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Posted on July 6, 2017July 6, 2017 by Staff Writer

The Exuberant Mind of Baba Sushi’s Wilson Wang

Wilson Wang, owner of restaurants in Worcester and Strubridge. Including Baba Sushi

Exuberant (iɡˈzo͞ob(ə)rənt) adj: filled with or characterized by a lively energy and excitement. Synonyms: animated, ebullient, enthusiastic, cheerful, high-spirited, irrepressible, full of life, Wilson Wang.

Get Wilson Wang, owner of Baba Sushi (Worcester and Sturbridge) and hot-pot restaurant Chuan Shabu, talking – about anything but especially about food while food is on the table – and his exuberance is as deep as it is wide-ranging. No one I have met loves food and serving it more.

The popular Oyster Shooter from Baba Sushi in Worcester, MA.

Fish? As everything from Wilson’s acclaimed oyster shooter to his tartaki trio of maguro (tuna), shiro maguro (white tuna), and sake (salmon) to an abundance of nigiri and rolls fill the table, he explains that he buys the best fish from seven different suppliers, discusses the differences between the types of fish available here, in China, and throughout Asia, and bemoans that he can’t sell his customers on jellyfish.

How he promised his wife “no more restaurants”? He chuckles: Did anyone think he would stop? He’s got at least two more in the works – one of which will fill a culinary void in Worcester. (More news soon!)

Children? He scrolls photos his daughter eating her way around Kyoto and the streets and restaurants of Japan – ramen, giant scallop, uni, curry, tofu skin – and laughs as he recalls teaching elementary school students how to make maki.

Japanese sushi masters? He reveres them, especially the legendary Jiro Ono, Japan’s three-Michelin-starred chef.

Knife skills? He pauses to demonstrate the way he was taught to hold a knife with his forefinger across the handle and up towards the blade to reduce the stress on his arm.

Food tricks? He recalls how a mentor of his cooked a Peking Duck in one day using a technique that pumps air inside the carcass so the skin and muscle separate and then pivots to explain how smoking salmon with a coffee bean, lemon, and tea leaves can give you seven days of smoky depth in just 20 minutes.

Sake? He pours it freely at the table – every time clinking his glass below yours in a show of respect before you drink until you really really shouldn’t think about even walking home. (Word of warning: Wilson once put away 3 PITCHERS – 300 shots – of sake his customers bought him in one evening while he was working the sushi bar. What’s the Asian expression for drinking like you have wooden leg while wielding an impossibly sharp knife?)

Wilson and Tyler at Baba Sushi in Worcester, MA

American eating habits? He delights with a breakdown of the differences between American and Asian cooking and eating habits and gives a precise breakdown of what he has learned since he came to this country in 1995 and opened his first Baba in 2007.

That last one consumes a lot of Wilson’s thoughts – and rightly so. Even today, Worcester is not known for its Asian cuisine. But opening a sushi restaurant in 2007 on Park Avenue between Rocco the Tailor store and what was then a run down convenience store? “The first months we were kind of quiet and then we won the Best Chef Competition.” Wilson recalls.

Wilson had the pedigree but was it ready for him to unleash what he learned working under Ting Yen at Oishii in Chestnut Hill and his training in China at the Zibo Chef School and Shandong University before he came to America in 1995? A Chinese guy serving Japanese food to a panel of all-American Worcester judges against 52 local chefs? Wilson didn’t play it safe. He served that shooter: raw oyster and quail egg floating in a shot of lemon juice, Japanese liquor, and Tabasco, and topped with black caviar. It’s fresh and alive and feels like Worcester today, not 2007. Sure he had been working in Worcester for a couple of years and knew his audience but still risky for sure.

“It was scary for me,” Wilson says. “All the good restaurants and chefs. All American judges from here. Will they like it? What do they understand? What have they seen before? Always the first bite for people is the challenge.”

That win in 2007 was followed others and countless accolades (both for himself and the restaurants) but the challenges continued.

“I was at Oishii for three years and then all over New England and New York,” Wilson recalls. “I learned different kinds of food and American culture. Sushi men from Japan know Japanese sushi culture. They don’t know the way of doing things here for American palates. Like a sushi roll is always seaweed outside not rice outside. In America, rice is always outside. Why? Rice on the outside is more material, more fish. Americans need more. Most of my sales are western style. You have to put a little bit of fried. I want people to get and try more things. But you have to throw to a bit of American culture.”

Not that all people order is shrimp tempura, but the most popular rolls have a bit of fried crunch in them. There are other reasons for Wilson’s approach too: Worcester may have plenty of international students but not the international businessmen and tourists with deep pockets and understanding that pack high-end sushi places in other cities. Not to mention the fact that sushi making is deceptively difficult. It requires exceptional quality, handling, knife skills, and presentation. There is nowhere to hide for the chef. Which is why, Wilson explains, “sushi man” is a top ten job in Japan and meals there command $100 per person or more. The average in America is much lower, and while customers who have been with him for ten years say “just bring out stuff,” most are still on a learning curve. (The same was true with Chuan Shabu as his customers tried to understand hot pot. The two restaurants are combined in the Sturbridge Baba Sushi.)

Personally I believe if more people explored the joys of Baba’s barbecued hamachi collar or the way fatty tuna melts in your mouth or the unique creaminess of uni the world would be a better place – and Wilson would be even more exuberant (if that is even possible). But he gets the difficulty.

“It’s hard to understand raw tuna if you were raised with Charlie in a can,” Wilson says. “We always respect the customers but we also respect the cultures. Because where you grew up that’s what you have in your mind, and we need to focus on the local customers. We have very good traditional Japanese food but many won’t touch it. We have done beef liver, pork liver, kobe beef sushi. Some people love it. But I can’t make it every day because it won’t hold for more than 24 hours before color and quality go down.”

Yet none of this has dulled Wilson’s enthusiasm for doing and exploring more: He sees food here as wide open, which is one of the reasons he plans to add more restaurants. The other is his staff. He has chefs who have been with him for years. Tyler, the man in charge of the Baba kitchen, has been with Wilson from day one, many others for just as long. He wants to give them room to grow and afford them the opportunities this country gave him.

“I borrowed money to come to America,” Wilson says. “I was a student. I learned to find the thing you like and never ever give up. You’ll always be tired. You’ll always be frustrated. But if you are good enough people will be looking for you.”

But not if you skimp on quality, Wilson quickly adds: “Quality is always first, then presentation then speed, speed, speed. How can I keep moving Baba and all my restaurants up and up and up? Three ways: First quality, second quality, third quality. If I lose my quality then presentation and service, then our customers will leave. They don’t care who I am. People come here for the sushi and fish.”

And Wilson is still learning – as a businessman, a sushi man, and a local resident. He knows he doesn’t know everything and listens to everyone from Brian Treitman at BT’s Smokehouse (who taught him about the town of Sturbridge) to a little girl in an elementary school class who asked him if you can put chocolate in rice for a sweet rice dessert.

“Sweet rice!” Wilson cheers, extra exuberance filling his eyes. “I learn from her mouth. I learn from a ten-year-old girl. No Japanese sushi chef would make a desert roll. In America that is possible. It opens up your mind. It was natural for her to speak up. This is why I do this. You want the best for the public. Period.”

The Exuberant Mind of Baba Sushi’s Wilson Wang

Jim sat down with Baba Sushi Worcester/ Baba Sushi Sturbridge / Chuan Shabu owner, Wilson Wang to talk about a few of his sushi dishes… among other things! Full interview here: https://massfoodandwine.com/chefs/the-exuberant-mind-of-baba-sushis-wilson-wang/

Posted by Mass Foodies on Thursday, July 6, 2017

Posted on May 9, 2017 by Staff Writer

Sturbridge’s Meat Magician, Brian Treitman of B.T.’s Smokehouse

Brian Treitman at B.T.’s Smokehouse in Sturbridge, MA (Alex Belisle for Mass Foodies)

If the hills had also been alive with the smell of barbecue, I am sure I would like The Sound of Music more. Actually, I wouldn’t even hear the music. I would simply float across the hills like a cartoon character following a smoke trail to its woody, meaty source and stare like Forest Gump did at Lieutenant Dan’s legs as piles of brisket, ribs, pulled pork, and chicken wings draw closer. Magic meat.

Brian Treitman carving brisket at B.T.’s Smokehouse (Alex Belisle for Mass Foodies)

Which is what I and tens of thousands of people do every year: float across the hills of Sturbridge to meat magician Brian Treitman’s B.T.’s Smokehouse.

It’s what Gordon Ramsay did in 2015 while filming an episode of “Hotel Hell.” When Brian introduced himself, Ramsay said, “I know all about you. You’re putting those lovely smells into the air” before devouring B.T.’s signature brisket.

It’s what Brian’s two kids do. They attend the elementary school atop the hill behind B.T.’s and the restaurant perfumes the air at recess, leading to unnaturally strong school-wide cravings for Mac and Cheese. “Both my kids want to work here,” says Brian. “My daughter is nine and she comes in, grabs a milk crate, and stands on it to work the register. My son is seven wants to wash dishes and hang with everyone in the back.”

It’s what Esquire magazine did when they named B.T.’s whole smoked chicken wings the best in the state, taking a particular shine to a version featuring the citrusy goodness of a sauce made with Tree House Brewery’s Julius IPA.

And it’s what none of us would be able to do if a sliding door moment had led Brian to be . . . a professional bowler? “I was cooking seven days a week in Clearwater, Florida at this country club.” Brian says. “The restaurant closed at 11 and the bowling alley closed at 2. So after work I bowled every night and played in leagues on my off nights. I bowled 150 strings a week and had a 248 average. When one of my buddies was approached by the PBA, he pointed at me and said, ‘He’s next.’”

It’s possible Brian would have been the next Earl Anthony if country club life had continued. “I was offered my own club by the owners, but I was beaten down by that life. We served people an average age of 62. I’d serve them roasted red smashed potatoes, and they’d say, ‘Why does it have to be lumpy?’ and ask for the stuff out of the box. So I offered an exchange of five years of service if they sent me to culinary school. They said no so I left Florida and went to the CIA.”

Brian Treitman of B.T.’s Smokehouse sitting down with Jim Eber (Alex Belisle for Mass Foodies)

After culinary school, Brian worked the fine dining scene in Boston but grew frustrated by the opportunities and the commute and decided to invest more time in a little side project he had started: a barbecue trailer. “The trailer was just supposed to be a fun little side gig for the Brimfield Antique Fair. I had a couple of guys working on it with me, and I’d come home every day and see what the progress was. When it was all done, we had over 450lbs of brisket, and I said, ‘Just go.’”

That brisket, Brian admits, was not as tender or tasty as what he does today but the flavor was good. Still, he realized he had no idea what to do next: “I thought, ‘Oh crap, what do I do now?’ I had done fine dining before this. I was used to taking little pieces of protein from scratch, searing them in a pan, and serving them in a refined way. Here was this 17lb piece of meat. What do I do until I serve it?”

Lucky for us, he found his way. It took three days for him to get the process down and then another four months to actually figure out how to cook it to the perfection he serves today. Not that people immediately got it. While it might be hard to imagine on days when the line at B.T.’s makes the TSA checkpoint at Logan look manageable, ten years ago there was no real barbecue within 100 miles. Today, Brian looks out in his parking lot and sees license plates from a dozen different states. Back then, people wouldn’t drive five miles to Brimfield to try it. And when he finally got the trailer set up in Sturbridge, a lot of people didn’t understand it.

“That first week someone came up and ordered a St. Louis rack of ribs for $18. I gave it to him and he said, ‘Those aren’t ribs. That’s not barbecue. I can go down the street to Applebee’s and pay $9 for ribs.’ Right then I knew what I was up against. I told him you can go there, but you don’t know where those were cooked. They do a great job of reheating them in a microwave. Their rack has eight bones, mine’s 12 to 14. I know where my meat came from and I seasoned and cooked it myself. I encourage you to go there if that is what you are looking for. In fact, please go there because you won’t like this. I could tell it wasn’t what he expected: Dry rubbed and smoked, not covered in sauce. You want fall off the bone mush in your mouth? Biting into one of my ribs is not the same thing. He handed it back to me.”

Do some customers still not understand the low and slow ways of true barbecue? That the pink smoke ring from the cure does not mean your wings or rib is undercooked? That it’s not just throwing something on the grill and five minutes later you take it off and it’s done? That B.T.’s brisket cooks for 22-24 hours, the pulled pork goes for 16, pork ribs for six hours, and beef rib for 12? Of course. But Brian loves the opportunity to educate.

To keep things fun, he plays with specials that don’t look like anything on the regular menu like a grilled cheese and ham served on BirchTree bread. But he encourages newbies to get a platter off the traditional menu: “Don’t order the brisket reuben the first time you come in. That’s going to ruin you for everything else.” After that, he encourages customers to explore, though many just can’t get anything but their favorites. And that’s cool with Brian. What’s less cool is he just doesn’t have them time to hang and chat with people like he used to. When a busy Saturday can feed around 1,200 people, he’s lucky to get a few quality interactions at the counter. “We turn over every seat in here in 17 minutes,” he notes. “But we still know our regulars by name and that is never going to change. It is the reason we take people’s names [not numbers] at the register. Nobody is a number.”

And everybody is welcome. If there is any food that truly appeals to the masses it is barbecue, and Brian loves the fact that people come up to him and thank him all day long. It’s why after ten years, he may get tired of the smoked food and pour himself into the specials, but “it doesn’t mean that every day I’m here I don’t taste a slab of brisket or a rib or something. I’ll walk by and say, ‘Cut me one of those they look delicious.’” It’s only when he goes out that he stays far away from barbecue: “My roots are fine dining and French inspired cuisine. If there is a bistro around that is where I am going. If I go to a Sox game, I’m going to Eastern Standard or Island Creek Oyster Bar. If I’m in Worcester, it’s places like Armsby Abbey, deadhorse hill, and Volturno.”

B.T.’s Smokehouse Sturbridge, MA (Alex Belisle for Mass Foodies)

With so many great options nearby and a booming dining scene, Brian is thinking about what’s next. He recently partnered with Worcester’s reigning best chef Bill Nemeroff, whom he has known for a decade, and there are ideas flying around but nothing definitive yet. But whatever it is, if it is, Brian wants it to be fun and take the best of what they do there and create something different conceptually.

“Bill and I have been friends for ten years now. We’ve been waiting for a chance to work together. What I want is a ten-year plan to figure it out. If we make B.T.’s run itself so that we walk in, oversee it, and then get to play golf at The International? That’s fine. For now, he’s taken a lot of the stress off of me. This place has gotten so big now that I need to be an owner. He kicked me off the line so I can worry about building the brand and hanging out with my family more. We are going to get through this summer and he is going to see what that is like. I don’t think he quite understands yet.”

He will. Like we all do. I’ve been going to B.T.’s since those early days at Brimfield, and today like everyone else I know what I am in for when I can barely fit the car the upper lot. I gladly stand on that line on a hot summer day breathing in the smoky deliciousness of passing platters, waiting as patiently as possible to place my order, giving my name, and listening for the counter to call me forward to claim my slices of Brian’s magic and say a heartfelt thank you.