Hallsworth - Junk food Japan: addictive food from Kurobuta

TO MY WONDERFUL CHILDREN AND PART-TIME SOUS CHEFS; JACK, LILY AND WILLIAM

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

Junk Food Japan, what does it mean? It started out as a menu category for dishes like tuna sashimi pizza and Wagyu sliders, but, slowly, it became a way to describe what Kurobuta, my restaurants, are all about.

We dont get involved with street food or any of those other trendy genres, and we arent trying to start our own trendy genre either. For me, Junk Food Japan is all about setting the tone for a no-nonsense, almost playful way of creating dishes and even restaurants. I wanted Kurobuta to be a kind of joint you rock up to for an overall great experience: not to sit in silence and study the food; not to take the piss out of one of my staff who made a mistake; not to criticise the dcor because we have a different taste in interior design; and certainly not for you to tell me you hate my music. You are coming into my place, and this is how I do it.

So, how did Kurobuta materialise, and why? First Ill tell you a bit more about me and my journey, right up to the point of this wild ride that is Kurobuta a ride that doesnt look like slowing down anytime soon!

I was born in Collie, Western Australia, in the mid 1970s. Collie is a fairly small coal mining town and although its where I first picked up a knife and started learning to prep, its never been known for its culinary scene its oceans away from London, where I live now. As an early teenager I thought I knew what I was going to be doing with my life as an adult either Id continue to race track and cross country running (Id started to run at national level), or Id be like my brothers were back then and tour the country in a rock band. (I desperately wished for the latter!) I started a shitty little high school band, playing a mix of Ramones covers and songs that I wrote. Were they any good? Fuck no! Getting a gig and actually being able to pull it off wasnt one of our strong points. Playing way too fast and always having one of us not show up was more our thing. We were doomed.

Luckily my mum intervened with the intention of getting me a job and not having me pissing about playing the same four chords on a guitar all day long. She sent me to work at our family friends (Eileen and Bill Thomas) hotel/motel. For its time it really was a rocking place called The Club Hotel. It included a bistro, a saloon bar, a gig room, motel rooms, a drive-through bottle shop (an off-licence to you Brits) and, on top of that, a very special place in all of our hearts, a Chinese restaurant called The Ace of Spades.

Id ride my bike down there every Saturday morning, and chop massive tubs of onions and peppers for the local legend that was Ronnie Wai, the Chinese chef. Anyone who still remembers the days of The Ace of Spades will still tell you that it had, hands down, the best Chinese food they have ever eaten. Ronnie was a larger than life character wok in one hand, cigarette in the other and the local darts champ too, I think.

I hadnt been with The Ace of Spades long before I landed a summer job at a hotel in the nearby town of Bunbury, about a 45-minute drive away. Probably the sweatiest job of my career, it was peak summer and I was washing what seemed like endless pots and pans, and sometimes operating a massive conveyor-type dishwasher. It was hell. I remember knocking off and stepping out into the cool air and feeling like Id done a satisfyingly good nights work. This was probably one of the first moments when I knew this was where my life was headed; it was hard and fast, even a bit rock n roll and it felt awesome!

After a full summer of being a dish pig (as we were affectionately referred to by the chef) I was offered an apprenticeship as a chef. This was a bit of a Holy Fuck moment, as to do this Id have to leave home, and my family, for at least five days a week, and Id have to give up the next level of high school. I could live with the quitting high school part, but one thing I did realise Id be giving up was my, at the time, passion running. I couldnt manage the long kitchen hours and train like Id been used to, and so, sadly, running fell by the wayside.

So, I got signed up as an apprentice chef; I had the full chef whites, including a neckerchief, and I bought my first proper knife, which cost me my first weeks pay; I think I still have it somewhere.

My first chef was a Frenchman, a mad one as well. I remember the entire team, aside from us apprentices, were European it was some serious shit. I cant imagine it being as strict and focused there these days; the cost of putting that team together would kill it for starters. My first section was to prep the cold buffet every morning from 7am. The chef was always in early which meant the pressure was always on, so when he disappeared to play tennis with the matre d from the fine dining outlet on certain afternoons we could breathe easy for an hour! Or so I thought.

One day he came racing in, in his full tennis gear, came right up to me and said Monsieur, I heard you got a tennis racquet for Christmas. I nervously replied with Ahhhh, yes chef?! Right, well get on your bike, ride home and get it. Norbert is sick today, so youre playing me now. FUCK! I didnt know my ass from my elbow when it came to tennis, but I tried to hit the ball, missed a load of times and the chef then threw a John McEnroe and ended up walking off the court. Pure madness, but one of my favourite memories from my five years at the hotel.

So, life as an apprentice became pretty sweet. Id moved into a flat with a couple of guys from the hotel which I was kicked out of about six months later. Pool parties and drum practice arent just frowned upon; the fellow residents fucking hated it. At this stage my mum was freaking out, I was still only 16 years old. I moved in with a fellow apprentice known as Mung Bean; my mum thought he was such a nice sensible young man good job, Bean! Little did she know he was as nuts as the rest of us! He did, however, begin to instill a certain level of professionalism in me. Yeah, ok, he was the sensible one.

It was guys like Munga (aka Dave Allen), Mike Brown (aka Brownie, Brown Francis or Morton) and Dave the Lang Monster Lang, who were not only a few years older than me but were also highly competitive and dedicated professionals of the industry, who had a positive influence. They encouraged me to enter apprentice chef cooking contests, which I won a few medals at even at national level. These guys were proud of our profession and I loved the way they worked hard and played hard. So, on a good day I was winning cooking contests; on an even better day I was stealing rowing boats with Lang (Dave, the coastguard didnt get your message, that boat is still drifting, dude!).

Eventually I got itchy feet and moved to the (bigger) city of Perth, and that was cool; food was hip and things were OK, but it didnt cut it for me. I hooked up with Morton, whod just returned from a season in Chamonix and we drove around Australia in his legendary Subaru. It was 1997 and that (sadly) was the last time I would live in my home state. I hopped off the road trip in North Queensland and landed a job on the amazing Hayman Island. What an experience this was I started to learn about a proper Asian kitchen; how to work the woks, make various dumplings, make sauces and dressings that Id never heard of, and attempt to make sushi in hindsight the sushi was a total joke.

I had to more or less teach myself I bought a book and got to it. Id love to see photos of what I came up with; I imagine it looked pretty, down to my roulade making,