MOTO: BBQ Pork With Fixin's
Oct. 16th, 2006 04:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quisletSorry for delaying the meal - I was out of town last week, and on a weird schedule. :-P
The waiter places a long, rectangular plate in front of you, the long side facing you.
On the right side of the plate is a tender piece of boneless, barbecued pork cheek, and about the size of my thumb and the heel of my hand, combined. It has been cooked low and slow, aromatic with a pungent, slightly-sweet spice rub. It takes no effort at all to flake it into tiny bits with the end of your fork. The meat fairly melts in your mouth, suffusing into a waking dream of unctious goodness. It's like mainlining pure gustatory delight. It brought tears to my eyes.
Sticking out of the pork at a right angle is a plastic pipet containing a mysterious, creamy liquid shot through with the slightest hint of orange. The waiter instructs you to either squirt the contents out on the plate to join the other components, or to suck it directly into your mouth (I chose the latter). It is liquid coleslaw with a hint of horseradish, a natural pairing but in an altogether unfamiliar presentation.
Streaking across the plate to the left is a Kansas City barbecue sauce, as thick as tomato paste, smoky and sweet.
The last components on the plate are a circle of beige liquid studded by what appear to be tiny gems. The circle is simply liquefied bread, clearly the bun on this deconstructed BBQ pork sandwich, but as wet as soup. The taste is impossibly simple white bread, the earthy nuttiness of wheat all-but-forgotten as it trickles across your tongue. The gems are yet more bread, this time breadcrumbs crystallized in sugar. They crunch grittily in your mouth, rock candy with just a hint of yeastiness.
The dish assembles itself for you on your fork. There is no thinking required. Your fork flakes off some pork, drags it through the sauce, dips into the bread (both liquid and crystalline). The entire assemblage draws itself into your mouth, accompanied by a squirt of coleslaw from the pipet.
I think I scraped that plate clean, wishing the bread was solid enough to mop up the last bits and into my mouth.
The waiter places a long, rectangular plate in front of you, the long side facing you.
On the right side of the plate is a tender piece of boneless, barbecued pork cheek, and about the size of my thumb and the heel of my hand, combined. It has been cooked low and slow, aromatic with a pungent, slightly-sweet spice rub. It takes no effort at all to flake it into tiny bits with the end of your fork. The meat fairly melts in your mouth, suffusing into a waking dream of unctious goodness. It's like mainlining pure gustatory delight. It brought tears to my eyes.
Sticking out of the pork at a right angle is a plastic pipet containing a mysterious, creamy liquid shot through with the slightest hint of orange. The waiter instructs you to either squirt the contents out on the plate to join the other components, or to suck it directly into your mouth (I chose the latter). It is liquid coleslaw with a hint of horseradish, a natural pairing but in an altogether unfamiliar presentation.
Streaking across the plate to the left is a Kansas City barbecue sauce, as thick as tomato paste, smoky and sweet.
The last components on the plate are a circle of beige liquid studded by what appear to be tiny gems. The circle is simply liquefied bread, clearly the bun on this deconstructed BBQ pork sandwich, but as wet as soup. The taste is impossibly simple white bread, the earthy nuttiness of wheat all-but-forgotten as it trickles across your tongue. The gems are yet more bread, this time breadcrumbs crystallized in sugar. They crunch grittily in your mouth, rock candy with just a hint of yeastiness.
The dish assembles itself for you on your fork. There is no thinking required. Your fork flakes off some pork, drags it through the sauce, dips into the bread (both liquid and crystalline). The entire assemblage draws itself into your mouth, accompanied by a squirt of coleslaw from the pipet.
I think I scraped that plate clean, wishing the bread was solid enough to mop up the last bits and into my mouth.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-10-17 07:37 pm (UTC)So... at this point, were you getting at all tired of experiencing the "wrong" textures for the foods? Texture is so important... like that smooth, creamy cheese in the tiramisu that you made. Spot on.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-17 09:45 pm (UTC)Tired of the wrongness? Not at all. I must admit, though, that the whole liquid thing was threatening to become a one-trick pony. The menu was full of unexpected textures, like a magic act that leaned on pure sleight-of-hand but lacked in showmanship.
Thanks for the kudos! It's hard to go wrong with mascarpone. I'm planning an encore for this weekend, more on the savory side, a la Harry's di Venezia. Same bat-time, same bat-channel.