Matt Rodbard’s Grub Street Diet

Unsurprisingly, TASTE editor-in-chief Matt Rodbard has a wide palate — he’s also the co-host of the podcast This Is TASTE and the writer behind the Substack Food Time, where he “lets it rip” on topics like whether or not shrimp is overrated or how to tackle fridge chaos. Last month took him to the Basque Country, where he toured a fish tinnery and ate his fill of hand-packed anchovies. But for all the turbot cooked tableside and cider poured straight from the barrel, Rodbard is just as evangelical about the place he actually lives: the “not cool” part of the lower Hudson Valley, where he relocated from Brooklyn five years ago with his wife. His diet spans multiple countries (the Air France lounge’s viennoiserie counts), multiple vessels of heavy-duty caffeine, and a Sunday dinner cooked, a bit nervously, for a fellow chef.

Wednesday, April 29
I’m in Bilbao, Spain, and the hotel room I’m waking up in mercifully has a hot-water kettle that I immediately fill and flip on. Thank the fucking lord. I’m religious about my hotel coffee setup. I always bring this collapsible silicone coffee dripper, a dozen V60 coffee filters, and a 250-gram bag of pre-ground coffee, in this case my favorite coffee company, Yes Plz. I’m drinking No. 386 of its rotating weekly blend — this one featuring coffees from Honduras, Guatemala, and Rwanda. I prepare a pour-over and eat a couple of bars: a GoMacro Smooth Sanctuary and an apple-and-mango fruit bar. This is a critical baseline for starting my day when traveling, especially when working intensely on cookbook projects. I want to walk out of my hotel room feeling alert, though not jittery. We’ve all left hotel rooms raw (uncaffeinated), searching for the lobby Starbucks or local shop, sometimes while operating a rental car. Things can get ugly.

I have a couple of hours before our lobby call time and hit the streets. I’m traveling with a fun group, including three category buyers from Whole Foods Market; my friend Becca Millstein, the co-founder of Fishwife; and our amazing podcast producer, Clayton Gumbert. We’re working on two episodes of This Is TASTE, and during the previous days, we’d been recording the peak of anchovy season in nearby Santoña. Bilbao is a quick stop on the way to San Sebastián, and I’m on the hunt for a real breakfast. I stop by Pasteleria Arrese, a bakery that opened in 1852, and pick up a palmera de chocolate for later. It’s like an elephant ear made from laminated dough. A flat pain au chocolat, if you will. I’m intrigued. I stop by Café Iruña, a place I’d visited the night before on a pintxos crawl. I want to see the morning menu, and it doesn’t disappoint. I have a really nice tortilla (just gooey enough), serrano ham on bread, and a café con leche. While waiting to board our coach, I share the palmera with Clayton, and it’s GOOD. The chocolate is really bitter, and I’m thinking about how flat croissants are the future.

We swing by the Guggenheim for a couple of photos. I really regret not having time to visit inside. It’s one of the world’s great architectural feats, and it’s stunning to see it in this very industrial town. I can’t imagine what it was like when they were building it in the middle of Bilbao — to have this thing just pop up in this kind of Pittsburgh-like city of northern Spain must have been a remarkable moment. We head toward San Sebastián to meet up with some nice people working at Conservas Ortiz. This isn’t spon-con: I’ve been buying Ortiz tuna and anchovies for a long time and am excited to see its production process — and, of course, taste all the anchovies. Export manager Jon Zearreta is leading the tour and takes us to lunch (well, lunches, as you do in San Seb). Our first stop is Bar Tamboril in the old city. I try boquerones en vinagre, fried anchovies in a light egg batter, and Russian salad, which is basically potatoes and really good olive-oil-packed tuna dressed in a crazy amount of mayo and bonito flakes. I stopped drinking alcohol a decade ago and am deep in nonalcoholic-beer explorations. I try an Estrella Galicia 0.0 that’s nice and crisp. I also love European mineral water, and Spain is one of the world’s great producers. We have bottles of Solán de Cabras, and I drink many glasses.

We walk a few blocks over to pintxos bar Ganbara, where a couple of tables have been reserved for our group. This place got big in the past couple of years, and locals and tourists (maybe a few more tourists) are lining up. I try a special Ortiz gilda — a spear of olive, guindilla pepper, and salty anchovy. They bring out plates of lightly sautéed mushrooms with a raw egg yolk in the center. Spring is giving mushrooms, and these are perfection — well seasoned and quite meaty. We close with bowls of strawberry compote and what I can only call delightfully sour-milk ice cream. It melts into the strawberries.

We check into our hotel for a short rest. Jon has invited our group to a dinner Ortiz is hosting at his txoko, or sociedad gastronómica. San Sebastián, like New York, is a city of small apartments with limited space for entertaining. The txoko custom arrived as a way for friends to gather and cook together in a space equipped with an industrial kitchen and everything you need to host a party — full bar and espresso machine included. Jon explains that he meets monthly with friends going back to grade school, and that the club is run by volunteers who collect a small yearly fee. We arrive, and some of our party helps prep for dinner. I sneak out with Jon, who is on a secret mission to acquire a cheesecake from La Viña, a few blocks away. Basque cheesecake is massive around the world, and La Viña is unquestionably where the pastry was “invented.” It’s low season, so we find a spot at the bar and order a couple of slices — and more to go for the dinner party. For me, Basque cheesecake is more about the aesthetics than anything else. It’s certainly a scroll-stopping food to drop into the feed, but to me, it’s pretty … bland and one-note, even tasting it at the origin. (Sorry, Jon.)

We return to the txoko with our slices of cheesecake, and the lead chef is making a sauce with clams, white asparagus, white wine, and these tiny green peas purchased at the market. He sets that aside and starts to lightly cook turbot cheeks in olive oil. He drops the heat and starts to vigorously shake the pan, creating an emulsification that resembles a pale-yellow mayonnaise. It’s pil pil, one of the great Basque cooking traditions, and I taste the lightly cooked fish and rich olive-oil sauce and am blown away. The spread is impressive. Fresh prawns cooked shell-out lightly under the salamander, gildas, plates of jamón and sliced tomatoes with olive-oil-packed tuna, more mushrooms lightly cooked with a hint of sherry vinegar. I try it all and participate in the side-by-side cheesecake tasting between La Viña and a rival bakery, Bassk. Strawberry compote arrives to pair with it, and I finally see the Basque cheesecake light. Always include acid.

Thursday, April 30
I pour some Yes Plz coffee and eat a Cherries + Berries GoMacro. We’re heading to a processing factory today and board a bus, winding up to the coastal town of Ondárroa. Before the tour, we stop in a café and I crush a café con leche. We zip up our phones at the factory but are allowed to record audio for the podcast. We walk the floor to see the various stages of tuna production, from the butchering and boiling to the cleaning and hand-packing. It’s an incredible sight to see these tins given such care — all the way down to the chunks of tuna being placed, by hand, into the jars and tins. We move to the anchovy side of the floor, and the details are even more remarkable. The cleaning and filleting alone takes minutes per fish, and I’m told that each worker packs only 200 tins a day. I’m honored to observe this craftsmanship firsthand.

It’s past 12 p.m. when we leave, and we head to an old sailor’s club in town to clean our own anchovies. We try five different tins, some cured quickly (boquerones), others that snap your head back with saltiness. At 2:30 p.m. we sit down for lunch at a great local restaurant, Erretegi Joxe Manuel, where we’re welcomed by massive grills at the entrance. Those dudes are cooking. Three large turbots arrive and are filleted tableside. Turbot is one of the world’s great foods — meaty and rich while clean and flexible with many styles of sauces. (Though in the Basque region, it’s served grilled with only olive oil and salt.) There are plates of tomato, oil-packed tuna, raw onion, and olive oil, as well as grilled sardines. I drink many glasses of Vichy Catalan and Mondariz mineral water. We’re recording our last interview of the trip, and I skip dessert, which is a family-style plate of flan and ice creams.

We head back to San Sebastián, and I immediately hit the streets. It’s our last day in Spain, and I haven’t visited a Zara yet (or, as Jon calls it, the “not bad Zara,” referring to the underwhelming shops in the U.S.). I buy something for my wife, Tamar, and stop by an old-school bakery, Aguirre Gozotegia, for another palmera de chocolate. It’s late in the day and a little stale and dry — and the chocolate isn’t as bitter.

This is my first trip to the Basque region. I’ve traveled a lot throughout Spain, but never the north. What strikes me most is the simplicity and purity of the cuisine. I had jamón only once, and very little cheese. It’s a very different food way than the south — it’s not Catalonian, it’s not tapas. The seafood is just so incredible. The lack of acidity and spice is really noteworthy; sweet paprika is their spice. It may read subtle, but there’s this salty, briny thing they do really well. They don’t do heat and acidity as much, but it’s still such an incredible approach to food.

Our final meal in Spain is extremely cool. Jon has been telling us about the region’s cider traditions. The communal cider houses open in January and run through the spring — a tradition that links the area farms with the community. Basque cider is low-alcohol and sour in a refreshing way. We have a reservation at Sidreria Zapiain for the season’s closing party, and we arrive to a real party. As we enter, I spot large hunks of dairy-cow beef sitting next to a ripping grill. We’re led to the barrel room, where the party is. Cider is flowing, literally, from the barrels, and guests are asked to place their cups directly into the stream. Quite a scene. Admission gets us unlimited cider (I’m drinking a great local water, Alzola) and a prix fixe menu. We have tortilla, blood sausage, salted cod with olive oil and peppers, and perfectly cooked cuts of that older beef, which is tougher in texture and incredibly rich in iron flavor. Heaven. We close with baskets of whole walnuts to crack and a cheese plate with various hard cheeses, some quince jam, and mini-breadsticks. We say good-bye after midnight.

Friday, May 1
I head back to the hotel, catch up on a lot of work that has piled up, pack, and catch our taxi to Bilbao at 3 a.m. Our flight leaves for Paris at 7:45 a.m., and I’m sitting in the Air France lounge in Paris at 9:45 a.m. and I haven’t eaten a thing. Air France does lounges just okay, but they’re of course solid with their viennoiserie. I have a decent pain au chocolat, some scrambled eggs (which I abort mission on), a cup of children’s strawberry yogurt (French yogurt is the best), and four cans of Perrier, which is the true luxury of flying Air France. I snag a couple of rounds of Isigny Sainte-Mère butter for future use. I buy a couple of bags of Haribo sour langue (tongues) and world mix. Albanese is my gummy brand while on U.S. soil — I grew up not far from the factory in northern Indiana — but I can’t resist Haribo while in France. I also buy two bags of Maltesers, the best malt balls on the planet.

I work the entire flight and skip the lunch service, sipping on fountain water. I have a GoMacro Celestial Delight, and an hour before landing they offer a snack — I skip the soggy sandwich but pound the Michel & Augustin pineapple, banana, and passion-fruit yogurt shooter. When I fly international, I typically eat the dinner before bed and skip the lunch on the way back. I personally enjoy seeing the way the different airlines compose a meal — building the rice + protein + sauce variations around interesting CPG products. To hate on all airline food lacks imagination.

I’m home by 5 p.m. I’ve lived in the lower Hudson Valley full-time for five years and find myself cooking more than dining out. We live in what I’d describe as the “not cool” part of the HV. We don’t have luxury hotels, Brooklyn chef transplants, or Aesop storefronts. We have Stop & Shop and pizza shops. It’s a beautiful part of the country, close to the city, where I work three days a week, and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.
Having not slept for 36 hours, I’m kind of fucked up and pretty hungry.

Tamar has eaten already, so I make myself a solo dinner. I love Hungryroot and have been a paid subscriber for six or seven years. The weekly box is always giving me inspiration to riff or, honestly, to simply reheat something premade. I sauté a couple of pieces of trout and chop/drop some baby broccoli into a hot wok with garlic and Fly by Jing chile crisp. The Hungryroot box included a bag of Actual Veggies tots, and I heat those up with a side of Zab’s hot sauce for dipping. I drink a great NA beer, a Safety Glasses IPA from Industrial Arts. I love dried mango, and we have a big bag from Mariani that I dip into for dessert.

Saturday, May 2
I sleep a solid eight hours and wake up ready for coffee. At home, I hand-brew using a Chemex and make Tamar and me a single-origin Guatemalan coffee from Camber. I drink mine black. I’ve subscribed on and off to this great Bellingham, Washington, roaster for years and am always excited by what they send me. I eat a Vanilla Ratio 25g and head to the gym. On the drive over, I chug a Sparkling Cherry Cola Celsius. I’m pretty new to the pre-workout Celsius game, but it works for me. It’s truly a pre-workout thing, not culinary — though the soda tastes fine. It’s a lot of caffeine, but I only drink one cup of coffee a day and cut off after the morning.

After the workout — running, lifting, stretching, catching up on How Long Gone — I head to a local Korean-owned market and shop for japchae ingredients. We’re heading to a potluck later, and I want to make a big batch. I’ve written two Korean cookbooks with my friend, San Francisco chef Deuki Hong, and japchae, from our first book, Koreatown, continues to be my staple to bring for picnics and barbecues. I can basically make it without reading the recipe now, and I make two large containers, tasting along the way.

I live a short drive from Kingston and head to a Cookbook Social hosted by the Upstate Table. It’s a really fun afternoon of panels and hanging out, and I run into a lot of friends and former podcast guests — many who, like me, are living locally. During the panels, I drink a couple of bottles of Saratoga sparkling and have a few super-salty chocolate-chip cookies. Polina Chesnakova made Ideal Cake, which is like an Eastern European honey cake meets candy bar. Lovely. Kingston, honestly, is the most exciting city in New York State for food, excluding New York City — and it doesn’t really get that much press. Rosie General is amazing; go for all-day sandwiches and baked bread. Anthony was at Lupa for almost a decade and a half, and he’s not doing press, just doing his thing.

I drive home, and Tamar and I (and the trays of japchae) head to a potluck to celebrate Lag BaOmer, organized by a Hudson Valley Jewish community group. My Judaism is important, and this gathering of old and new friends fills my heart with community. I’m pretty hungry and fill my plate with Buffalo tofu, sesame noodles (a rival Asian noodle dish is in the mix), potato bourekas, japchae, and a Nathan’s grilled hot dog with ketchup and mustard. I drink a couple of La Croix and honestly don’t look at the flavor. We close the night with a Havdalah service around a campfire. I didn’t attend Jewish summer camp, but this is that vibe in the best way. I get home and eat some dried mango.

Sunday, May 3
The days away from home are catching up to me, and I try to have a little chill time. I start with a pour-over, this time with a great coffee from Denver’s Queen City Collective Coffee. It’s from the Colombian producer Victor Bermúdez, and I picked it up while visiting with the roaster Scott Byington during a recent shoot. I have a Vanilla Ratio 25g and head to the gym, drinking a Sparkling Cherry Cola Celsius on the way. The run portion of the workout kicks my ass, but I push through.

After the workout, I drive to Goshen, New York, and stop by Café Margot for a cold matcha and one of their legendary chocolate-chip cookies. I’ve been going to this café since I moved, and it’s one of my favorite places for a quick lunch after the terrific Friday Goshen farmers’ market. I’ve been thinking of writing about the amazing Mexican restaurants and markets in the lower Hudson Valley, and I stop by Angelita’s for a plate of chorizo and carne asada tacos. I have to get back for their pozole, a weekend special. I have a couple of local friends whose family is from Oaxaca, and we’ve been wanting to do a crawl — Newburgh, Suffern, Kingston, Monroe, Chester. There are a lot of really interesting Mexican restaurants out there that are essentially anonymous to New York–based food media. I lived in Brooklyn for 20 years and thought the Hudson Valley was literally just Beacon — the art museum and a couple of restaurants. I was once the dumb journalist doing parachute journalism, I’ll own that. But there’s so much cool local stuff up here that gets no press.

I invite our friends Dan and Ciarán over for dinner. Ciarán McGoldrick is an amazing young chef living near us and is in the process of opening a new restaurant in Middletown, Andiamo. I cook for my chef friends from time to time, and it’s never not a nervy experience. This is a last-minute thing, and I cook with what we have. I put out some anchovies and tuna brought back from Spain. I braise a bag of kale, slow, with garlic, olive oil, onions, and some good rosé vinegar from Noma Projects. Tamar picked up some supermarket tomatoes, and I slice them dressed with sliced onions, olive-oil-packed tuna from Ortiz, and good olive oil. This is the dish I kept seeing in Spain, and my version isn’t so bad. The main course is creste di gallo from the box and Carbone jarred arrabbiata with some Spicewalla Italian Seasoning shaken in. Dessert is vanilla and pistachio Häagen-Dazs. The best combo.

Monday, May 4
I wake up at six and make a pour-over. Back to Yes Plz. I see a family of foxes in the yard, and it makes me smile. I get to our office in midtown for a full day of recording for This Is TASTE, including talks with chef Jess Shadbolt of King and Dean’s, and the team behind Solid Wiggles, an extremely cool “solid cocktail” company, who are putting out an amazing cookbook this summer. Before the interviews, I walk over to hang at Michael’s for breakfast with Naama Shefi, the founder of the Jewish Food Society and a good friend. We talk about their summer festival, the Great Nosh, and a conversation I’ll be doing there. I’ve bonded with the Michael of Michael’s, Michael McCarty, during a couple of memorable podcast conversations and over drinks at his Santa Monica restaurant. The guy’s story needs the documentary treatment, which I put out into the world on my Substack. He’s regretfully back in California, so I miss a chance to catch up. Breakfast at Michael’s is a treat, and I like to visit as much as I can, as it’s close to our office. I have my standard order — yogurt and fresh fruit. Michael’s in the morning is about calm and friendly service, not necessarily the food.

I head back to the office and jump right into podcast recordings. I sneak in a peanut-butter and marmalade sandwich I’d packed. The marmalade was made by Troy at the new East Village cookbook store Wild Sorrel Cookbooks. The shop is such a gem. I catch up on work, and Clayton and I head down to Rizzoli Bookstore, where I have a great conversation onstage with cookbook author David Lebovitz, who is releasing his latest book, a revised edition of The Great Book of Chocolate. David and I talk in the greenroom about his NYC bagel adventures and drink bottles of Saratoga provided by the bookstore.

My good friend Nadia Cho is at the talk, and we head over to Atoboy for dinner and to talk about a new project she’s working on. Nadia, a cookbook author and entrepreneur, is truly the single person who got me into writing about Korean food, and we’ve traveled in Korea together five or six times. I’m so grateful to Nadia and Deuki for teaching me so much. I remember going to Atoboy the first week it opened in 2016, before the world knew the names JP and Ellia Park. It was originally conceived as a “banchan restaurant,” which translates to mostly small plates and, of course, kimchee and namul. A seriously pioneering move to format a Korean restaurant that way in NYC.

What a decade for the Parks, personally, and for Korean food as a whole. Today, Atoboy is totally different, and it had been a couple of years since I visited. I like it enough, though I miss the more overt Korean cooking found in previous menu iterations. The fried octopus with romesco, ibérico ham, and a kimchee-dusted potato chip is giving so much Spain (coincidentally). I have a slow-cooked sweet potato with a fontina cream on top that isn’t so good. I like the breaded and fried asparagus with a tiny bed of japchae. Grilled pork with sunchoke chips is vaguely Korean, in terms of the marinade, and kind of one-note. Wagyu is slow-cooked in chunjang, the Chinese black-bean sauce most famous as the base of jajangmyeon. It comes with a wedge of grilled baby gem lettuce, which is everywhere these days.

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