(Hang tight... I’ll get to this!)

Perspective

*looooong, slow exhale*

Everything is insane, simply existing feels like a barrage of body blows even for the most fortunate among us (god help those who are barely hanging on), and where to get the tastiest lunch feels lik— no, it IS one of the least important things right now. But we all find ways to cling to sanity, and for the time being, this is mine. Well... this and escapist fantasy via immersive video games. But that’s another subject for another newsletter. (No, I am not launching a gaming newsletter.)

I had an online conversation with somebody recently, which of course I can’t find now. Email, social media, I’m not sure. But the person I was conversing with, while perfectly amiable, was frustrated by the trend of expanding everyday food coverage to include the kind of political and societal angles that were previously only addressed by occasional, specialized pieces. I believe he said that it felt like a betrayal of trust when a food writer crossed that line. Food was his escape, and he wanted it to stay that way.

I get it. Believe me, I do. But it’s more complicated than that.

As a food writer who’s always been of the “A5 Wagyu, greasy cheeseburger, it’s all wonderful in its own way!” school of thought, you’ll be shocked (shocked!) when I say that I think both types of food writing — to the extent this can be irresponsibly framed as a dichotomy — have their place. I appreciate and understand his sentiment, but here’s the thing:

That escape comes at somebody else’s expense.

The ability to enjoy food without considering the human cost that brought it to your table is, to be blunt, a privilege — one that seems to be growing greater and greater every day. Every food piece needn’t be a treatise on environmental and societal impacts, and it’s okay to simply enjoy what you eat. But if you make it policy to ignore those issues, at some point you’re just turning a blind eye — consciously choosing to prioritize your comfort and convenience over someone else's sacrifice or suffering.

(Lot of that going around these days.)

That said, I get it. I understand the feeling, particularly when the world feels as heavy and inescapable as it does right now. I think we have a responsibility not to look the other way, but sometimes we just desperately need to spread joy when and where we can find it.

Next week, who knows? This week, I’m going to spread a little joy. Or at least I’m going to try.

My Kingdom for Korokke

If you’re a food geek, you have a wish list.

You know what I’m talking about. Wherever you live — yes, even New York City ... *eye roll* — and no matter how much you love and appreciate your local food scene, there are always things you wish you could get or could get a better version of.

This past Wednesday, I knocked THREE off my list.

Holy crap, I can barely express how freaking jazzed I am about Umami Tokyo Curry. You want evidence that we’re going to have to drastically redefine what great food looks like and how it’s brought to us in the post-pandemic era? A brand spankin' new joint that I'm immediately slotting among my favorites for Japanese curry, tonkatsu and korokke is operating out of a ghost kitchen in Tempe. Straight fucking truth.

That the Tempe Food Court is likely a stepping stone for Nobu Kobayashi in no way minimizes the fact that great food can come from absolutely anywhere these days. He was kind enough to spend a little time on the phone with me despite my recent self-deposed status, and man, I am so glad this fellow has chosen to come to Phoenix.

I need to step back a bit. “Stepping stone” lends the wrong impression. This isn’t an amateur operation finding its footing. Kobayashi is a veteran and a stone cold pro — born and trained in Japan, consultant for scads of restaurants and head chef of Kamehachi back in Chicago for something like three decades.

Put simply: Dude can cook.

In fact, he says his specialty is kaiseki — the absurdly ornate, hyperseasonal traditional style of formal Japanese dining that is basically the polar opposite of what he’s doing now. And if we’re lucky, maybe he’ll be doing something along those lines again in a few years. But if it happens (See: A5 Wagyu and greasy cheeseburgers, above), here’s hoping that isn’t to the exclusion of the casual curry shop.

You guys, this is so, so good. Umami Tokyo Curry is exclusively a carryout and delivery operation, and everything is carefully packaged in some snazzy compartmentalized tubs and it travels so well and I seriously want to eat it three days a week.

With very few exceptions (the excellent torikatsu curry from Nobuo at Teeter House springs to mind), Japanese curry around town is made with packaged roux. Maybe it gets doctored up a bit in the kitchen, but the base is the same boxed stuff that you can pick up at any Asian market. Heck, I think even Basha's carries S&B Golden these days

Not this stuff, though. Not by a longshot. Kobayashi is working from scratch, and his curry is glorious. There’s a lot going on, including a good deal of kombu, bonito and shiitake that lays down a broad umami base for aromatics like fenugreek, cardamom, ginger and cloves. It tickles more than it burns, and it has a beautiful, balanced complexity. But I think one of the things I like about this curry best is that it achieves a kind of intense richness without going thick and heavy. It’s on the lighter end, as Japanese curries go, but it’s no less deeply satisfying.

The quality of the rice is too often overlooked, and this rice is great, along with some lovely crimson bits of fukujinzuke and pungent, pickled leek bulbs, but the headliners are just fabulous as well.

Korokke! Man, we don’t have enough korokke in this town. Order this curry and it comes topped with two oblong mashed potato croquettes, studded with peas and bits of carrot and creamy in the center, wrapped in a tuft of golden fried panko. My son, sadly, demolished all of the torikara (fried chicken) curry before I managed to snag a piece, but I also took a run at the curry udon. (That's the photo all the way at the top.) This one’s thinned a little with a nice, beefy stock, coating thick, slippery udon noodles, and the bowl gets a cap of sweet, thinly slivered stewed beef and a pile of shredded scallions.

What a Jerk

Speaking of responsible eating and standing up for restaurant workers and owners, man, Danielle Leoni has been working hard on behalf of her industry and humanity in general.

Please don’t misunderstand, I don’t mean this in an exclusionary way. She’s one fish in a sea of restaurant people who are pouring out their hearts and their pockets and their walk-ins at a time when most of them have little if anything left to give. Nothing in the world can make you feel smaller and more inadequate as a human being than watching the way this community can be beaten and bruised and kicked in the face and still its first reaction is “How can I help?”

We don’t deserve you guys. We just don’t.

In any case, between spearheading national sustainable seafood efforts and passionately advocating for the Restaurants Act, Danielle and her husband Dwayne Allen are fighting not to lose their restaurant, The Breadfruit & Rum Bar. So hell yeah, you bet jerk night has been on my short list for takeout meals.

It has been way, way too long since I was jerked around like this.

Good gravy, that photo is only the half of it. Literally. I dished out about half onto a plate. And I love the gorgeous, wild chaos of it all — a bed of rice and peas topped with a mound of jerk chicken, wildly hacked into gnawable bone-in chunks, festooned with charred, roasted vegetables. I love the dusky pink of slivered watermelon radish framed by gnarled leaves of kale, leaping from the sides like licks of deep green flame.

I’m reminded on this pass that it isn’t just the chicken itself (though that's wonderful). And it isn’t just the jerk seasoning, sizzling with habanero and thyme and allspice and clove. It’s the whole package, of course. It’s always the whole package. But man, it’s the smoke that got me this time — that layer of pimento smoke thick and billowy enough to get lost in.

Dwayne is a rum savant, and a bottle of rum punch was predictably perfect. But just in case you weren’t already aware, Dwayne and Danielle have recently launched Big Marble Organics, and the first release is a ginger beer that hums. In terms of production, it’s exactly what the name and their history would lead you to expect — sustainable, organic, fair trade, etc. And in terms of flavor, oooooohoohooo, it’s got some buzz. An aggressive shot of pure, clean, bubbly liquid ginger with a tail that burns. Shut up, you know you like it.

Sounds like the next jerk chicken pop-up will be October 30. Mark your calendar.

It Me.

Apparently some meme artíste unwittingly captured the last five years of my life, expressed in GIF. This says it far better than anything I could possibly write.

Graaaaaaaaaaaaaaains

Punchline to the dumbest zombie/food joke ever. Honestly, you’re better off not hearing it.

Allow me to round up this edition with a quick shout out to Claudio Urciuoli and his crew over at Pa’La, who continue to make some of my very favorite foods in all the land. I grabbed dinner for the family a couple of Saturdays back, and I was literally the only customer there when I went to pick up.

Just so we’re clear, THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE, PEOPLE.

The Navarro bowl is a Once in a Lifetime kind of dish — same as it ever was, natch — and that’s exactly as it should be. This is a perfect creation that requires no adjustment, save for whatever seafood du jour strikes your fancy. We got it with some astounding seared tuna. I mean, c’mon... look at that color. Cool at the core, it's hit with Claudio’s fabulous seasoning and just a lick of fire, piled atop a mix of roasted vegetables and delightfully chewy ancient grains.

Some Light Housekeeping

It looks like most people successfully got a hold of Vol. I last week, but just in case you didn’t, two things:

• Here’s a link to Vol. I
• If you signed up before noon on Saturday and didn’t get Vol. I, do let me know! I’ve never used a mailing list service before, and I want to get any bugs squashed, pronto.

Also, SO MANY EMAILS! My heart asplode. If I haven’t written back, I’m not ignoring you. I’m just taking a little break before I catch up on the email backlog. Which is... substantial. You all are the best. Thank you.