Chefs David Baruthio and Jason Simon show our writer how to make their signature dishes.
As a food editor, I read a lot of recipes in my line of work. To me, they are sometimes awkward things; they reduce a cook’s art to method, passion to instruction, instinct to measurement. Sure, they’re necessary for the majority of us — how else would we know how to cook? But every night in restaurants around the city, art, passion, instinct, plus timing and skill are ever present. The result is why we love to dine out.
To find out more about that process — and to bring home the bacon for you — I’m cooking with two of Des Moines’ hottest and coolest chefs, David Baruthio of Baru 66 and Jason Simon at Alba, and they’re each teaching me a signature dish.
Two guys could not be more different in style. David (DAH-veed, if you please) is a tidy, compact man, reserved in movement. Jason, he’s rangy; he paints in broad strokes; he’ll remind you of your best friend’s cool older brother. Yet each brings precision and deftness to their kitchens that result in masterly cooking.
I spent a morning with David learning to prepare potato-bacon soup with salmon and poached egg. To most people, I qualify as an experienced cook but, still, I can’t imagine managing everything we did 10 times over night after night, and with 12-plus other items on the menu.
Born in Colmar, France, and educated in Strasbourg, David has cooked all over the world, including stints in France, Switzerland, Nepal and England. Consulting with Steve Logsdon on the opening of Lucca in 2006 brought David to Des Moines, where he met his future wife, Sara Hill. David’s work has taken the couple to Raffles L’Ermitage, a five-diamond restaurant in Beverly Hills, and most recently, the Terelj Hotel in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, that country’s only five-star hotel.
Des Moines, however, has that mysterious siren’s call that draws people to return. When the space at 66th Street and University Avenue in Windsor Heights became available, David and Sara jumped at the opportunity to come back and open a restaurant smaller in scale and more personal in touch.
David’s French-influenced style is right at home here. He effortlessly combines his classical training, the country French cooking with which he grew up and the farm-fresh ingredients of the heartland. The potato-bacon soup reflects that fine line between haute cuisine and its more humble country cousin. “We don’t strain this soup,” David says. “We want a proper potage.”
The soup is rich and slightly thick; smoked bacon adds salty depth. The salmon has been basted continually with butter as it cooks, and the poached egg, with a slightly runny yolk, gives the whole concoction a velvety mouth feel.
We walk through the method step by step, simultaneously preparing each part so that it comes together as a whole. Among my duties are cubing potatoes, chopping garlic — “That’s not fine enough,” David chastises me with good humor — sautéing escargot and cooking salmon in a combination of butter and olive oil.
“The olive oil adds flavor and keeps the butter from burning,” he tells me. The combination gives the escargot an elegant finish and helps keep the fish moist.
Halfway through cooking, we stop for an aperitif. “Sara and I always cook and drink champagne,” David says. “That’s our arte de vivre.” Lesson learned.
The potato and leek soup base bubbles on the back burner.
Silky escargot is tossed in garlic butter.
The salmon is turned flesh-side down partway through cooking.
A poached egg, with a slightly runny yolk, tops the soup’s salmon.
At 7 a.m. the next Tuesday, I’m at Alba to cook with Jason Simon. This is not my best time of day, but I am on assignment. Jason and I are going to prepare Guinness-braised short ribs with mustard spaetzle. This hearty fare hits some high notes of current food trends, particularly Austrian-influenced dishes and cooking with beer.
It also requires long, slow cooking, hence our early start. Instead of champagne, I’m desperate for coffee, and Jason gladly obliges. He’s an easy guy to hang with, and he chats while he preps the short ribs for their long hot bath in red wine and Guinness stout.
A native of Parkersburg, Iowa, Jason studied at the Western Culinary Institute’s Le Cordon Bleu program in Portland, Ore. He was working in New Orleans when Katrina hit and returned home. He started construction on Alba in 2007; the restaurant opened in February 2008.
We brown the ribs in batches in Jason’s “80/20” cooking oil, a combination of soybean oil and vegetable oil, which he uses for its high smoke point and ability to sear at high heat without burning. Then he instructs me to place the ribs in the pot meat side down, so it is always in contact with the flavoring agents.
We move through our tasks at an easy pace — so much better for the early morning — deglazing the pan with port and red wine and adding it to the meat, pouring over the beer and getting the ribs into the oven, where they will cook at a low temperature for 3 1/2 hours. We start to prepare the spaetzle — a tiny Austrian noodle — and I’m truly amazed at how simple it is — the main tool is a food processor.
In fact, there’s not a lot of fuss in this kitchen, nor is there a lot of specialty equipment, just basic knives and sauté pans in varying sizes. It’s open to the restaurant, the heat is intense, the work is fast, but watching Jason move in his laid-back way makes everything appear easy.
This casual attitude is reflected in the restaurant, with its ceiling hung with worn wood-panel doors in muted colors, and a menu that happily jumps from Asian ingredients to Italian and French cheeses.
Spaetzle made and stored in the fridge, Jason chops tomatoes and seasons them with salt and pepper. The salt will draw moisture from the fruit and create “tomato water” to be used in dressings, in risotto or to moisten fish. We’re finished for the time being — at least I am.
I’m back at the restaurant at 1 p.m., and while I’ve had a catnap, Jason has been prepping for lunch and dinner. We pull the ribs from the oven and let them rest before pulling the meat from the bone, a simple act since the ribs are super-fork tender.
When we plate the finished dish, the result is worth the early hour. The ribs are deeply flavored with chocolate and hops from the stout. The fruit backbone from the wine and port play with the heat from the chile de arbol. I can’t wait to make this at home, although I’ll begin a little later in the day.
A few days later, I contact Jason to arrange for his photo to be taken. When I ask him if he wants to wear his chef whites or the black shirt with the Alba logo worn by the kitchen staff, he laughs. “There are no whites in this kitchen,” he says. I should have known.
