It's been that kind of week. Wrestling with my demons practically non-stop. The Nikon came back from being repaired in the exact same state as when we sent it in. And had to go back again. A new client who owes me $20k for work that was received with great praise has not paid me after nearly 4 months and is giving me the runaround. And, on top of everything, an ancient spill on my computer has suddenly reared its ugly head and the S and W keys are spitting out all kinds of nonsense. (Like this: ƒ©˙∆˚¬adfs∆˚¬) I have figured out some workarounds, but I'll try to avoid those letters for now (yeah, right), though the laptop is clearly destined for the repair shop, too, and that is about as convenient as cutting off my left hand. #^%$#^%! (No, that was me cursing.)

I've felt alternately bitter, frightened, vulnerable, defiant and beaten down. But here I am. Pity party notwithstanding, one thing I didn't do was lose sight of my commitment to my health. I still went hiking several times this week and looked at the beautiful changing foliage. I did my daily body scan meditation for my MBSR class. I went to yoga twice. I stayed with my regimen of supplements and ate pretty well. And I credit all this with helping me keep it together instead of collapsing into a black funk or throwing a tantrum (well, more than one). So, while I wasted a fair amount of time fuming and worrying, I'm still giving myself some credit for not sliding headlong into total despair or a tub of dulce de leche ice cream.
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Just a month ago, I was waxing poetic to you about wings. If you still haven't made a batch, I want to urge you to give it a whirl. They're delightful as an hors d'oeuvre or snack, but they're also great as the centerpiece of a meal. I know my way is more involved than simply coating them in barbecue sauce and sticking them in the oven, but that doesn't begin to do them justice. To get the perfect combination of rich, silky meat and crisp, sticky skin, you really need to add in a couple more steps. You don't need to get all crazy like David Chang, who brines his wings, then poaches them in duck fat, then smokes them and then grills them. Although they're sublime. I'll let you skip the smoking step. But brining, poaching and grilling is the way to go. None of it requires much attention, but you'll snap to when you bite into your winged masterpiece.
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Speaking of noodles, have you gotten your hands on David Chang's new magazine, published in collaboration with McSweeney's? The first issue is thick and jam-packed with everything you ever wanted to know (and more) about ramen—the dish with which Chang first took the food world by storm—and some other things, like Chang's travels in Japan, how to make his bacon-dashi broth, and a few interesting ways to cook eggs. This quarterly publication is available on newsstands, or you can subscribe here, and a companion app will also be available, although it's still in the works. If you're not already a fan of Chang, this might convert you, or it could send you running screaming in the opposite direction. There's definitely a macho-badass-hipster-cognoscenti vibe you can't escape, but if you can embrace that shit in all its fucking awesomeness (are you feeling it?), there's an assload of fascinating information in Lucky Peach. Which is, incidentally, what Momofuku means in Japanese.
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A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to attend part of the Astor Center's weekend-long event, "The Alchemy of Taste and Smell." New Flavor Combinations was led by molecular gastronomy pioneer Wylie Dufresne, above, and much-lauded David Chang of Momofuku fame. Old friends (Chang once worked for Dufresne) who were very comfortable presenting together, these two joked around and also got serious about how they come up with new dishes for their restaurants. The bottom line? Know how to take advantage of happy accidents. That, and boldly go where no chef has gone before.
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So remember that incredible lo mein with ramps and trout roe I mentioned eating at Momofuku Ssam Bar last week? I just couldn't wait to have it again—and I wanted you to be able to try it at home while ramps are still in season—so I made my own version of it. For those of you asking what is a ramp?, it's a wild leek that is foraged at this time of year. Whole Foods carries them in some locations, but they're all over the farmers markets right now. And enthusiastic locavores are charging about the countryside on a rampage, filling their reusable cloth bags with them by the armload. With a flavor somewhere between scallion and garlic, they've got a slim white bulb at the end of a stalk that's often a bit purple, and flat leaves that are a brilliant green. You can eat these leaves, too, sauteed with oil in a hot pan. Rich in selenium and sulfur, the ramp has been the subject of intense study in the areas of cancer prevention and treatment. But, really, it's just plain delicious, and goes so well with the other foraged delicacies of spring: fiddleheads, morels and asparagus.
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I've had some positive feedback on my round-ups of ingredients, so here's a new one for you. This time it's vinegar, in some of its many permutations. As children, my sisters and I called each other "Vinegar Pig." This originated from our love of drinking glugs of white vinegar straight from the bottle while dyeing Easter eggs. I've never been one to shy away from sour pickles or throat-scratchingly tart salad dressings, and I'm still known to take a swig from the bottle of balsamic, but I think by now I've learned how to employ vinegar to slightly more subtle effect.
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You can take the girl out of the city but you can’t take the city out of the girl…especially when she’s stuffing it back in with both hands! No better place than Momofuku Ssam Bar to remember what it’s like to eat somebody else’s cooking. We chowed down on David-Chang-deliciousness and it was yet another flawless dining experience, from cocktails to cookies. You know all about the place already, right? So I don't have to tell you that you'll eat hunched over at the bar on a hard stool, gazing at strange '70s art featuring John McEnroe and rocking out to loud music. It's all part of a funky, stripped-down dining experience that really wakes up your senses. So glad they’ve now got a full bar and mixed drinks on their extensive alcohol menu. I've written before about the truly wonderful “Penicillin;” even posted the recipe for you here. Smoky Scotch + ginger syrup + lemon juice = divinity. It outshined the Wild-Turkey-based “Gold Rush” I had last night, if you ask me. Here’s what we ate:
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Did you read Dana Goodyear's profile of inimitable LA food critic Jonathan Gold in the recent New Yorker? (If not, you can check out an excerpt here.) It makes reference to an article he wrote for the LA Times last March, touting a growing movement he dubbed "The New Cocktailians." He gives a shout-out to Sasha Petraske, whose cocktail bar on the Lower East Side, Milk & Honey, arguably kicked off the post-modern fetish for authentic drinks that may finally have driven the appletini from our midst. That’s where Sam Ross, the gentleman above, made a name for himself with fabulous concoctions that tweak classic cocktail combinations in clever and delicious ways. Like many of the new so-called mixologists, he appears to favor a steampunk-inflected look, with the requisite vest and curated facial hair. Don’t let that distract you. I recently sampled his Penicillin at Momofuku Ssam and it’ll cure whatever ails you.
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