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Posts from the ‘Cooking up a Storm’ Category

Booked Solid

Reading
I had this bright idea during my two Christmas days off that I would actually read books in 2008. So, I put a shitload of hardbound printed matter on hold at the library, assuming they would slowly trickle over to the Carroll Gardens branch (it took months for my requested The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao to show up and when I went to pick it up someone had taken it from the holds shelf. There is a place in hell for patrons who “steal” others’ reserved items). But now I’m freaking out because they’re all coming at once and the tomes are laughably enormous.

I’ll never be able to get through 753-page American Food Writing: An Anthology: With Classic Recipes, 582-page Secret Ingredients: The New Yorker Book of Food and Drink and 614-page Tree of Smoke in my allotted three weeks. I don’t even know where to begin.

Thinking about books got me to playing around with Shelfari, a social networking tool that seems fun yet ultimately as useless to me as MySpace, Facebook and the rest. I started adding all of my cookbooks that were available and quickly realized that I have hundreds of cookbooks and pamphlets, yet probably only cook from about ten on a regular basis.

Great, in 2008 I could start cooking from all the books I’d bought for one reason or another, mostly reasons having little to do with good eating. For instance, Girl Food (an old zine pal made ziti from this for Robert Crumb–and wouldn’t you know it–she got laid) and The Madison Avenue Cookbook (which is poo poohed in this 1963 Time article that does give the nod to new book, Mastering the Art of French Cooking with no mention of one of the now legendary authors). It would be fun.

Except that Slashfood practically started doing the same thing, I recently stumbled on Cooked Books which champions gems from NYPL, the kitchn just started a book club and now Eat Drink One Woman has a guest blogger also talking up old cookbooks. Whew. Never mind, then, I'll keep my cookbooks to myself.

Um…because everything else I write about here is so original. No matter, I do foresee some tweaking and revamping in the immediate future. I just don’t think it will involve cookbooks (or god forbid, viral videos).

Shrimp Sambal Tea Sandwiches

Shrimp_sambal_tea_sandwich

Do you ever create something (arguably) edible and can’t decide whether it’s genius or disgusting? I just possibly made the most grostesque yet edible sandwich that I wouldn’t recommend anyone replicate.

I was going to make shrimp sambal tea sandwiches from Singapore Heritage Food over Christmas break but never got around to it. I figured it would be a good in-the-office-alone meal. I share close quarters with three others who don’t strike me as appreciative of funky odors. Yesterday, I felt self-conscious about the Sichuan snapper and water spinach leftovers I ate at my desk. Fish isn’t work-friendly.

Last night I tackled this recipe because I was afraid the loaf of white bread I’d bought for the purpose was probably on the verge of molding. All you really do is grind dried shrimp, shallots, fresh and dried chiles and then fry in oil and season with salt and sugar. Yet, I botched it somehow.

Chunky_shrimp

They include a photo, which makes the filling look crimson and moist. I had an idea in my head of how it would taste; hot, sweet and kind of sticky-jammy like a Thai paste that I used to keep in the freezer. But it was nothing like that. As you can see, everything's salmon-colored and crispy.

The dried shrimp didn’t get soft enough or break down flossy enough in my mini food chopper (I’d never heard meat referred to as floss until I went to Malaysia) so rather than a puree I had more of chunky blend of shrimp jerky. And when cooked with dried and fresh chiles and shallots, nothing really melded. The flavor wasn’t bad, but the consistency was loose to hold together between bread.

I needed a binder that wasn’t high fat. Mayonnaise makes me wary on a good day and I didn’t have any in the fridge, anyway. Greek yogurt to the rescue. Why not? It’s no weirder than a tuna salad sandwich, really. I was going to add lime juice and the tanginess sufficed. However, the yogurt dulled the hotness so I added a blob of jarred sambal. Nice.

Shrimp_yogurt

The thing is that the paste tastes much better eaten plain than on bread. It was like starchy dryness compounded with salty dryness. And now I have a headache, which I'd like to blame on the sandwich. Oh, and I completely stunk up the apartment and the hallway. I’m starting to think that I’m immune to fishy, fermented scents (though not stinky tofu) and a destroyer of recipes.

What Would Honey Maid Do?

Graham_crackers

I’m guessing that on average I might bake a cheesecake every year and a half. And the reason I know this is because when I went to put my new ¾-still-full box of graham crackers into the cupboard after Thanksgiving, I was faced with two other ¾-still-full boxes of graham crackers. One had an expiration date of December 26, 2004, the other had no expiration date to speak of.

I’m phobic of ancient food, mold and the bugs that always seem to work their way into our dried goods (no matter how tightly I contain our jasmine rice, little moths still sprout inside the air-tight tub, which implies there are eggs in the original bag) so the oldies will have to go. But I hate wasting food, even if it only cost $1.59. No, I'm never swayed by brand names.

Lopsided_smore 

My first plan of attack was making s’mores using dark orange-flavored chocolate. Using the gas burners wasn’t so successful because it just charred without melting enough. I resorted to microwaving. You do have to be careful because marshmallows balloon up in that mutant Peeps way.

Now I still have half a box left and I’m at a loss. What can you do with graham crackers other than passing them off on little kids by telling them they’re cookies. Graham crackers are so not cookies.

Whenever stumped by a food product, I go straight to the source. What would Honey Maid do? Ah yes, Nabisco would have me crafting graham fruitcake and a holiday house. Which reminds me, my friend Jane just made a charming gingerbread crackhouse. I'm sure something similar could be done with graham crackers.

Eve of Destruction: Penang-Style Roast Chicken

Penang_roast_chicken
Don't you love the television's blue glow?

I feel funny using recipe titles when they include someone’s name, mostly because it seems overly familiar when you don’t know the person being honored. So, this Penang-style roast chicken from James Oseland’s Cradle of Flavor is technically called Kevin’s Spiced Roast Chicken with Potatoes, Penang Style. Thanks, Kevin.

I don’t know why Eurasian food seems fitting for the holidays, it’s not as if I raised cross-culturally. I think my lack of culinary traditions means that I can substitute whatever I’d like for Christmas dinner. As I mentioned in my previous post, I originally thought of devil curry, a Portuguese-Malay mishmash that often includes canned sausages, but then I realized that I had already made it in 2005. I guess it wasn’t that memorable. To be honest, it was kind of bland and not worth tinkering with in 2007.

Another Eurasian holiday dish curry feng sounds fascinating to an organ meat lover like myself. But lungs aren’t even legal to eat in the U.S. (the recipe I found from Rasa Malaysia calls for lungs, though most others I’ve found do not) and there’s something mildly gruesome about sitting alone chewing on stomach, hearts, intestines, liver and whatever else is in this curry. Kidneys are meant to be shared.

This year I’m unusually lazy even though I have free time galore. I wanted Southeast Asian food without much fuss. Sometimes it’s fun to scour the city for ingredients and spend time chopping and pounding. Sometimes you just can’t be bothered. The only component the average American might not have on hand for this recipe is the kecap manis. I could kick myself for tossing out a bottle a few months ago (instead of a plastic top it had a bottle cap and the crinkled up piece of foil I’d been using to stop it up started to gross me out).

But heading to Chinatown (which is only four subway stops from my apartment, so no complaints) would allow me to pick up some sides. I’m normally all for an everything from scratch approach, but when you’re cooking for one hardcore details can slide. You only have to please yourself. Why make pickles from scratch when sliced sweet and sour turnips and carrots are only $2.29? I like a crunchy, tangy condiment with roast meat, especially Asian-influenced preparations.

Pungent, sweet and spicy shrimp paste encrusted green beans interspersed with whole shrimp were a perfect side for an East-West entrée. Lady fingers (okra) or petai (stink beans) might’ve been uber Malaysian, and they were available from Skyway where I made my purchase, but green beans made more sense in this context. No need to be un-American.

Chinatown_chicken_2

We buy most of our meat from Western Beef because it’s cheap, they have every cut from every animal imaginable, and we’re not caught up enough with organics or free range ethics to have a problem with grocery store flesh. So, the $1.99/lb “fresh young chicken” at Hong Kong Supermarket actually seemed kind of pricey, but I only needed a little guy, 3.5 pounds. I noticed at the check out counter that the chicken was whole, head on, which I’ve never dealt with before.

I’m not squeamish about animals as food (though I certainly don’t want to hang out in slaughterhouses, I don’t understand grown ups who get freaked out by meat with bones. I’ve known many non-vegetarians who can’t cook chicken because skin, veins and bones creep them out) but I was a little perplexed by the head. I’ve never had to chop one off (I wasn’t even sure I was supposed to, but this recipe was unusually specific and said to remove head, feet and cavity fat) so I guess I’m sheltered. Even Kid Nation participants had to kill chickens. I felt bad because I don’t have a cleaver and had to saw the poor thing’s neck.

Chicken_foot_2

Then, I realized it still had legs and feet. I eat chicken feet, no problem but I don’t think the dim sum comes with tiny toenail claws. There were still quite a few feathers left on the bird, too. I learned more about chicken parts this Christmas Eve than I’d anticipated. The tag on the chicken’s wing indicated that it came from my old stomping grounds, Greenwood Heights (yes, I always called it Sunset Park but I’m trying to be un-anal and modern). There are a lot of live poultry markets over there, but I’ve never had the nerve to patronize one.

Buddhist_style_poultry 

I love it when recipes I’ve taken from books are already published on the internet. It saves me tedious typing and the bad karma associated with violating copyright. I’m pleased to see that Salon published this recipe and a few others, too. This is a very good cookbook–one of 2006’s best–that I never ever cook from for absolutely no reason at all.

Kevin's Spiced Roast Chicken with Potatoes, Penang Style

1 whole free-range chicken, 3 1/2 pounds (1.4 kilograms)
1/3 cup (2 1/2 fluid ounces/75 milliliters) soy sauce
2 tablespoons double-black soy sauce
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
3 bay leaves
2 pieces cinnamon stick, each 4 inches (10 centimeters) long
6 whole cloves
5 small red or yellow onions (about 1 pound/455 grams total), each no more than 2 1/2 inches (6 centimeters) long, halved
1 1/2 teaspoons coarsely crushed black pepper
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1 1/2 pounds (680 grams) small potatoes such as Yukon Gold, Peruvian blue, or Maine, no more than 1 1/2 inches (4 centimeters) in diameter

1. Remove and discard the fat inside the chicken (reserve the head and feet to use in stock if they were attached). Rinse the chicken and thoroughly pat it dry inside and out with paper towels. Tuck the wingtips behind the shoulders.

2. Place the chicken in a bowl large enough to hold it comfortably. Pour both soy sauces and the Worcestershire sauce over it. Add the bay leaves, cinnamon sticks, cloves, and onions. Using your hands or a large spoon, turn the chicken a few times, making sure that some of the liquid, spices, and a few onion halves are slipped inside the cavity. Rub the inside and outside of the chicken with the pepper. Let the chicken marinate, uncovered, at room temperature for 1 to 2 hours. Turn the bird over every 15 minutes or so to distribute the marinade evenly. Its skin will darken a few shades from the soy sauces.

3. Toward the end of the marinating, preheat the oven to 450°F (220°C).

4. Place the chicken, breast side up, in a shallow roasting pan. Scatter the onions around the chicken, making sure that 1 or 2 halves remain inside the cavity. Rub the chicken inside and out with the softened butter. (I like to rub some underneath the breast skin as well, which helps make the breast meat juicier.) Pour the remaining marinade over the chicken, placing the cinnamon sticks and a few of the cloves inside the cavity. Cover the pan loosely with aluminum foil.

5. Roast the chicken for 20 minutes, then turn it over. Tilt the pan toward you and, using a large spoon or baster, baste the chicken and its cavity with the pan juices. Cover the pan once more with the foil and continue roasting for another 20 minutes.

6. Meanwhile, scrub the potatoes but don't peel them. Fill a 3-quart saucepan three-fourths full with water and bring to a boil over high heat. Add the potatoes and cook at a rolling boil until they are just tender when pierced with a fork, 5 to 10 minutes. Drain the potatoes well in a colander.

7. Add the cooked potatoes to the roasting pan. Combine them gently with the onions already in the pan and baste them well with the pan juices. Turn the chicken over again (it should be breast side up this time) and baste it once more. Continue roasting the chicken, uncovered now so that it can brown just a bit, until it's cooked. The total cooking time will range from 1 hour and 10 minutes to 1 1/2 hours. To test for doneness, using a fork, pierce the skin at the thigh joint and press down gently. The juices should have only the faintest tinge of pink. Or, you can insert an instant-read thermometer into the thickest part of the thigh, not touching the bone. The chicken is ready when the thermometer registers 170°F (75°C).

8. Place the chicken on a serving platter. Pour half of the pan juices over it and allow the chicken to rest for at least 10 minutes before carving (this allows time for the juices to be absorbed by the flesh). Place the potatoes and onions around the chicken or in a serving bowl. Pour the remaining pan juices over the potatoes and onions. This chicken is best when served slightly warm. The flavors will be more pronounced and the flesh juicier.

Serves 4

The finished product turned out crispy and burnished from the molasses-based soy. The flavor was only slightly Asian, and not terribly Malaysian; the cloves and cinnamon almost felt Moroccan. I rounded out the chicken with potatoes, onions, my sweet and sour turnips and shrimp studded green beans.

Christmas_eve_dinner 

Since I didn’t end up dining until 1am, technically Christmas day when I was going for an Eve supper, I wasn’t hungry enough to appreciate all the food. Um, and I’d just about polished off a bottle of Charles Shaw Shiraz by the time all was said and done so I’d lost a bit of my original focus. But I expect to fully enjoy my leftovers over the next few nights.

Not-So-Black Friday

In a twisted way, you might consider rising at 3pm on “Black Friday” as the mark of a fun Thanksgiving. Inevitably, food and drink combined with bad TV results in staying up until daybreak. That’s the beauty of Friday off; it’s kind of luxurious to squander it doing absolutely nothing except eating leftovers and lazing about. It’s certainly not any more grotesque than lining up at 4am to buy crap no one needs.

Last year I forwent a whole bird and created a Middle Eastern inspired menu. This year I went traditional and straightforward. I didn’t mean for nearly all of my recipes to come from Epicurious, it just happened. Is that tacky like decorating your house with too many things from the same store? Er, I guess that’s me—over-reliant on Ikea—too.

The gathering was small enough, five including myself, to not feel pressured, and mellow enough to watch the first two episodes of Project Runway while eating (who knew that Sara Jessica Parker could induce bawling in grown men?). At some point Kid Nation was pulled from the DVR. Dawn of the Dead turned out to be a 4am mistake because I ended up having to watch Three’s Company afterwards to counteract the scariness. I’m not thankful for zombies. And while I’m at it, I’m not thankful for Style’s new unsexy, Hot Guys Who Cook, either.

Unfortunately, most of my photos are crooked and out of focus. It’s possible that this was a direct result of too much zinfandel, 1621 cocktails (I actually had Applejack and blood orange bitters on hand, which influenced this drink choice) and hippied-out mac and cheese brought by a friend (that’s not really my kind of baking).

Misorubbed_turkey
Miso-rubbed Turkey

Applejack_gravy
with Bourbon Gravy

It may seem that I went a little wild with miso, using it in two dishes, but it’s subtle and just creates a vague salty, savory flavor. Trying to get compound butter between a turkey’s skin and flesh is a fussy pain in the ass that I won’t likely repeat. Gravy is also kind of a pain. It turned out that I didn’t have any whisky around so I resorted to Applejack, which I’d used to good effect in Thanksgiving gravy a few years ago.

Fruit_and_nut_stuffing
Winter Fruit and Nut Stuffing

I usually go meat-less with the sides to accommodate a range of tastes. I’d forgotten that I’d thrown out a box of prunes last month, so I had to increase the dried cranberries and apricots. It all worked out. This was a drier-style stuffing; I kind of like mine wet and mushy which might transpire after sitting in the fridge overnight.

Pickled_cranberry_compote
Sweet Pickled-Cranberry Compote

The stuffing was sweet so I wanted the cranberries and sweet potatoes to avoid candied flavors. Tart and pickled was a good antidote to sugary and jellied.

Miso_scallion_sweet_potatoes
Roasted Sweet Potatoes with Scallion Butter

Well, I didn’t seek out Japanese tubers like the recipe called for, and I didn’t serve them individually. To save time, I roasted them and mashed them with the miso-scallion butter and warmed in a dish. It was just as well.

Brussels_sprouts_with_chestnuts
Brussels Sprouts with Chestnuts

I love chestnuts in vegetables and the addition of heavy cream amps up the richness even further. Honestly, I’m not sure what the difference is between the $10+ jars of roasted chestnuts in specialty stores and the ones you get in foil packs emblazoned with anthropomorphic logos at Chinese stores for a fraction of the price. I like to stock up at Hong Kong Supermarket and doubt that I would be blown away by the European imports. But I’ve been wrong many times before.

Pecan_and_salted_caramel_cheesecake
Pecan and Salt Caramel Cheesecake

You probably already know that salt and caramel are amazing together. Caramel, pecans and cake made with four blocks of cream cheese would’ve been sufficiently decadent, but the sprinkling of crunchy sea salt added interest to the sweetness.

Sunday Night Special: Steamed Taro with Chopped Salted Chiles

Steamed_yam

My Hunan salted chiles from a few weeks ago were good and fermented (I’m not sure why fermented food seems desirable but liquids not so much. This very second, I’m 1/3 of a way through my first ever bottle of kombucha and I’m not sure if it’s likeable or putrid. I’m having a very tough time not letting the floaties get to me. A friend was raving about it, but then I reminded myself that in college she used to drink apple cider vinegar like it was soda) so I needed a recipe. I still don’t feel like it’s root vegetable weather but steamed taro didn’t sound like a bad idea.

VegetaBut I didn’t end up buying taro, even though it’s not too hard to find disguised as malanga in Caribbean-oriented grocery stores. I saw it at Western Beef Sunday, where I picked up this adorable Croatian packet of seasoning that uses a semi-chopstick-like font.

Recently I picked up a frozen bag of something called ratalu at Patel Brothers. As I’ve stated before, I love all things Swad brand (their microwavable vegetable dishes in a box are only 99-cents–aren't Trader Joe's like $2.99?), so these magenta cubes drew me in. I figured they were taro and I could save all the cleaning and chopping (taro contains irritants—if you recall the Top Chef season two finale, Ilan got taken to task for not cooking his taro leaves long enough).

RataluBut according to web searches it seems that ratalu is a purple yam. I’m not convinced that it’s the same as Filipino ube yet. That was a strange find because just yesterday I decided that I would use my newish ice cream maker to create ube ice cream for a halo-halo experiment and had been wondering how hard it might be to find frozen (fresh is out of the question). Who knew I had in the house already?

I love it when someone else has already typed a recipe out for me. Steamed Taro with Chopped Salted Chile Peppers was posted on Serious Eats back in February when Fuchsia Dunlop's Hunan cookbook came out.

The one thing I’m not clear on is how the taro chunks are supposed to hold up or if they’re even supposed to. I’ve had taro in Chinese casseroles and it stays in squares. This mystery root turned to mush and I ended up just mashing it into a violet paste that tasted much better than it looked. You have to admit that it’s still prettier than poi.

It sounds silly, but the ratalu, whatever it was, tastes lavender. The flesh was barely sweet, more potato than yam and almost perfumey without being sickening like rose water (a personal aversion). The saltiness and mild heat of the chiles and black beans played off this hard to describe mauve flavor and created a dish that would almost go better with grilled meat than white rice. But I’m not one for double starches.

Sunday Night Special: Turkey with Mint and Hot Chiles & Makeua Oop

Sometimes Sunday night is a loose concept. I ended up making these two dishes on separate evenings, though they were originally intended as a single meal. Whenever I cook for myself, I eat less. That’s troublesome, though I know I’m not unique; what I’d always suspected–when a couple moves in together, the man gets healthier while the woman gains weight–was proven by science.

I turned to my trusty, banged up review copy of Hot, Sour, Salty, Sweet (it was one of the only perks I got from a short lived online culinary job I had in 2000. Now that I’m all library science I can’t finagle a web job to save my life) because I recalled the book containing a turkey recipe and I’ve been trying to find a use for three drumsticks in my freezer (still on the using up old food mission). I’d much rather experiment with a Laotian salad than mess with tetrazzini or some other abomination.

I’m not sure why I didn’t learn my lesson about trying to poach turkey legs after running into trouble during Thanksgiving. It doesn’t work. They don’t cook all the way using the bring to a boil, turn off the heat and leave with the lid on for an hour approach. And when you get exasperated, then turn the heat back on and simmer for a while, they firm up to near uselessness. I just imagined that the tough meat was approximating a wild Southeast Asian bird.

The recipes from this book tend to be tame with the heat, so don’t hesitate to use more chile. I used five chiles and had to resist the urge to add sugar (I don’t like tweaking recipes I’ve never made before). I thought I already had a batch or roasted rice powder in case I needed to make an impromptu larb, but it was nowhere to be found. Really, it’s no big deal to omit it.  You still get the gist.

Turkey_with_mint_and_chiles

Turkey with Mint and Hot Chiles

8 to 10 ounces cooked light and dark turkey meat, roughly cut into ½ inch chunks (about 2 cups packed)
2 tablespoons thinly sliced shallots, separated into rings
½ cup loosely packed coarsely torn coriander leaves
½ cup loosely packed coarsely chopped mint leaves
1 teaspoons minced bird chile, or more to taste
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
2 tablespoons Thai fish sauce, or to taste
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1 tablespoon roasted rice powder, or more to taste

Combine the meat and shallots in a shallow bowl. Add the coriander and mint leaves and mix well.

In a small bowl, combine all the remaining ingredients except the rice powder and stir to mix well. Pour over the salad and toss to distribute the dressing thoroughly. Just before serving, sprinkle on the rice powder, if using.

Serves 4

If you Google “best eggplant dish ever” you’ll find caponata, baked eggplant with mushroom and tomato sauce, szechuan eggplant stir-fry and a few others. The Best Eggplant Dish Ever title is the authors’ not mine. I don’t like to use superlatives, so I hesitate to say best, but I definitely think it’s probably better than any of those listed above.

I could’ve sworn I made this before but I definitely would’ve remembered it now that I’ve tasted it. Mine was slightly bitter, probably because I used small Italian eggplants instead of Asian ones. And I kept wanting to add fish sauce, but stuck with the recommended salt. Perhaps I’m finally getting a handle on seasoning because I thought it definitely needed more than the one teaspoon.

Maybe there wasn’t quite enough moisture in my ingredients or the heat was initially too high but the bottom of the pan got charred with burnt sticky bits, even after periodically checking on the mass. Then it fixed itself like magic. It’s that kind of a dish. Everything seems chunky and disparate, yet eventually melds. 

I’d already finished off my bowl of creamy, spicy mash when James returned from out of town. I was waiting for it…yes, there it was, “it smells like shrimp paste up here” as he promptly turned the air conditioner on. I was trying to conserve energy, not necessarily attempting to recreate a sticky, pungent Malaysian night market in the apartment. Besides, it wasn’t shrimp paste; it was pounded dried shrimp, duh.

Eggplant_oop

Makeua Oop a.k.a. The Best Eggplant Dish Ever

3 Thai dried red chiles, soaked in warm water for 15 minutes to soften
¼ cup finely chopped shallots
5 cloves garlic, minced
1 heaping tablespoon dried shrimp
1 teaspoon salt
1 medium tomato, coarsely chopped
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1/4 cup ground pork (optional)
1/2 teaspoon turmeric (optional)
1 1/2 pounds Asian eggplants, cut into ¼ inch slices
5 to 8 leaves mint or coriander, coarsely torn

Drain the chiles, reserving the water. Coarsely chop them, discarding the tough stems, and place in a mortar or blender together with the shallots, garlic, shrimp, and salt. Pound or process to a paste (if using the blender, you will probably need to add some of the chile soaking water). Add the tomato and pound or blend briefly, then transfer the spice pate to a bowl and set aside.

Place a 3 ½- to 4 ½-quart heavy pot with a tight-fitting lid over high heat. Add the oil and swirl to coat the bottom of the pot with oil. Add the pork, if using, and brown briefly, then add the spice paste and optional turmeric. Lower the heat to medium and cook, stirring, until aromatic, about 2 minutes. Add the eggplant slices and stir briefly, cover tightly , and reduce the heat to low (do not ad water). Coo, checking every five minutes or so to ensure that nothing is sticking and to give the ingredients a brief stir, for 45 minutes to 1 hour, or until the eggplant is very tender and shapeless.

Turn out into a shallow bowl and top with the mint or coriander. Serve warm or at room temperature

Serves 4

Recipes from Hot Sour Salty Sweet by Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid, Artisan, 2000

Chilly with a Side of Chiles

50s? Hell yeah. I’m feeling nearly human again. Unfortunately, summer doesn’t peter out that rapidly. It’ll be back into the mid-80s by the weekend.

Choppedchiles 

In the meantime, I got excited about impending dark, cool places to ferment things like the Hunan salted chiles I’ve been meaning to make from The Revolutionary Chinese Cookbook for months. It’s not like it’s hard. All you do is chop a pound, which seriously kills your wrist (I was taking a break for the photo–the pieces eventually became smaller) then ultimately toss them with a ¼ cup of salt and let sit for a few weeks. Mine are only a few days old so they still look pretty fresh. I had no concept of how much one pound of chopped chiles would yield so I bought a too big  canning jar. I don’t think the extra space should effect the process, though.

Jarredchiles 

I’m just afraid they’ll rot instead of turning into a proper delicious condiment. My recent failed attempts at mayonnaise and ice cream making made me question my recipe following abilities. But chiles and salt? That’s hardly possible to mess up.

I see that Tigers and Strawberries made the same relish last month.

Sunday Night Special: Birria de Chivo

Birria

It’s fall freezer cleaning time, which means going through all the crap that’s accumulated in both of them (yes, two) since lord knows when and no, not tossing it, cooking it. Maybe I’ll get food poisoned but it looks like I won’t need to buy any proteins (ew, I hate it when chefs and whoever else use that unappetizing term) for a couple weeks. Here’s the gruesome break down:

-Pork ribs were grilled Saturday night
-Chicken wings were buffalo-ized Sunday afternoon
-Lamb roast will become mutton kolhapuri (from a mix—we also have enough dried and canned goods to last into 2008)
-Lamb chops will be barbecued yueyang style
-Beef roast will be turned into rending
-Ground beef will transform into American hard shell tacos with cheddar cheese and lettuce
-Ground pork? I’m not sure yet, maybe ma po tofu

I also found a bag of cheese curds I bought in Montreal Labor Day weekend ’06. Sad as it makes me, I’m not sure how great year-old frozen cheese is. They do sell curds in the neighborhood so my eventual poutine experiment won’t be a total bust.

[written on Sunday] But presently, I’m only concerned with the goat chunks I’m turning into birria this evening. I went with a Rick Bayless recipe, but quickly realized I had the wrong cut of meat. I have bone-in hunks made for stewing while he requires a five-pound solid mass of meat. I’m not sure how well the steaming approach will work with my tougher bits of goat.

[back to the past tense] Well, it succeeded in using up freezer meat and a bag of guajillo chiles that have been neglected for months, but didn’t quite succeed as an amazingly tasty meal. You’re supposed to skim fat from the broth but there didn’t even appear to be any broth; it all looked like orange oil. I did what I could to clean it up. The flavor was there but the meat was like jerky. I almost lost a tooth. Americans seem to hate goat meat, and this use of the gamey flesh would only succeed in scaring most people further. I’ve only eaten birria once in Chicago so I’m hardly a connoisseur, but wrong is wrong. Lesson learned: do not attempt to steam stew meat.

At least my evening was salvaged by the pretty as a pastel rainbow mithai I picked up at Dehli Palace earlier in the day. I love their box decorated with photo collage of the goods.

Mithai

Clearly, there is no throwing out of food in my household, so I shouldn’t have been surprised that while James was home sick yesterday that he attempted salvaging the birria. After sitting in the refrigerator overnight, the fat had congealed enough to easily remove. That was a start, and then he stewed the whole thing within an inch of its life (after giving up on steaming, I let the meaty bones cook in the broth for about an hour the night before to no avail). And it succeeded. I had un-bad birria waiting for me when I came home from work. A squeeze of lime and a few corn tortillas enhanced the new and improved meal. I didn’t take any photos of round two, though.

Bak Kut Teh

After the world’s shortest detox ended in digestive turmoil, I was scared to eat anything even though I was starving. (And now just to torment me, James has taken up the master cleanse. He’s been at it for nearly two days now and is a serious pain to be around. I predict that there won’t be a day three.)  I decided to move away from the raw minimalism of the health nuts and look towards the Chinese food as medicine approach. It’s much tastier.

Really, I’d just been looking for an excuse to use my older than I’d like to admit package of bak kut teh spices that I picked up some time ago in Kuala Lumpur. This is a mostly Malay, also Singaporean “pork rib tea” that’s more like an herbal soup with meat. Food from that corner of the world engenders strong opinions (the number of food bloggers from Singapore and Malaysia is mind boggling) and every region puts their own touch on preparations. I’m not even going for sheer authenticity. I made do with what I had.

Just getting up and to the stove with my stomach churning and head pounding was hard enough. I would’ve loved to have added tofu puffs, chopped my pork ribs into smaller hunks and served the bowl with a fried crueler but I didn’t have the extra additions and a cleaver is still on my wish list. Ah, no clay pot either.

Bak_kut_teh_ingredients

I based my recipe on the one from Rasa Malaysia, but the thing is no one explains how to handle the myriad spices and dried bits that come with the mix. I’m like a Malaysian who opens a bagel shop and makes varieties covered in white chocolate and Oreo crumbs (I think they're confusing bagels with donuts). It’s obvious to a New Yorker why that’s wrong. I was clueless as to what got added to the broth, what should be wrapped in cheesecloth for steeping and what beyond the ribs and soup are meant to be eaten.

I took a look at Amy Beh’s recipe on Kuali, and she explicitly lists what should be cooked loose and what should only flavor the broth. The trouble was that she uses Chinese terminology so I had to Google Image everything and match it to the herbs in my package. The other trouble was a lack of cheesecloth. I ended up cutting a piece of old underwear and tying it up with a string. I told James it was a t-shirt to not gross him out. I’m not even sure that a cotton-poly blend allows proper flavor escape.

Bak_kut_teh

This was not a photogenic meal in the least but it was amazingly aromatic. Lightly medicinal and bitter, but warming and slightly sweet from the cinnamon, tangerine peel, star anise and wolfberries. It smelled like a Chinatown herb shop. And obviously, the richness of the pork ribs permeates everything. It’s kind of fake healthy because it’s fatty, but that’s the beauty of nourishing Chinese food.