Wine and a James Beard award. And unlike his equally-celebrated peer and friend Wylie Dufresne, who cultivates youthful otherness at WD-50 by presenting an all-over package based in molecular gastronomy, Chang rarely, if ever, apologizes — or gives tidy basis — for his concept, which though similar to Dufresne’s is only so in its originality. The point is that Chang’s invented Korean “burritos” that give the Ssäm Bar its namesake aren’t what make this restaurant so astoundingly forgivable: it is rather a rotating group of simple market-inspired dishes, with conceptions that do not “fuse” cuisines; the basic elements, however they are arranged, speak singularly. Chang rarely employs science to wow customers: he sets himself apart from the majority of his contemporaries by occluding gimmick, and running the entire operation in-house, eschewing consultants and investors. Momofuku is powered by his honesty: he cares deeply about his food, rather than a scene, a critic, or provenly, a customer. Colicchio was quoted in New York Magazine describing Momofuku as “a cool place where you could get really good food fairly inexpensively with no pretense and no bullshit”.
On my birthday my mother, brother and I are seated at a table already occupied by four foodies taking apart an exuberantly-arranged tray of pork spare ribs (accompaniments as listed on the menu: tomatillos, sunchokes, mustard seeds). The Buzzcocks are blaring and elbows are threatened to be rubbed, yet the older contingent at the table, who I dragged here for an experience as cutting-edge as I could offer, appeared to be bolstered from complaint. The dishes we decide upon are (in order that they were served, and shared):
- Spicy Squid Salad; celery, sichuan pepper, red chili
- Fried Cauliflower; pickled chilies, delfino, mint, fish sauce
- Grilled Brook Trout; corn, Benton’s bacon, nori, pickled chantrelles
- Old Bay Pan-Fried Skate; roasted fingerlings, pickled ramps, spicy aioli
- Roasted Lamb Belly (Four Story Hill Farm, PA); Mountain Sweet Berry Farm’s Swiss chard
- Mochi Ice Cream Sampler; cantaloupe, peanut butter and chocolate, strawberry, pistachio
Along with much too much Hitachino Nest Red Ale I am stuffed, after consuming nearly all the lamb’s belly, and later the majority of the mochi balls (almost entirely perfect, aside from the sadly one-note strawberry). The belly was my order; sweet, scented with cinnamon, fattiness speared by the sharp bitterness of the chard. Aside from that unctuous meat, seafood established this meal, and gave it curiously even support, each dish teetering progressively closer to the edge of imbalance, later to be rescued heroically by a blast of salt or pickle. The unlisted inclusion of thin slices of remarkably strong preserved lemon, draped over the salty fried skate, was a smart reminder of Chang’s agility. But the cauliflower, a flamboyantly pungent and texturally significant recipe (littered on top with spiced crisped rice), was certainly the best. Its balance and personality defines, in one stroke, the chef’s methodology.
So the Ssäm Bar has a winning concept, or rather, a winning anticoncept, “in near-perfect sync with the times” (Bruni), that works unexpectedly well with its motley clientele of foodies, hipsters, models and East Village frat-rats. It would be convenient if Chang’s work here was easier to duplicate, or successfully ape, but in some recent evidence, it seems some less-exceptional chefs are trodding into his well-dodged foxholes, convinced of equivalent bravery. I fear for former WD-50 pastry chef Sam Mason, who in the last week opened Tailor, a conceptual venture with a menu split in three — “salty”, “sweet”, “cocktails” — all items listed ranging between ten and fifteen dollars. Though this is a clear continuance of his work with Dufresne, it is also a rough amplification, a hasty update: the gastronomy here is wearing thin. Ingredients and concepts seem uncomfortably stretched beyond their bounds, even out of sensory context: foie gras with peanut butter, cocoa and pear; pork belly with miso butterscotch and artichoke; soft chocolate with smoked banana and crunchy nutmeg; a tobacco-infused bourbon. In pop music, at least mediocre imitators can leave behind a permanent record of their attempt to be embraced later by cultist collectors; in Manhattan, a chef’s dreams are intrinsically connected to vogue, smashed easily if misguided. The only traces of failed ventures are bad reviews and used kitchen supplies.
1 A podcast interview recorded about a year ago (immediately before the Ssäm Bar’s opening) with Chang and Off The Broiler’s Jason Perlow can be found here. Primarily talk about ramen, but with some good input on Chang’s vision and ambitions. When asked how he dealt with complaints from vegetarians about the ubiquity of pork in his menus, Chang responds with sound reasoning: he figured if barbeque joints don’t have to cater to them, he shouldn’t either.