illdothedisheslater

Now onto something far more complicated (completely  ruining the whole point).  David Chang makes his ramen with a deep and rich pork broth – the fat is rendered into the broth and he adds bacon for smokiness.  As an advocate of adding bacon, I start preparing a broth the same way I make my Mexican pork – just leaving out the spices – a good sized shoulder cut into chunks, a little salt and pepper.  (I am not making Chang’s recipe, just using it as a springboard to develop my own.) Bring to a boil, then stick in a low oven (300) for a longlong time.

You can see I left a lot of extra fat, which normally would be trimmed off – I want that fat in my broth.  Once the meat is cooked, I remove the larger, visible fat chunks (dog treats) and shred the rest in a bowl, which is put away to await the finished product.  Now the work begins in earnest on the broth.  What is left is a chunky, fatty, greasy pot of goodness, into which I put:  (all of this is roughly chopped.  I typed “roughly chopped” four times before I realized it.) one onion, a handful of scallions, three bulbs of garlic, about one tablespoon of fresh ginger root, a handful of carrot tops, a handful of crushed red pepper flakes, a sprinkle of turmeric, and a large chunk of diced country bacon.  Basically I add all ingredients – all of them.  Everything I can find.

Then I pull out my secret weapon:  This is dried black seaweed from the crazy, stinky, fly-infested Asian grocery here in town.  Most ramen recipes call for kombu, which is a particular kind of seaweed, but I can’t find that anywhere, so I add these flakes.

I also added a small can of chicken broth to cut the richness, and allow for some reduction.  You can be too rich, and too thin, if you are a broth.  This will simmer for the rest of the day to reduce.  We taste it:  it tastes like grease.  Mainly grease.  It’s super gross.  I’ll have to cut the fat.  The seaweed has also released an alarming neon green color into everything, so the pot now looks like straight bullion.  We strain out all the solids in a colander and cheesecloth, then the remaining broth goes into a plastic container into the fridge overnight.

In the morning, the results are gratifying/horrifying.  (No pictures, please.  This is super-duper gross.)  There is a thick disk of solidified fat on top of the broth, but it seems to have leached out all the neon green, which is a good thing.  The remaining broth has a jelly-like consistency, due to the natural presence of agar-agar in the seaweed (thickening agent, much like gelatin).  I discard the fat, dump the jelly into a pot, and continue simmering.  I even add a little water, though it’s a thick, rich broth at this point.  Very flavorful – salty but not too salty.

Now the noodles – real ones.  Not the hard puck of pre-fried noodles that come in the packet.  These are just plain ol’ noodles.

Then some shredded pork, which has been heating in the oven until it’s almost crispy.  I add it to the bowl in a one-for-you, two-for-me kind of way.  Then I add some roasted carrots and zucchini.

I also chop some parsley and scallions to add some greenery.  Into the broth will go:  a tablespoon of sriracha and a quarter teaspoon of turmeric, plus a little salt and pepper.   The broth is poured over the other ingredients:

Next, add a sliced soft-boiled egg.  (I can’t count the number of blogs, articles, and pop-ups I read that tell me I’ve been boiling eggs wrong my whole life.  It’s an egg.  It’s hard to screw up.)  But surprise, surprise I screw up the egg.  Twice.  I’m more of a hard-boiled kinda gal and have never soft boiled an egg in my life.  This takes a little practice (and a little temper tantrum).  Nestle the egg into the soup.

Finish it off with a drizzle of chili oil and a splash of soy sauce.

So here we have the fancified version – which took two days, half a pork butt, and a million steps and ingredients.  The verdict?  It’s REALLY good.  The broth has flavor and depth, the neutral vegetables absorb the flavors without competing, and there’s just the right amount of heat.   I will probably not ever make this again, since all that work and all those groceries and all those dishes produced only two servings, but I have to give myself a pat on the back (which brings on a new coughing fit).  Of the three recipes we’ve tried, I think number two will end up on the table again soon.

Okay, that’s the last of my energy.  Back to the couch, Happy Endings reruns, and possibly a third viewing of Out of Africa.