Welcome to the Year of the Pig and welcome (back) to Five Things I Ate! This week’s newsletter is all about foods that bring you good fortune. If you’re new, be sure to check out past posts here, and tell a friend to subscribe.
Unicorn Taiyaki at Taiyaki
119 Baxter St, New York, NY 10013
If your ice cream has ears and a horn, but also scales and a tail, is it a fish or is it a unicorn? If you find this question absolutely absurd, Taiyaki is not the place for you. Located in Chinatown, Taiyaki specializes in Japanese fish-shaped waffles (“tai” means sea bream, and “yaki” means fried or baked) that are associated with good fortune. Traditionally filled with red bean paste, here, they’re topped with a tower of soft serve (I got the black sesame and matcha swirl), and various sugary toppings, including mochi and wafer cookies, and yes, unicorn horns. Cuteness might be its main appeal, but it’s not just about looks. The taiyaki is fresh and eggy, and although there’s a little bit too much of it, the soft serve is fluffy and delicious, especially the black sesame flavor, which had a nice salty undertone. The unicorn parts, on the other hand, are completely inedible. But look, it sparks joy, okay?
Grilled salmon belly at Sunrise Mart
2213, 494 Broome St, New York, NY 10013
In Chinese culture, fish is considered a lucky food for New Year’s, because the word for fish, 鱼(yú), sounds like the word for abundance, or 余 (yú). And if you go to Sunrise Mart on an auspicious day before the lunch crowd hits, you can buy three pieces of grilled salmon belly for about five dollars, which is an abundance of 鱼 sure to bring you even more 余. Pick up a container of spinach namul (or Korean spinach seasoned with sesame oil) or bean sprouts for another five, and you’ve got a healthy lunch feast filled with that will last you two days, if you don’t scarf it all down like I did. If you work with me, I’ve now revealed all my lunch secrets (h/t Agnes, the original Lunch Queen), but please don’t take the last piece of 鱼 before I get there, or you’ll have no 余 at all.
Sesame Dango at Sunrise Mart
2213, 494 Broome St, New York, NY 10013
汤圆 (tāng yuán) are little mochi dumplings, filled with sugar, peanut paste, or black sesame, that are traditionally eaten at the end of Lunar New Year, when the whole family gathers for dinner. The reason? The words 汤圆 sound like 团圆 (tuán yuán), or reunion (I warned you about the puns). Because I haven’t had the chance yet to either reunite with my family or eat 汤圆, I picked up a pack of sesame dango at the grocery, which reminded me of my favorite kind of 汤圆, filled with black sesame. The little mochi balls were covered in a sprinkle of black and white sesame seeds and filled with the richest and creamiest black sesame paste I’ve ever eaten. Just between you and me, I like them ever better than 汤圆 — although nothing beats eating with family.
Sakuraya Miyako Mochi at Sunrise Mart
2213, 494 Broome St, New York, NY 10013
If you’re tired of puns, sorry, you’re out of luck: If you’ve learned anything from this week’s newsletter, it’s that Chinese people don’t just love a good pun, we love them so much, we’ve built a whole culture around them, especially at New Year’s. But the highest (hah!) pun for me is that of 年糕 (nián gāo), or sticky rice cake, which, coincidentally, has the exact same sounds as 年高 (nián gāo), or “higher year,” which form part of the popular New Year saying, 年年高升 (niánnián gāoshēng), or raising oneself higher and higher each year. I didn’t have the time to fry up some sticky rice cake this year, but I did pick up a pack of mochi from Sunrise Mart to help replenish my luckiness meter. Dusted in kinako, or roasted soy flour, and cut into tiny squares, these are the mochi lover’s mochi: Not too sweet, not too big, and perfectly minimalist. As for elevating my year, the verdict’s still out: I’ll let you know when my radiator stops hissing at me, and the raccoons vacate my roof.
Snow pea leaves shrimp dumplings at Tiny Shanghai
122 Mulberry St, New York, NY 10013
Fine, you get to catch a break, because dumplings are the rare non-pun lucky food, elevated to their auspicious status due to their resemblance to historical gold ingots. The snow pea leaves shrimp dumplings at Tiny Shanghai look little fat parcels, square and dumpy, but they’re so cute, they better bring me some good fortune. I always judge a dumpling by its exterior — that’s where the most important skill is — and Tiny Shanghai delivers. The rice flour wrapper is firm and bouncy, with a nice bite. It’s on the thicker side, but just translucent enough to see a hint of the filling inside, which doesn’t skimp on shrimp. Plump and dewy, I couldn’t help but wonder: When was this dumpling going to drop its skincare routine?
Photo of the week
After a lovely reader asked me to reconsider my no-photo policy, I’ve decided that photos are okay — as long as you take them. If you make a recipe I post, or visit a place I write about, please send me photos, and I will proudly share them! This week’s shout-out goes to climate reporter and baker extraordinaire Lisa, who made the black sesame tea cake recipe I shared a few weeks ago. It looks delicious!
Happy New Year and keep on subscribin’,
Soph
Editor’s note: The author of this newsletter, who is coincidentally also the editor, can neither read nor write in Chinese, and therefore cannot stand by any of the characters used in the writing below, which may be mixed up. She welcomes corrections.