Not every ingredient for family comes from scraps. Chef stocks up bucatini pasta, chickpeas, and sweet Italian sausages specifically for family, because, he tells me matter-of-factly, they have longer shelf life. But his main aim is to minimise food waste, so he works mostly with the leftovers, the despised animal parts, and the sad-looking vegetables. Bak choy is ever present because only half the batch has the perfect curves to be customer-worthy. On Tuesdays, the first working day of the week, there is always leftover chicken from the Sunday-only menu. Since family corresponds to what the restaurant serves its customers, when a new season arrives, or on special days like the Jewish Passover, the members of the family find new foods in their plates too.

Chef was peeling prawns at noon. After that he made a stock out of the shells and cooked sweet Italian sausages in it, along with shallots, green and red peppers, the outermost, imperfect layers of Brussels sprouts, and unwanted coriander stems from which I had plucked nice green leaves for garnishing. All went on top of a bowl of corn grits.

Tortilla with mashed chorizo sausage, steamed potatoes, and kale stems too thick for “Stir-Fried Side Greens.”

Bucatini pasta with chickpeas, red cabbage that was usually a garnish for “Fava Bean Curd Terrine”, and purée of butternut squash, an ingredient for “Winter Salad”.

Two months later, the same pasta but with olives, chickpeas, capers, and sardine.

Lap cheong, soy sprouts, onions, bak choy, carrots, chicken drumsticks—all went into a salty mix of rice, cream, and soy sauce. The Chef de Cuisine (Chef Wu was on leave) apologised to his staff for his wayward creativity.

Tuesdays Chicken

Deep-fried boneless chicken thigh, collard green stir-fried with soy sauce and Zhenjiang vinegar, julienned kolhrabi dressed with peanut butter, sesame oil, ginger, chilli oil and soy sauce, fried tortilla strips, and porridge.

Fried chicken thighs with porridge. Bak choy stir-fried with a house-made hot mustard sauce.

Deep-fried whole chicken legs stewed in lap cheong gravy, onions and carrots — the Georgian Chef de Cuisine’s play on southern fried chicken. With mashed potato and stir-fried watercress and bak choy.

Boneless chicken leg cooked in soy sauce, sesame oil, and brown sugar. It came with omelette and Japanese rice from the previous night.

Deep-fried deboned chicken with sweet potato porridge and kale.

New Menu, New Ingredients, Hooray!

The restaurant offered a porchetta dish during the New York Restaurant Week, so family included red-cooked trimmings of pig’s face and ears, with soy sprouts, beet greens, bak choy, coriander stems, and deep-fried chicken marinated in curry.

The Valentines’ Day menu included a kohlrabi appetiser. Those working on that day had a stir-fried kholabi served on top of tostadas with Spanish tomato rice and fish.

Watermelon and breakfast radishes stocked for the new “Spring Salad,” bak choy, radish greens, chicken baked in ketchup and beer sauce, sausages, and duck leg trimmings with porridge.

The remaining batch of potatoes, squash and parsnips meant for last season’s “Winter Salad” became staff lunch. With red curry paste, coconut milk, ham drippings, maple syrup, chickpeas, onion, and carrots. Salad comprised of carrots, red cabbage, bak choy, cilantro and a rice wine vinegar-sesame oil-fish sauce-lime dressing.

New ingredients like mizuna stems and snow peas combined with regulars like watercress stems, sweet Italian sausages, and ground pork. Salad of bak choy, radishes, carrots, and cucumber hearts dressed with peanut butter and limejuice. With a surprisingly compatible rice and potato mash.

Newly added rhubarb (for spring stir-fry), breakfast and watermelon radishes, bak choy, and carrots dressed in maple, soy sauce, black vinegar, sesame oil, and the marinade for “Smoked and Fried Dates”. With fried chicken and porridge.

In a Blue Moon

One of my favourite family meals. Chef mixed curry with tarragon vinegar and it tasted just like fish head curry! Ingredients included sweet Italian sausages, bak choy, Brussels sprout, cashew nuts, caramelised onions, and carrots.

One of the rare days when family was store-bought chicken pepperoni and mushroom pizzas.

A cook from Burma prepares family once in a while. This time she made an elaborate curry noodles with lentils, shallots, basils, dried chillies, ground pork and boiled eggs. Unwanted pork skin turned into Northern Thai salad, laab, with roasted rice, ground pork, limes, dried chillies, and basil. Also som tom made of green papaya, tomatoes, salted eggs, dried shrimps, and peanuts. They thanked her with big hugs.

Hot dogs and potato buns bought specially for family, with a salad of potato, kale, and the ever present bak choy.

Slowly inching forward as the restaurant opened its doors.

Is waiting in line for food a pain for you? Try waiting at Franklin Barbecue, which almost every media in America agrees makes one of the best briskets in Austin, Texas or even in the whole of United States. I’m not suggesting that if you haven’t joined the line for Franklin’s brisket, you don’t know what pain is. What I’m saying is, after spending three hours of your precious life out in the rain, snow, or heat, for food that tonnes of other places offer decent versions of, you may actually come out of it thinking, ‘that was pretty fun.’ The people, both inside and outside the door that separates you and your food, can make waiting bearable or even the highlight of a trip.

Two weeks ago I was in Austin to escape the winter in New York but ended up battling the southern city’s biting wind. On the coldest day of that week, at below freezing point, I found myself in the outdoors with at least 50 others, for three morning hours. I regretted almost immediately but was somewhat comforted when one of the Franklin guys came out to greet us. He thanked us for our patience and expressed how grateful and honoured they were to have our support despite the ungodly weather. Now, that was surprising. Franklin had been seeing snaking lines outside their restaurant almost every other day. Most restaurateurs, chefs or receptionists would have been immune to that sight however grand they initially might be, or they would very imperfectly suppress their vexation of the crowd, the noise, and the long, intense working hours that follow their patronisation. But based on the comments on social media, Franklin had been appreciative to their customers. They provided chairs and blankets, although not enough for everyone, to make our wait a little more comfortable. They welcomed us to use their toilets inside the restaurant, and the men took opportunity to warm themselves up while waiting in a much shorter line to use the men’s room. Woman was a rare breed in this carnivores setting, so I thawed my hands under hot running water for as long as I could without seeming like I was camping in the toilet.

Photo taken by shivery hands.

Most people preferred to stay outside in the line, where the carnival took place. Even though I was not much of a participant, it was entertaining to watch. They brought music, cartons and cartons of beers, and track shoes to run in to ward off the cold and perhaps, shed off the calories they were about to put on. I was watching a movie on my iPad but I later realised, though not too late, that jogging in place and to my neighbour’s music helped me feel my toes again. Plus I had a good chat with others when I was not staring at the screen. One generous lady even offered me a pair of gloves. Everyone was talking to someone they didn’t know about where they had driven from, what they did for a living, and whether they had tried Franklin. By the time we were right outside the restaurant, but still some distance away from the counter, we were egging each other on to kiss the door, exchanging strategies on what and how much to order, and becoming one another’s camera guy. It was so much fun and laughter during the anticipation that eating the brisket was anti-climatic. Oh it was so delicious, probably the best barbecue I’ve eaten, but not as unforgettable as a potentially-most-excruciating-but-turned-around-to-become-the-most-entertaining-wait-for-food.

What too much food looks like.

Would I do it again? God no. So I’m glad my only experience was an unexpectedly pleasant one.

This scenario is reality for restaurateurs in Havana. To invigorate the struggling economy, the government loosened the regulations on private restaurants in 2010, but food shortages and rationing persist in the country. “It is still hard to find ingredients we need,” says Enrique Núñez, owner of La Guarida, one of the longest established and most reputable private restaurants here. “This has nothing to do with the restrictions. You simply cannot find them in Cuba.”

Continue reading my Boston Globe story here…