I'm a failure.
No, it's true. My packed pantry and lack of any real focus to finish projects would be upsetting, if I sat still long enough to think about it. I have a confession to make...immediately after stocking my pantry with unopened Asian goodies, I followed the recipe for Momofuku Pork Buns. They were the first thing I had eaten from the Momofuku empire, and something I had grown up eating, so it seemed like a logical place to start. I took pictures of every step, and had every intention of blogging about it. It's probably one of Momofuku's most popular recipes - hence it being available at Noodle Bar, Ssam Bar and Milk Bar - and for good reason. The delicious, unctuous fatty pork and hoisin, the refreshing tang of pickled cucumber, the warm, soft and sturdy steamed bun pocket and the finishing touch of sriracha - makes for an unbelievable experience. Prior to trying the Chang's steamed buns, I had been on a quest for THE best pork buns in New York City.
Now let me preface this - my mother makes THE best pork buns. She doesn't use pork belly, but instead braises all kinds of yummy pig parts that I'm not totally sure of at the moment, since I'd never attempted to make her version - but her buns are the standard by which I judge all other buns. I had ordered buns from all over - I'd scoured the Internet for what people claimed to be the quintessential bun of New York. I'd ordered them from hole in the wall Chinese places, tried them as an appetizer at overhyped sit down places, even foraged my way into Times Square where, once upon a time, my parents fell in love with the steamed red bean buns made by a tiny woman in the window of John's Shanghai. Disappointment at every turn; when my parents visited me in NYC, we went back to John's Shanghai and they bought their red bean buns, and me, the steamed pork buns. Perhaps memory serves us a better meal than actuality, because my parents remembered the buns being better. Me, I had nothing to compare their pork buns to but my mother's, and believe me, each time she makes them, my memory eats its words because it's more fantastic than the last time. I so wanted these buns to be delicious, to have that hoisin-y, oyster saucy, yummy pork flavor on the perfect canvas of slightly sweet, soft, but never mushy, bun. But alas, it was not to be that day; the pork was nearly non-existant inside the mounds of texturally-fabulous-but-lacking-a-bit-in-taste dough. The pork to dough ratio is very important to me, although it is perhaps skewed to allow for more pork (I am of the firm belief that every bite should contain a bit of pork). My hopes were sinking about finding pork buns as good as my mother's in New York, and I was beginning to resolve myself to making steamed buns in my tiny, and I mean shoebox-sized, kitchen, or never eating them again unless my mom froze hers and shipped them to me.
A co-worked mentioned that the pork buns at Momofuku were to die for, but I was skeptical. I was sure that they would be good; I am an avid reader of many food blogs, and by this time, Chang was the hottest new thing on the culinary market. But I was skeptical. I am very much not one for hype, and believe that it only leads to unattainable expectations, and thought it better to be pleasantly surprised by food then putting all my gastronomical eggs in one basket. I don't know how many weeks it took me to finally try The Pork Buns; I am quite stubborn and like things to come by organically. At least, I like things to be my idea, and not at the urging of anyone else. I realize this makes me an obstinate, precocious little thing at times, but I try to make up for it by being mostly unassuming and laidback the rest of the time. I remember I was leaving my boyfriend's apartment on the Upper East Side on a Saturday - he was off doing something (probably golfing with the boss - an unfair advantage that I maintain will always be blocked from me, as I am convinced having, ahem, developed lady lumps makes swinging a golf club that much more difficult) - sitting on the horribly slow and muggy 6 train and realizing that the Momofukus were located in the East Village. An intense craving for pork buns hit me, and there was no turning back. Eating alone is no big deal in New York (although where I'm from, I would have been more hesitant about drawing sympathetic stares for being "that girl"), and I knew Momofuku favored long bars anyway. Perfect for the solo eater. I ditched my usual train switch at Grand Central that would have taken me home to the West Village, and rode the train down the East side. After some iPhone mapping later, I found myself at Momofuku Noodle Bar, hungry and full of hope.
I sat at the long, gorgeous, blond wooden bar, and perused the menu. I remember not even glancing at the specials, and sort of regretting it while waiting for my food, but I do not regret it now. I ordered the most popular (and most vulnerable to being "overhyped") dishes - a bowl of ramen and of course, the pork buns. I ordered them sans the poached egg, although my mother sometimes includes a slice of hardboiled egg in her pork buns - because I wanted the pure experience first.
The great thing about New York is you never have to feel weird about being alone. Sure, the city can be really lonely, with all the hustle and bustle and you with no one to talk to...but being alone can be rewarding, especially when I know I'm about to eat something I have been looking forward to, and I want to fully envelop myself in the experience. My dear boyfriend is a wonderful dinner partner; over the course of our relationship he has begun appreciating food as a luxury, rather than a necessity, and hearing him describe food warms my hungry little heart, because I know that's something we share. However, at times I doubt whether even he gets why I might tear up over a perfectly cooked scallop, or be moved to speechlessness over a tuna carpaccio. So it's nice to be alone in my emotions sometimes.
The pork buns were delicious; two steamed bun pockets (already a departure from my mother's more tradition bun), with cucumber, pork belly, hoisin and a swab of sriracha on the plate for dipping. It tasted like my mothers, even though it looked completely different and had a few extra ingredients. The pork tasted like my mother's, despite being a different cut, and that was the first step in the right direction. The bun was sweet, soft, yet strong enough to hold the pork belly; it cut the flavors perfectly, and provided the perfect backdrop to what lay inside. Each bite yielded a tender bite of pork, perfectly seasoned, no component overwhelming any other. The crunch from the cucumbers provided a perfect counterpoint to the softness of the bun and the meat. I could have eaten ten, right there.
The ramen that came afterward was superb - it opened my eyes to the wonderful potential ramen could reach - but this post is about pork buns. No pork bun (or recipe, for that matter) will ever be as good as your mother makes, but these came pretty darn close. When I made the pork buns when I returned to the South, they even impressed my mother. The dough recipe is not much different than hers, and the flavors are very similar. And that's comforting. It was as delicious as everyone says. Which, by logical construction, means everyone would love my mother's buns too, if not more. She's always been a gifted cook, and everyone who has the pleasure of dining at her table certainly knows it. And perhaps that was what I was really searching for in NYC...not a pork bun, but a little bit of home.
And as long as we're confessing things...last night, I finally watched Julie & Julia. Meryl Streep is a revelation, and Amy Adams ain't half bad either. With any luck, I will post the pictures from my actual experience making them...but until then, may my nostalgia tide you over for now.
