What you knead

It’s been quite the day of culinary experiments in my house. Hubby decided he was in the mood to expand his already-respectable cooking repertoire and settled on Gordon Ramsay’s pork belly recipe as his adventure of choice. However, he quickly found out pork belly is harder to find in Indianapolis than a shred of hope for this year’s Colts team. The guys at Kincaid’s finally came through with a cut and I was subsequently banished from the kitchen while hubby got down to business.

Once the belly had baked, an afternoon-long waiting period ensued. I took this as my cue to get into the kitchen for some baking of my own. Wracking my brain for something to do with the fresh dill in my refrigerator, I recalled a card in my recipe box for dill onion bread. Or, in my house, dill bread. (Tangent – I fed the toddler his first taste of onions the other night in an omelet, and he loved them. But I digress…)

If I remember correctly, I believe I got this recipe from my mom years ago, but I don’t recall her ever actually making it. Thinking it would be a fun activity to share, I enlisted the toddler to help. My little sous chef did a surprisingly good job, and was pleased as punch to help me measure out ingredients, stir them together and even knead out a little loaf of his very own.

Recipes that require things like yeast and precise timing intimidate me a little bit. Even though I’ve made bread before, I couldn’t help but fear throughout the whole process that I was doing something terribly wrong and would wind up with flat loaves as hard as hockey pucks. Have to admit, I was pleasantly surprised at how simple this bread was to make. There’s not much to it, really, not many ingredients and quite a bit of downtime in the middle. I mixed the dough, kneaded it smooth (a very soothing tactile motion, if you ask me) and put it in a bowl on top of the stove to proof.

bread dough on the rise

Happily, it rose like magic. I let it double and punched it down as per the directions, brushed it with egg white and let the toddler sprinkle sesame seeds on top. Into the pans for a second rise, and then into the oven it went.

Thirty minutes later, voila. Real live actual bread. Somehow, we managed to resist cutting into the fragrant little loaves as soon as they came out of the oven and instead, saved them for dinner.

fresh baked dill bread hot out of the oven

The results: the pork belly was wonderfully flavorful, but extremely rich. There’s really very little meat to be had on this cut of pork; it’s mostly fat. Imagine a big slab of roasted bacon and you’ll start to get the idea. I can’t imagine how Gordon fans eat big squares of this stuff. The English cuts must be much leaner is all I can figure.  Still, it tasted yummy and the crunchy greasy crackling on top was delicious, a huge hit with the toddler.

pork belly and roasted veg a la hubby

The bread was the teensiest bit dry (I think I got worried that it would still be gummy inside and left it baking a little longer than I should have), but basically it was good. Nice and crusty on the outside, tender and soft within. The dill flavor was very subtle, and went perfectly with the pork belly and the fantastic roasted vegetables hubby served alongside.

sliced dill bread

My son was super proud of “his” bread, and declared it much better than “mommy’s bread.” Watch out, Gordon. You might just have some up-and-coming competition…

the toddler enjoying the fruits of his labor

To Market, to Market…

Shhh…. have you heard about this new restaurant called Black Market? Indy’s newest gastropub is sneaking onto the local scene with a whisper and not a roar, but with the kind of buzz it’s generating, this secret won’t be kept hush-hush very long.

After hearing great word of mouth from a couple of people whose food opinions I respect, I mentally put it on my radar. And when last night presented an opportunity to enjoy a nice dinner downtown with hubby, we sought it out.

Situated on the far eastern end of Mass Ave, you would easily miss Black Market if you weren’t looking for it. We WERE looking for it and still almost missed it. There’s no sign or any indication whatsoever that this nondescript brick building is a restaurant except for the glimpse of some folks eating at tables in the window. And there’s a cool old bike parked out front. If they’re going for the speakeasy vibe, they’ve definitely nailed it.

Black Market on Mass Ave

As far as restaurants go, Black Market is definitely trendier than the kinds of places I usually frequent, but still friendly and casual enough to make anyone (i.e. hopelessly untrendy types like myself) feel welcome. Inside, the décor is right in keeping with all that semi-industrial modern stuff that’s so popular right now — dark wood, sleek fixtures, exposed brick, a chalkboard wall when you first walk in.

The lighting over the bar is pretty cool, consisting of one long wood beam suspended from the ceiling with little spotlights drilled in down the length. Black Market isn’t big, just a couple of long communal tables down the middle and a few other small tables scattered around. I’d say it was slightly more than half full during our visit. Not really surprising, considering that it’s only been open a few weeks and hasn’t had any sort of big splashy kickoff. I expect crowds will be picking up steadily as word gets out.

The imaginative menu is cleanly presented on a clipboard, detailing small plates, entrees, a handful of sides and a couple desserts. There’s also a well-chosen beer and wine list, but having just come from Tomlinson Tap for a couple of pints, I stuck to water. Our service throughout the meal was impeccable and unpretentious, and the pacing perfect.

On to the food… lots of things sounded good on paper. The housemade pickle plate appetizer and the Fischer Farms beef tongue cocktail with beets, cottage cheese and horseradish both came highly recommended, but we veered off course to sample some other stuff.

Hubby used to live in Wales years ago, so he immediately perked up to see Welsh rarebit among the small plate offerings. Welsh rarebit sounds fancy, but basically it’s an open-faced grilled cheese. This is a good rustic one, with tangy aged cheddar atop a manly slice of toasted barley bread. Did I detect a hint of béchamel beneath the blanket of melty cheese? There was also a sneaky flash of something blink-and-you’ll-miss-it spicy. We devoured this starter with knives and forks and looked forward to more.

Welsh rarebit

For an entrée, we’d decided to share the pork schnitzel with a side of fries. Now, we’ve spent some time in Germany and are well versed in authentic schnitzels that are so big, they arrive hanging off the plate. This is an updated, yet fairly traditional version. The serving size is smaller (although still plenty large) and the breading is lighter, unlike the classic Hoosier tenderloin where half the attraction is pulling off crunchy fried bits of batter to nibble on their own merits. The pork itself was extremely tender and had great flavor; I’m assuming it was locally sourced. We squeezed the slice of lemon over the top and had at it.

schnitzel and slaw

The slaw that accompanied the schnitzel was a great fresh counterpoint – lacy fronds of red and green cabbage with paper thin green apple slices, all in a light tangy dressing. Yum.

The pomme frites-style fries were good too, thin, hot and crisp. No ketchup here, they’re served with a tart lemony housemade mayo spiked with herbs, almost like a really good fresh tartar sauce.

Fearing we would still be hungry (this was ridiculous, as it turned out), we also put in an order for the Gunthorp Farms-sourced pork belly appetizer, advertised on the menu with a sweet and sour glaze and three-bean salad. Our server let us know that they had changed up the preparation for the evening, instead offering the pork belly as a hash with root veggies, duck cracklings and a fried egg. Still sounded totally ok by me.

pork belly hash

In retrospect, we probably should have nixed the pork belly and ordered a dessert to share instead. The hash was good, but the pork was used more as a flavoring ingredient and didn’t really stand out like I’d hope it would. The egg was nicely cooked with a rich, runny yolk (hubby prefers his eggs hard scrambled and stayed away from that side of the plate after I’d cut into it). Between the pork, the duck and the sautéed veg, the whole dish was the tiniest bit greasy and just way too heavy after we’d already eaten cheese bread, schnitzel and fries. I’m not sure what we were thinking. There was also some broccoli fried into the hash, and after a bite of it, that was all I could taste. I was glad we’d eaten this dish last. (Couldn’t help but think this would be awesome hangover food.)

Alas, we were too full for dessert. Boo. The campfire shortbread with chocolate ganache and bourbon marshmallow sounded like a sexy X-rated  s’more.

All in all, our dinner at Black Market was a good experience. The small crowd seemed to be having a jolly time — it gets a little loud in the narrow dining room — and the other plates we spied coming out of the kitchen looked and smelled delicious. Especially the burger and the lamb sausage Scotch egg. Great googly moogly. The menu also gives shout-outs to lots of local suppliers, which I always like to see. It’s reassuring to know exactly where your dinner is coming from (see previous Slow Food post).

We did think the food was on the heavy side, though, especially considering the season. There are a couple of salads on the menu, so it was probably our own fault for making the selections we did. I’d like to revisit in cold weather; I can already picture myself wearing a sweater and being very happy with these meaty meals, a glass of red wine and snow falling gently outside.

Black Market scores. Go now if you want to catch a rising star.

For more information:


Black Market on Urbanspoon