No Frills Thai That Packs a Punch—Larb Ubol

Ever since Andy Ricker’s PokPok touched down in New York City, the conversation surrounding Thai food has increasingly been one about “authenticity.” As with any cuisine, this concept is a heated and elusive one, all the harder to grasp if you’ve never personally traveled to Thailand. And yet there are restaurants where one can glimpse a certain freshness, an intensity of spice or uncompromising flavor that qualifies as “real” Thai, or at the very least, Thai that doesn’t bow down to the desires of its customers.

Crunchy duck larb

On an unexpected stretch of Ninth Avenue in the thirties, I discovered my most recent glimpse of that defiant declaration— “this is Thai.” At Larb Ubol, you’re more likely to see customers eating fried whole fish than twirling a mountain of pad thai onto their fork. The spice is assertive; the Thai iced tea unapologetically sweet. The decor is just charming enough, but really, you’re here for the food.

Green papaya salad with "bbq pork"

 As a fan of green papaya salad, I was pleased to see that Larb Ubol offers several spins on the classic equation of shredded papaya with lime and crumbled peanuts. From pickled fish to Thai eggplant, dried shrimp, salted egg or long beans, the mix-ins range as widely as those at a frozen yogurt bar. The wide-ranging options applies to the restaurant’s namesake “larb” as well, offering protein options from the common ground pork to mussels and even liver. Our waiter pointed us in the direction of papaya salad with “bbq pork” (chicharrones) and a crunchy duck larb—the latter of which he felt was “most authentic.”

Waiting for these dishes—and our personal pick, a shrimp goong curry—we sipped on Thai tea. Served with the signature mix of sweetened condensed milk, it had us anticipating some spice, and boy was the heat coming.

 In a reversal of expectations, the curry was served first and was the most mild of the dishes. A tomato-based sauce flavored with basil and clusters of green peppercorn, it was deeply, addictively flavorful and the heat was, surprisingly, far from aggressive. Served with a side of Larb’s must-have ginger rice, it was more complex and satisfying than the flavors often found in cream-based curries.

Shrimp Goong Curry

Then arrived the crunchy duck larb—which our server noted as the most authentic pick—offering just a touch more crunch and gristle than you’d get with the standard pork. It was gamey, a little funky and definitely packed enough heat for thrill-seeking fans of Thai food.

But the most unexpected twist was the green papaya salad, loaded with enough firepower to require its own personal iced tea. Far from the refreshing salad we know, it was a truly vibrant, no-holds-barred Thai dish. The chicharrones and long beans also amped up the texture profile with a layer of extra crunch.

Coconut ice cream

For dessert, we were craving something cool and creamy, and the coconut ice cream did just the trick. Paired with fresh, sweet corn and chewy jellies, it was a playful—but not overly sweet—take on the sundae.

Far be it for me to claim that I’m an authority on “authentic” Thai cuisine. But within our city limits, I can heartily recommend Larb Ubol to diners who crave more than your average pile of takeout noodles. Dive into the spice and don’t forget the curries. Just remember you’re going to need an extra order of that tea.

Larb Ubol
480 9th Ave
New York, NY
212-564-1822

Life as a Culinary Student: Building Flavor

Whether you’re a professional cook or just an eager eater, we all have an intense, multi-layered relationship with flavor. There are tastes that remind us of childhood, foods that terrify or intrigue us with their strangeness, and flavors we crave time and time again. But how as chefs do we harness flavor? Where does it come from?

Of all the significant sources of flavor, the first (and possibly, most important) is the fond. This word, which literally means “the base” in French, refers to the brown bits created when you heat foodstuffs and they stick to the bottom of your pan. While many cooks mistake the fond for an inconvenience best removed with a bit of elbow grease, savvier cooks learn to deglaze the pan and capture that flavor. That’s right—add just a little wine, stock or other liquid to your pan and those brown bits loosen up, forming the flavor-forward base for a delicious sauce.

But the fond is not the only source of flavor. Proteins can be fried, deep fried, grilled, roasted, and prepared in a wide range of different fashions, all that build flavor in their own distinct way.

Take frying for example: the secret here is, as my Chef Instructor Chris likes to say, “goooolden brown.” In fact, Chef insists there “is no other color in dry-heat cooking.” But anyone who has ever made chicken cutlets knows how hard it is to get even coloring. The simple tip here is basting—using your spoon to toss the hot oil onto the light-colored spots on your crust. Maintaining high heat is also key to keeping that layer of breading nice and crunchy. On the other hand, if you’re game to submerge your protein entirely, deep-frying (again, at a hot, consistent temperature) is perhaps the easiest way to get that even-colored golden brown.

Basting a fried cutlet to achieve the perfect golden brown crust.

Another high-heat cooking method that builds flavor? Grilling. We all know and love those little black cross-hatches, that inimitable charred flavor. After just a few minutes on a grill, a thin little piece of chicken paillardbecomes a juicy, earthy, healthful meal. If you’re stove-top grilling, it’s likely you’ll also do a little fire-fighting. Keep things hot. Keep your protein lightly oiled, and above all, don’t pour oil directly onto the grill. (Brush or dab it on.) Otherwise, you might as well just incinerate your food in a fire pit.

Marinating pork chops before they hit the grill

Now with any of these techniques, the magical combination of salt and fat are essential. Salt helps bring out the inherent flavors of your food, so using it during the cooking process—not just at the end for finishing—is essential. Sprinkle a little salt on freshly fried foods, and it melts right into the piping hot crust. Toss some salt on your steak before it hits the grill, and you’re sure to get that satisfying sizzle. (Moreover, contrary to popular opinion, the amount of salt used in restaurants is hardly harmful. It’s processed foods that will do you in.)

Fat helps lubricate your cooking surface (preventing proteins from sticking and burning) and the wide-ranging flavors and smoke-points of butter and oils help shape the form of your final dish. A little canola goes a long way in grilling, helping you get those gorgeous cross-hatches on everything from zucchini to salmon. Finish your pan sauce with butter, and it will thicken right up. Deep-fry your foods in peanut oil and they’ll not only be crispy, but also have an added nutty flavor.

Building flavor with a lobster shell-based stock.

It’s not just heat, salt, and fat that build flavor. Don’t forget the power of infused liquids, like stock. Having the right stock can transform your sauce from mundane to masterful. Veal stock, in particular, is one of the key ingredients that make French pan sauces so delicious. And, as mentioned before, without liquid to free it, your fond would just be stranded little bits of wasted flavor.

Herbs, aromatics, and spices can also elevate a dish from basic to delicious. A crust of parsley, butter, and breadcrumbs boosts the juicy appeal of rack of lamb. A spicy wet rub of chilies and oil brings bold spice to a pork chop. And a dash of crispy sage brings out the best in a roasted sweet potato.

Layers of flavor: ground cumin, paprika, tarragon, mustard

In short, it’s not just about the quality of our food or how well we prepare our mise en place, it’s also about how we “manage our energy” (i.e. the heat), as Chef Michael Garrett likes to say. It’s when we add the salt. Which and how much oil we use. That extra clove of garlic or snip of parsley. All these disparate steps work together to bring out the best in our food, and, as future chefs, we’re learning to use them to our advantage, one dish at a time.

Restaurant Revisited: Northern Spy

Photos by Marie Constantinesco

In the typical lifecycle of a restaurant, the vast majority of reviews happen within the first year. Restaurateurs are lucky if reviewers even allow the necessary window to iron out the kinks that come with opening a new location or swapping out the staff. In fact, due to the increased pressure of "getting the scoop" before everyone else, the most buzzworthy restaurants will see the vast majority of reviews published within their first two months of business.

But even if the most respected critics still give chefs extra time to steady their sea legs, the number of restaurants that are ever reviewed two, three or even ten years into their lifespan is few. Save for the systematic reevaluations of top tier fine-dining establishments (see: Le Bernadin, Le Cirque or Restaurant Daniel) that happen every few years, we see very few journalists that speak to the evolution of a restaurant over time—a progression that only the "regulars" and the staff tend to witness.

It may be a stretch to call me a "regular" at Northern Spy Food Co., but of all the restaurants I have frequented during my time in New York City, it is one of the few places where I need two hands to count the number of times I have visited. I can confidently name Northern Spy among my favorite "farm-to-table" restaurants in the city, and it was certainly the first New York restaurant where I personally witnessed a compelling locavore perspective. So it was with no lack of curiosity that I learned Pete Lipson had taken over the kitchen from Hadley Schmitt, and it was an exceptional opportunity to revisit a restaurant whose style I know quite well.

While Lipson has wisely left some of the Schmitt's well-loved favorites on the menu (like the trend-inspiring kale salad), the stars of the show are clearly the newer additions to the menu. Take for example Lipson's "snack" of smoked ricotta with mushy peas and grilled pita. The flavors here are a bit more exotic, the smoke subtle and somewhat similar to the perfume of a good kielbasa. The addictive, naan-like pita offers a rough-around-the-edges char, balanced by the mellow sweetness of the peas. It's an artfully rustic dish—one that could be overlooked by less analytical eaters as simply delicious, which is an integral part of its appeal.

The appetizers are where Lipson shines most brightly, in particular with his fried artichokes. Easily the best artichoke dish I've ever tasted this side of the Atlantic, these golden, crunchy 'chokes are batter-free, focusing on their own inherent flavor. They're coupled with refreshing mandarin slices and pickled cippolini onions, a mellow fennel purée, fresh majoram and crispy sheets of dehydrated black garlic (which my dining companion and I mistook for darkly-hued caramel). With so many competing elements, the dish is a carefully calibrated masterpiece, the kind of plate that reminds diners that farm-to-table can be complex, rather than simply a better version of home-cooked fare.

Of equal elegance is the spring asparagus, quickly blanched and plated with tender, black truffle-speckled whelks and horseradish. My favorite element of the dish was the slanted shards of asparagus, used almost like shaved almonds to garnish the full-size fronds. They reveal what is so often quoted (but rarely proven) by chefs: vegetables taste different depending how you cut them. And, of course, the whelks are an intriguing delicacy all their own.

The main courses are, again, more complex than they seem on paper. Spinach cavatelli arrives spicy, cooled by a runny egg and small pools of smoked creme fraiche. It's a robust vegetarian dish, with tender fingerling potatoes gently reminding us of their dual presence in the pasta dough. The pork shoulder is served as a sort of reconstituted steak of rillettes—crunchy and complemented by pickled and roasted rhubarb, along with an apple compote. Both are more conceptually rigorous than your average main, and while they may lack the finesse of the appetizers, they suggest the depth of Lipson's promise as an innovative chef.

On the pastry side, Chef Amy Poweski has been replaced by Rebecca Newman, but the desserts still ring true, balancing more adventurous options with reimagined classics. We opted for the s'mores, a candy bar-like creation of pillowy marshmallow and graham cracker covered with chocolate. A smear of salted caramel is the ideal bridge to an inspired scoop of graham cracker ice cream and crumbs. On the whole, it was a dish that could have easily skewed too sweet, but remained perfectly balanced—and just messy enough to evoke the crumbling crackers of a true campfire s'more.

If Northern Spy has turned to the next chapter in its culinary history, newcomers and regulars certainly have much to look forward to. A wider range of ethnic flavors make for a more adventurous meal, while still remaining true to the mission of celebrating local products. And though the reviews may once again come in one fell swoop (to ring in the new reign of Chef Lipson), I can say with confidence that this is one kitchen that is only going to get more praise-worthy with time.

Northern Spy Food Co.
511 E 12th St
(212) 228-5100

For prior coverage of Northern Spy, click here.