Hacking Ottolenghi’s Hacked Pork Souvlaki
Like many things, the marinade started out simple and innocent, but I drifted. That ginger syrup left in the jar; a dabble of sherry vinegar to coax it out. A squeezed lime with a shaving of zest. But then I opened the spice cabinet and all hell broke loose… I was thinking of Ottolenghi in Crete messing with the locals slovaki, but he did it with pork. I didn’t, though, remember all the ingredients and wan’t going to look it up.
I remembered the star anise and went for it and cleaned out the coffee grinder with a new paint brush; then reached for the little yellow pan we use for boiling three minute eggs. Into the pan at full heat went the anise and several kinds of pepper corns from our local spice experts: the Spices Cave: Green pepper; Pimienta Roja de Kampot. I shit you not: red pepper from Cambodia: http://www.seriouseats.com/.../how-the-worlds-best-pepper... But no that’s not all: then ground Piemienta Jamaica; a stick of canela; a few cloves; Comino’s; black cardomomo: then I opened the long pepper from Java — do you understand why I don’t write these recipies down! You end up with a dictionary of culinary delight; the oranges of hieronymus bosch; and pimienta de Tasmania. TASMANIA!! Where the fuck is Tasmania, you ask: go find the little town of Bicheno and you’ll be there. Then there was the Spanish Hinijo for da mojo ho ho. You get the pan smoking hot then into the coffee grinder for a nice powder. That powder, with it’s traces of coffee into a bowl with the ginger syrup; sherry vinegar; the fresh lime juice and the zesty zest and put it all over the pork pieces.
But a recipe is no substitute for a memory. With the tradgic budget problems absorbing the ink of the world’s press, this recipe from Ottolenghi brought me back to Montreal. Saint Denis. The Kebaq bookstor where I worked in the early 80's and Souvlaki. A Souvlaki on Saint Denis was obtained from the window opening to the street. Lamb. Roasted lamb and lot’s of salted and garliced yogurt wrapped in freshly baked still warm pita. But no, that was not all. The waiter at the window, shoehorned into only a few meters to work his magic, corpulent and friendly; you wanted to buy his Souvlaki. He was more respectful than grateful. he knew he made the best.
