There are secret recipes and there are secret recipes.
Ever since I moved to Northern California, I’ve heard rumors about the famous recipes prepared in the secret kitchen at the An family’s Thanh Long Restaurant. (They also own two branches of the upmarket Crustacean restaurants).
The key to the An Family success story, the secret kitchen is a completely enclosed space within the main kitchen that is off limits to all employees except An Family members where they prepare their money-making recipes such as their much-talked-about garlic noodles.
Butter and garlic are just 2 ingredients that go into making this an unparalleled dish!
As matriarch Helene An explains on their website, her family recipes, her culinary legacy, are her daughter’s inheritance. In much the same way that Coca-Cola® company stowed their recipes for Coke® in a vault, the An Family Secret Kitchen was created.
I have to admit that I haven’t yet had the opportunity to try these legendary noodles. However, the noodles have been written up numerous times with varying riffs on the supposed recipe. There’s a thread on Yelp.com, and recipes concocted by bloggers Bee of Rasa Malaysia and Andrea of Viet World Kitchen. This fact has not been lost on me.
So when I saw a recipe for garlic butter noodles in Jaden Hair’s just-released Steamy Kitchen Cookbook, I figured it was about time I tried it.
After perusing several garlic noodle recipes inspired by the An family version, I deduced that the recipe’s secret just might lie in Maggi Seasoning, a culinary throwback to my childhood. I can still remember the TV commercials where the smiley-faced, motherly-type on screen would add a dash of Maggi Seasoning to just about every dish she was making, be it scrambled eggs, soup noodles or fried rice.
Like magic, Maggi Seasoning adds tons of flavor to any dish!
I’d always assumed Maggi was an Asian brand but after a quick Google search, I found it quite to the contrary. Plus a couple of other interesting facts about Maggi Seasoning.
1. Maggi GmbH was actually founded in 1897 by Julius Maggi in the German town of Singen where it is still established today.
2. Maggi Seasoning is a dark, hydrolyzed vegetable protein-based sauce that doesn’t actually contain soy although it tastes similar to soy sauce. Wheat, and its derivatives, seems to be the main ingredient.
3. It was introduced in 1886 as a cheap substitute for meat extract (flavoring?) and is very popular in Switzerland, Austria and especially in Germany.
I haven’t researched how Maggi Seasoning became a pantry staple in Southeast Asia but the wave of nostalgia it brought on sent me tumbling back to my childhood. “Maggi mee, fast to cook, good to eat!” ring a bell? Funny how my fondest memories of Maggi mee is eating them raw in my primary school canteen!
Anyways, I’m glad for the reintroduction. I feel like Jaden’s recipe reacquainted me with a long lost childhood friend AND I have found a new addition to my kitchen repertoire: her absolutely delicious rendition of garlic noodles.
Garlic Butter Noodles
Adapted from The Steamy Kitchen Cookbook
I honestly don’t have a comparison to the original but these noodles are sure darn good! Be forewarned, you mustn’t be afraid of fat. I can’t wait to try out more of Jaden’s recipes. For more blogger interpretations of The Steamy Kitchen Cookbook recipes, go to White on Rice Couple. Incidentally, they featured the garlic noodles as well, with their own take on the recipe.
Makes: 4 servings
Time: 15 minutes
7 oz dried egg noodles
3 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup chopped green onions
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons brown sugar
2 teaspoons Maggi Seasoning or soy sauce, or to taste
1 tablespoon oyster sauce
Bring a large pot of water to a boil and cook the noodles according to the package instructions. Drain noodles and wipe the pot clean. Return the pot to medium-high heat and add the butter. When the butter is sizzling and bubbling a bit, add the green onion and the garlic. Fry for 1 minute or until very fragrant; be careful not to let the garlic burn.
Add the brown sugar, Maggi Seasoning and oyster sauce and stir well to mix everything evenly. Add the noodles and toss vigorously to get the good stuff evenly distributed throughout the noodles.
My paternal grandmother, whom I called “Oma”
As my cookbook launched this past October 1st, I came to the sudden realization that I knew more about the grandmothers I interviewed than my own. And in a reversal of scenarios, one friend whose mom I featured in the book told me, “You know more about my mom than I do!”
It wasn’t deliberate, honest. My maternal grandma “Popo” died before I knew her and my paternal grandma “Oma” live an hour plane ride away in Jakarta. And unfortunately, my parents hardly ever told us stories about our grandparents.
I thought this was a travesty along the same lines of eating Indonesian fried chicken without sambel (chili paste)–a huge faux pas in my book , at least! I decided to set things straight.
A few weeks ago, my birthday came and went and so did my late grandmother’s whose special day was the day after mine. My parents called me to wish me a happy birthday and I spent the next hour on the phone with my dad asking him to tell me about his mother, my Oma (Dutch for grandma).
Embarrassingly, my first question was, “What was her name?” I’d always called her Oma. The answer: Sicilianti Monica Sie.
Born in 1913, Oma was the youngest of three girls and a boy. Unfortunately, her brother passed away when he was very young. She was born in Cirebon on the northwest coast of the island of Java and grew up in Jakarta where she trained as a teacher. However, she never taught in a school. Not to say I can blame her, she did have a total of nine children!
In 1937, Oma married my Opa (grandfather), Tan Tjo Tjay. Opa worked for the postal service when Indonesia was still a Dutch colony and they moved several times and lived in many towns including Cirebon, Jakarta, Magelang and Bandung. My oldest aunt, tante Tres, my dad, Rudy, and my uncle, oom Theo, came in quick succession.
The family was living in Jakarta when the Japanese invaded Indonesia in 1942 during WWII. And so began a time of extreme hardship.
From 1943 to 1945, Opa was interned on suspicion of spying because he was a Dutch civil servant. To survive, Oma sold cakes and cookies at the market and fed her children whatever she could pull together. (Dad used to tell us he ate cockroaches and rats to survive but to this day, I still don’t know whether to believe him.)
Most heart-wrenching of all is the story Dad told me of the time Oma lugged him, 3, and tante Tres, 4, to visit Opa in jail. The three of them had to take the train from Jakarta to Bandung and each and every car was so chockfull of people it was impossible to enter through the doors.
In desperation, Oma shoved her two children into the train through the window. Just as she did that, the train started chugging away along the tracks. I can’t imagine what was going through her heart and her head right at that moment. A cocktail of love, panic and adrenalin must have been coursing through her veins as she started running alongside the train and thankfully managed to squeeze herself into the entryway of a train car. After frantically searching, she finally reunited with her children.
That wasn’t the end of the episode. After the harrowing train experience, Dad related how Oma had to bribe just about every official in the prison hierarchy to gain access to Opa.
This picture was taken right after my younger sister, Mo was born in 1979. Oma is sitting at the right end of the couch next to me. Mom is cradling Mo in her arms. The young lady on my mom’s left is her sister tante Wawa and the crazy boy with the blurry face is my brother, Mars.
When the Japanese occupation ended, the family eventually settled in Bandung, a city three hours (depending on traffic) southeast of Jakarta, where life more or less went back to normal.
Oma was a stay-at-home mom and had helped from her own mother.
With a brood of nine, the family always ate at home. Dad accompanied Oma to the market and carried her shopping, while in the kitchen his brother Theo would help with the cooking, which is why “Oom Theo got fatter than the rest of us,” I quote Dad.
Meals comprised a lot of soups, one of the easiest dishes to cook for such a big clan: oxtail soup, sayur asem (sour vegetable soup), and sayur asin (salted vegetable soup).
Fish like mackerel was seasoned with tamarind and deep fried, and for a special treat, gurame (a white flat fish similar to barramundi) was deep fried with taucheo (yellow bean paste). Every so often, Oma would buy 10 or so crabs and cook them with ginger and oyster sauce. Plus, she’d stir fry vegetables like chayote, long beans or kangkung (water spinach).
There was always a meat or fish dish, one veggie dish and the requisite bottle of kecap manis (sweet soy sauce) which Dad is still addicted to till this day.
With nine siblings around the table, if you weren’t quick you didn’t get the choice pieces of meat.
Opa was a pork lover so there was often pig offal on the dining table as well which none of the children liked—the head, nose and cheeks, trotters, etc. No one ever fought over those dishes!
For the last four years of her life, Oma was bedridden. She had a hereditary condition that caused her vertebrae to be crooked—she was literally bent double the last time I saw her standing. She also went blind probably from undiagnosed diabetes. I think it’s sad that she chose to stay in Indonesia despite her two sons being in Singapore where there was better health care.
Oma died in 1985.
That was as much as I got out of Dad that one morning but I hope to learn more about this special woman who brought him up. In fact, I’d like to try and recreate some of the simple dishes Oma used to make.
That’s the least I can do in her memory.
Hello dear readers,
I do apologize for the lack of blog posts but things have been busy around here.
I’ve started a new gig with Allrecipes.com and as my husband keeps teasing me, I’m about to give birth to two babies! Yes, I am expecting. The real baby is due in February 2010, and of course the book (with a much longer gestation period) officially launches today! The Asian Grandmothers Cookbook is available at your local bookseller and through Amazon.com.
If you live in the Seattle area, I have three events scheduled this month and you can buy books directly from me:
Cooking Demo and Book Signing at the Farmers’ Market
When: Saturday, October 17th, 10 a.m.
Where: University District Farmers’ Market
50th and University Way
Just show up for samples and recipes!
Book Signing at Julia’s Indonesian Kitchen
When: Sunday, October 18th, 4-6 p.m.
Where: Julia’s Indonesian Kitchen
910 NE 65th St.
(206) 522-5528
Free samples!
Asian Chicken Delights Cooking Class
When: Tuesday, October 20, 6:30 p.m.
Where: Nisei Veterans Clubhouse
1212 S. King St., International District
For more information and to register, please visit: Nuculinary.com
If you’d like to read what the press has been saying about the book, here are a few links:
The Monterey County Weekly: “Pacific Grove author’s new book simmers in Asian culinary wisdom”
Asiasociety.org: “A new book deliciously weaves together generations-old recipes—and the stories of the women who cook them …”
Publishers Weekly: “Publishers Put Stock in Asian Grandmothers”
Thank you for all your support!
Aloo gobi. Aloo gobi. Aloo gobi. Aloo gobi.
No matter which syllable, or syllables, I place the inflection on I can’t help but crinkle my lips into a smile every time I utter the name of this popular North Indian dish. And I must say I’ve been uttering these words more often in recent months.
A staple at Indian restaurants with the star ingredients being potatoes (aloo) and cauliflower (gobi), aloo gobi is fairly simple to make at home as well.
Don’t believe me? Well, I wouldn’t believe me either if not for Sangita who showed me how to make it from start to finish.
It does require some time and has quite a lengthy list of ingredients. But after a little chopping (enlist a sous chef or two) and a gathering of herbs and spices (be sure they’re all on hand and don’t skimp, please!), the ingredients can be combined in a pot and left to simmer until done.
With hardly any effort, you’ll have an authentic Indian dish ready to eat as is or as a side dish to accompany a meat or fish dish.
Aloo Gobi
This recipe is adapted from Sangita’s and although aloo gobi’s main ingredients are usually only potatoes and cauliflower, I threw in some carrots for color and sweetness.
Makes 4 to 6 servings
1 hour
3 tablespoon vegetable oil
1/2 pound yellow waxy potatoes like new potatoes, peeled and cut into quarters
1 medium head cauliflower, cut into florets
2 bay leaves
1 teaspoon cumin seeds
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
2 teaspoons sugar, divided
1 small bunch cilantro, separated into leaves and stems, and chopped
½ teaspoon chili flakes
½ teaspoon ground cumin
½ teaspoon coriander powder
1 large clove garlic, chopped
1/2-inch sliver fresh ginger, peeled and minced
2 medium carrots, peeled and cut into 1-inch rounds
2 medium ripe tomatoes, seeded and quartered
Salt
1 teaspoon turmeric powder
¾ cup water
1 teaspoon store-bought garam masla or make your own: ¼ teaspoon ground cloves, ¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon, ½ teaspoon ground cardamom
In a large pot, heat the oil over medium heat until it starts to shimmer. Add the potatoes and fry until lightly browned, about 8 to 10 minutes. Remove and set aside. In the same pot, add the cauliflower and fry until lightly browned, about 5 to 6 minutes.
In the same pot, add 1 tablespoon of oil and heat over medium heat until it starts to shimmer. Add the bay leaves and cumin seeds. Fry until lightly toasted and fragrant, 1 to 1 1/2 minutes. Cumin seeds burn very quickly so pay attention! Add the onion followed by 1 teaspoon sugar and fry until golden brown, about 10 minutes.
Add the coriander stems, chili flakes, cumin and coriander and fry for about 5 minutes, adding water if the paste sticks to the bottom of the pan. Add the ginger and garlic. Tumble in the potatoes, cauliflower, carrots and tomatoes. Mix well to coat vegetables with the spices. Add salt to taste, 1 teaspoon sugar and turmeric and continue to fry for another 2 to 3 minutes.
Pour in the water, cover and simmer over medium-low heat for about 35 to 40 minutes, stirring occasionally.
When the vegetables are cooked and the curry sauce is almost dry, add the garam masala. Stir, taste and add more seasonings if desired. Remove from the heat. Sprinkle with cilantro leaves and serve with naan or basmati rice.
A few weeks ago, I was in Seattle to celebrate my dad’s 70th birthday.
That’s my mom and dad. The peak of the nasi tumpeng is sliced off first, in the same tradition as slicing into a birthday cake (Photo courtesy of Ricky Raynaldi)
My visit wasn’t a surprise–I was there on “business”–but the party was!
Preparing for the party of about 80 guests was quite an orchestration. My mom single-handedly prepared all the food, starting two weeks beforehand, and my sis, Mo, sent out Evites and tasked everyone with setup, decorations and Costco runs for the day.
Everything was meticulously planned. To avoid any suspicion, we had a family dinner on Friday night to celebrate dad’s birthday, and Mo asked dad to come over on Saturday to help her put together her patio table. I was very concerned that someone was going to give it all away, and ironically, I was the one who almost did! A gentle shoulder squeeze from my mom was all that stood between my big mouth and a ruined surprise.
The Saturday morning of the party dawned bright and sunny (not always a given during Seattle summers). It was a bustle of activity as we set up in the cabana next to the swimming pool in Mo’s condo. I even managed to get my 7-year-old nephew to help with unmolding and arranging the desserts.
The amazing spread of food comprised: Sate Manis (sweet pork satay), Beef Rendang (curried beef), Ayam Goreng (fried chicken), Tahu-Tempeh (sauteed tofu and tempeh), Sayur Asem (sour vegetable soup), Krupuk (shrimp, fish and tapioca crackers) and seven different types of dessert including Longan/lychee Jelly, Kue Salat (sticky rice topped with coconut custard), and Durian Roll (a roulade filled with durian cream—yum!). And let’s not forget the keg of root beer, my dad’s favorite soda!
However, the highlight of the meal was the Nasi Tumpeng, turmeric-tinged yellow rice piled high into a cone and served with an assortment of dishes.
Shredded egg omelet, cucumbers, sambal teri (anchovies with chilies and peanuts), telor belado (twice cooked egg with sweet chili sambal), tahu-tempeh, are just some of the foods that usually surround the base of nasi tumpeng (Photo courtesy of Ricky Raynaldi)
Mom went all out with the decorations, fashioning bell peppers, chilies, and onions into flowers, and arranging eggplant, cabbage and lettuce leaves around the gorgeous display.
At around 5 p.m., Mo lured dad down to the pool saying she needed to get dropcloths to protect her carpet.
From inside the cabana, I watched as my dad sauntered closer to the cabana, pausing to peer at the potted plants and flowers surrounding the pool.
Mom leading a surprised dad into the cabana to meet his friends (Photo courtesy of Ricky Raynaldi)
As he walked through the door, everyone shouted in unison, “Surprise!” And from the look on his face–eyes wide, eyebrows raised, jaw dropped–he didn’t suspect a thing!
Fragrant Yellow Celebration Rice (Nasi Kuning)
(Photo courtesy of Ricky Raynaldi)
The foundation of nasi tumpeng is, of course, fragrant yellow rice. In Indonesia, this dish is traditionally served to celebrate a special occasion, be it a birthday, a marriage or even success at work. The height of the cone symbolizes the greatness of Allah or God, and the food at the base of the cone symbolizes nature’s abundance. The yellow tinge in the rice symbolizes wealth and high morals. When I was growing up, nasi tumpeng was served alongside roast beef at Christmas dinner, fitting perfectly into our holiday celebrations, a time of thanksgiving and hope for a prosperous New Year. But you can enjoy in place of white rice any time!
Time: 45 minutes plus frying shallots
Makes: 6 to 8 servings as a as part of a multicourse family-style meal
2½ teaspoons ground turmeric
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup warm water
1½ cups coconut milk
1 plump stalk lemongrass, bruised and tied into a knot
1 salam leaf
4 kaffir lime leaves, crumpled
2½ cups long-grain rice
2 cups water
Garnishes:
1 small red bell pepper, cut into strips
1 small cucumber, peeled and cut into coins
Fried shallots
Dissolve the turmeric and salt in the warm water.
In a large pot, bring the coconut milk, lemongrass, salam leaf, and kaffir lime leaves to a gentle boil over medium-high heat. Reduce the heat to medium-low. Add the turmeric water. Tip the rice into the pot and add the water. Bring to a gentle boil, stirring occasionally.
Simmer uncovered until all the liquid has just been absorbed, about 10 minutes. Reduce the heat to low. Cover and cook for 15 to 20 minutes, or until the rice is tender but not mushy; the rice grains should still be separated. If the rice is still hard, make a well in the center of the pot, add a little water, and cook a few more minutes. Halfway through the estimated cooking time, gently fluff the rice with a fork or chopsticks.
Let the rice cool. Fish out the lemongrass, salam leaf, and lime leaves and discard.
On a large serving platter, mound the rice into the shape of an upturned cone. Garnish with red pepper strips, cucumber slices, and fried shallots.
Luffa squash lying elegantly on my dining table
Our taste buds are the most effective memory keepers of all.
Let me explain.
A few weeks ago, I was talking to my favorite Hmong farmer, Moua, about the assortment of Asian vegetables he grows and sells. He drew out an elongated green specimen which could have come straight out of a Star Trek episode. The curved gourd has a matt green skin with ridges running down the length of it. “It’s called sing gua,” explained Moua. “Stir fry with pork, garlic and lemongrass .”
Moua and his daughter Mary at the Pacific Grove Certified Farmers’ Market
I happily took one home with me to experiment.
Once in the comfort of my own kitchen, I looked up sing gua in Sara Deseran’s “Asian Vegetables.” This odd vegetable is also called luffa squash, Chinese okra and sponge gourd (for good reason!).
If anyone tells you you don’t have to peel the skin, don’t believe them.
To peel the luffa squash, I trimmed the ends and cut it in half. Standing the flat sides of each half on the cutting board, I peeled the bitter skin completely to reveal the pale green flesh. I then cut it crosswise into 1-inch coins.
Peeled and sliced luffa, kinda looks like honeydew melon!
While a luffa has seeds, they are edible and don’t need to be removed. And like a sponge, it will soak up whatever flavors you pair it with.
Anyway I stir fried the luffa as instructed by Moua and sat down to eat. I popped a spoonful of luffa with rice into my mouth and started chewing. As I chomped down on its supple texture, savoring its sweet flavor paired with fish sauce and lemongrass, visions of a childhood dish comprising slices of a soft green vegetable, carrots and cellophane noodles played themselves out in front of my eyes in a wave of nostalgia.
OMG, I know this vegetable!
A quick phone call to my mum revealed this vegetable to be oyong in Indonesian and she furnished me with a recipe.
Funny enough, this childhood dish has been on my radar for the last couple of weeks since I’ve been compiling a list of my favorite recipes for a new book proposal.
The world works in mysterious ways. The stars align. Serendipitous things happen.
Stir-fried Luffa Squash with Pork and Carrots
Luffa is delicious in stir-fries, soaking up the flavors of whatever seasoning or meat/ seafood (it tastes great with squid and shrimp) you pair it with. Try it in curries or soups as well.Some people like it raw too! Ever adventurous, I picked up some burgundy carrots at the farmers’ market which stained the cellophane noodles a purplish hue. Heh.
A burgundy carrot is beautiful to behold but watch out–the color bleeds!
Time: 20 minutes
Makes: 2 servings over rice as a main course
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
I clove garlic, chopped
1 Asian shallot, sliced
4 ounces pork shoulder or loin, sliced into bite-sized pieces (or chopped raw shrimp)
1 medium carrot, peeled and sliced thinly on the diagonal
2 ounces cellophane noodles, soaked in warm water and drained
1 small luffa squash (8 ounces)
Water or stock
2 teaspoons fish sauce
Salt and white pepper
In a large wok or skillet, heat the oil over medium heat until runny and ripply. Stir in the garlic and shallot and fry until fragrant, about 30 to 45 seconds.
Add the carrot and toss for 1 to 2 minutes. Add the pork and toss until the meat loses its blush, 1 to 1 1/2 minutes. Add the luffa and mix well. Add the cellophane noodles followed by 2/3 cup water. Add fish sauce, salt and pepper to taste and mix well.
Cover and reduce the heat to medium-low. The dish is done when the cellophane noodles are completely transparent, the carrots are soft, and the liquid has reduced to about 1/4 cup, 2 to 3 minutes. The dish should be rather soupy but use your discretion and reduce the liquid further or add more water.
Taste and adjust seasonings if necessary. Serve with steamed jasmine rice.
Last Sunday, I conducted my very first cooking class/workshop in San Francisco. It was organized by Slow Food SF and held at La Cocina, an incubator kitchen for low income minority women.
The series was aptly titled “Grandmother Workshops” and the goal was to teach people the traditional culinary skills our grandmothers used to teach us. Obviously, you needn’t be a grandmother to teach a workshop.
My chosen topic was pickles: kimchi, Chinese cucumber and carrot pickle and asinan buah (Indonesian fruit salad, see below).
The days leading up to the workshop was a flurry of activity shopping for the right ingredients, not so easy when you don’t live in a metropolitan city. Fortunately a small Korean-owned market in Seaside proffered red pepper powder, the one ingredient I thought would be most difficult to find.
When I got to San Francisco, I stayed with my friend Angeline who was my chauffer, helper and photographer (yup, she took all the pictures on this page) all rolled into one. I owe you one, Ange!
On Saturday, I scoured Chinatown for some fresh produce. While I was lugging daikon, jicama, cabbage and the like up and down Grant Street, Angie and my hubby went for foot reflexology and a full body massage respectively (I am in no way bitter about that, of course).
Prepping for the class
On Sunday, we got to La Cocina an hour early to prep. The large cavernous space comprises 2 sections, 4 work stations, even more sinks, several industrial-sized burners, an industrial-sized mixer, and a massive dishwasher, just to name a few accoutrements I saw.
By 3 o’clock, about 25 people had filled the room. I talked a little about pickling in general and the ingredients we would be using.
Everyone had different reasons for coming. One gentleman really wanted to learn how to make kimchi and requested that straight out. My second cousin came because she wanted to see me (or so I’d like to think). A science teacher thought that pickling might be a fun food science lesson to teach her students.
Soon, the sound of (knife) blade to (chopping) board reverberated throughout the space and informal chatter invaded the kitchen. I walked around making sure everyone knew what they were doing.
Pickle mania!
The communal pickle pot was the first to fill with the assortment of vegetables everyone brought. This we pickled using the same brine as the Chinese pickles. Some students worked on the kimchi and others tackled the jicama and pineapple for the asinan.
Massaging the chili paste into the vegetables to make kimchi
There was some bickering over the vegetable peelers (we only had 3!) and we ran out of ginger and vinegar halfway. It was also hard to be heard with the banging of pots and pans in the next room and because of the echo-y space. And yes, there was chaos; as my friend said, “hands-on workshops are always a handful.”
In the end, everyone seemed to have a great time. I believe that the asinan was hands down the favorite. When everyone was filling their take home jars, that was the first to disappear.
As for me, I had lots of fun and it was definitely a learning experience.
Indonesian Fruit Salad (Asinan Buah)
The communal pickle pot is on the left and the asinan is on the right
There are two versions of asinan, this one with chunks of fruit and (fruitlike) vegetables and another with a medley of vegetables–carrots, cucumbers and cabbage–and showered with roasted peanuts. This is my favorite, eaten as a refreshing snack on a hot, sunny day. Indonesian palm sugar might be a little difficult to find. Substitute Thai palm sugar or seek out Sweet Tree Sustainable Sweeteners evaporated palm sugar which I found at Whole Foods.
Time: 20 minutes
Makes 4 servings
2 cups fresh pineapple cut into 1/2-inch chunks (about 8 ounces)
1 large firm mango, cut into 1/2-inch cubes (about 2 cups)
1 small sweet potato, cut into 1/2-inch cubes (about 1 1/2 cups)
1 small (about 8 ounces) jicama (Mexican turnip), peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes
2 tablespoons (about 2 ounces) chopped Indonesian palm sugar
1 fresh, long red chili (like Holland or Fresno), pounded with a mortar and pestle or chopped in a food processor into confetti-sized bits, or 1 teaspoon bottled chili paste
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 cup boiling water
1/2 cup distilled white vinegar
Place the fruit and vegetables in a colander over the sink to remove excess liquids.
Place the palm sugar, chili and salt in a large bowl. Pour in the boiling water and vinegar and stir well. Let it cool.
When the dressing is cool, tumble the fruit and vegetables into the bowl and toss. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours to allow the flavors to meld. Serve chilled or at room temperature.
As grandma always says, please share!
Chicken wings were one of my favorite childhood snacks: baked, grilled, or fried, it didn’t matter. I’d gnaw on the wing tips until all the flavor and what little meat and skin were on ‘em was sucked off!
So when Monica Bhide asked me to cook her Indian chicken wings recipe from her new cookbook Modern Spice as part of a virtual bloggers dinner, I was happy to oblige!
Sprinkling chaat masala over the tasty wings
Now the recipe called for an optional garnish of chaat masala, a spice blend that is sprinkled onto snacks and used in aloo chaat. Unless you live near a South Asian market, it might be a little hard to find. So I devised a do-it-yourself version using whatever spices you can find.
Mix and Match Chaat Masala
Chaat masala is available as a ready mix at South Asian markets for about $1 but if you aren’t able to find it, make your own. It may seem like there are 101 ingredients and yes the ingredient list is lengthy, but if you’re a spice fiend like me, you might already have quite a few of the ingredients in your pantry. Aside from cumin seeds and coriander seeds which I always have on hand, I was pleasantly surprised to be able to put the dried mango powder, black salt, and asafetida powder I had received as gifts to good use! Of course, there are also 101 recipes for chaat masala but that’s the beauty of it—you can mix and match to your taste.
2 tablespoons dried mango powder (amchoor)
3 teaspoons cumin seeds
3 teaspoons black salt (kala namak)
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
As many of the following ingredients you can find:
1 teaspoon coriander seeds
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon fennel seeds
1/4 teaspoon ajwain seeds (lovage or bishop’s weed)
1/4 teaspoon asafetida powder (hing)
1/4 teaspoon ground dried mint
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/4 teaspoon paprika
Toast the whole spices separately in a small dry cast iron skillet for 1 to 3 minutes, or until they are fragrant and turn a shade or two darker. Don’t let them burn! Grind them individually into a fine powder.
Combine all the ingredients and store in an airtight container.
I love the crunch of a crisp, refreshing cucumber. And now that cucumbers are in season, I’ve been munching on them as often as I can.
A member of the gourd family, the cucumber may seem an unremarkable vegetable. It comprises mostly water and tastes rather bland solo. But pickle a cucumber in brine or toss a few slices into a tomato and corn mélange and **boom** these cool cukes are reborn into culinary aristocracy.
My cucumber of choice is the Japanese cucumber. Long, firm and slender, it is encased in an even forest green skin and have tiny inconspicuous seeds, unlike regular cucumbers. Funny enough, the Mexican flower grower at my farmers’ market also grows and sells, of all things, Japanese cucumbers!
The Japanese cucumber is my cucumber of choice
As a Japanese cucumber lover, I was delighted to discover a not-your-usual-Japanese-restaurant-version of sunomono. “Su” means vinegar and this rice vinegar-based salad is a common appetizer usually made with cucumbers.
A few Sundays ago, my honey and I were invited to a bonsai exhibition and demonstration organized by the Monterey Bonsai Club at the Monterey Buddhist Temple.
I’ve always been fascinated by this ancient artform originating in China and adopted and evolved by the Japanese. By intricately pruning and training them, these miniature trees in pots mimic aged, mature, tall trees in nature. I learned a few things that day: any type of tree imaginable can be “bonsai’d” and bonsais can be flowering and even fruiting!
I wasn’t expecting to be fed at a bonsai exhibition but our friends snuck us into the member’s only section where a buffet lunch was laid out. The spread was a mix of Western and Japanese dishes and several caught my eye and arrested my tastebuds—among them marinated asparagus, pickled bamboo shoots, and a unique sunomono of cucumbers, glass noodles and shrimp.
Unfortunately, there were no grandmothers/cooks to commiserate and chat with so all I could do was savor the flavors and textures and make a mental note to experiment at home. Which I did and the result of the sunomono experiment is below.
There he is! As much of a habit it is with me, I was advised not to name our bonsai. I think if I did, he would be a Walter.
The second pleasant surprise of the day was that we won a door prize—our very own bonsai! The best part? My husband took ownership of the little specimen and has been watering it religiously.
Bonsai Sunomono
Of course I just made up the name of the dish but I figured since I discovered while perusing a bonsai exhibition, I should name this dish as such. Plus, it commemorates our very first bonsai as well! I recommend using Japanese, English or any other variety of seedless cucumbers. They tend to be a little pricier but they are devoid of the large seeds, waxy inedible green skin and watery flesh of regular cucumbers.
Time: 15 minutes plus marinating time
Makes: 6 appetizer servings
2 ounces glass noodles
6 tablespoons rice vinegar
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon soy sauce
1 teaspoon salt, plus extra for salting
2 Japanese cucumbers, or 1 English cucumber (about 12 ounces)
1 tablespoon finely chopped green onions
1 1/2 teaspoons sesame seeds (optional)
Place noodles in a heat-proof bowl and cover with boiling water for 5 minutes, or until completely translucent and tender. Drain in a colander and rinse with cold water. Leave in the sink to drain thoroughly.
In the meantime, mix the vinegar, sugar, soy sauce and salt in a medium bowl. Stir until the sugar dissolves completely. Add the noodles, cover and chill.
Peel the cucumbers and cut into half lengthwise. Scrape out the seeds with a teaspoon if desired. Cut crosswise into 1/4-inch thick slices. Place the cucumber in a colander, sprinkle with salt and let sit over the sink for 30 minutes. Rinse with cold water and drain.
Toss the cucumber with the marinated noodles and chill for at least 15 minutes. Garnish with green onions and sesame seeds and serve.
Variations:
You can add wakame (seaweed), or cooked crab or tiny shrimp with the cucumbers.
Pat’s tips:
This dish can be made ahead up to 2 days ahead. Prepare all the ingredients as directed except the cucumbers, green onions and sesame seeds. Add them just before serving.
As grandma always says, please share!
In this installment, Audrey Low contributes a little snippet that reflects on the kitchen chores she had as a child, plus a whimisical look at an old wives’ tale . Of Malaysian-Chinese descent, Audrey is an anthropologist living in Australia. Her blog: papayatreelimited.blogspot.com combines her love of Asian art, food, travel, and writing, blending her personal journey with people’s stories and her research.
If you would like to guest blog about cooking with a special woman in your life, please email me at pat@ediblewords.com.
In the Kitchen with Mum and Popo
By Audrey Low
Audrey and her mum, Judy Low, at graduation
Choy keok, a Hakka hot and sour soup, is a dish my mother learned to cook when she was a child from her nyonya grand-aunt. Imagining my mother as a child reminded me of learning to cook with her.
My mum cooks in silence; it’s like meditation for her. I remember my dad urging me to go into the kitchen to learn how to cook, but she would never say anything except, perhaps, the occasional instructions to get some ingredients: “Take the blunt knife and cut some serai (lemongrass) from the garden,” or “Pluck some curry leaves/fresh limes/chilies.” Mostly, I learned through observation.
There were many chores for kids around the kitchen. I, like Pat, had the interminable chore of breaking the ends off every single bean sprout. I too could never understand why it was necessary, and no amount of reasoning could get me out of that chore.
Pounding chili in the heavy stone mortar and pestle was another favorite job to give kids. And when I was doing the task, I would inevitably get a speck of chili in my eye. My grandmother’s solution was to pour cold water on my feet. Admittedly, it’s a far more elegant method than simultaneously hopping around in agony, rubbing one eye and splashing water on my face, which I did repeatedly.
However, after trying her way a couple of times unsuccessfully, I gave it up. But I’m pretty sure my grandmother still swears by the method to this very day.
Mum’s Choy Keok
Photo and recipe courtesy of Audrey Low
For this soup, mustard cabbage is not interchangeable with other leafy greens — it’s the only vegetable that will not fall apart in this robust soup. You can buy roast pork from a Chinese restaurant or deli or make it yourself with this recipe. Please visit Papaya Tree Limited for more stories and photos!
Makes: 8 to 10 servings
Time: 20 minutes plus simmering time
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
20 slices assam keping or assam gelugor (sometimes mistakenly called dried tamarind), or 3 heaping tablespoons tamarind paste
8 cloves garlic, smashed
5 dried whole chilies
3 fresh red Thai chilies, sliced
1 thumb-sized piece ginger, cut into 1/4 inch slices
1 to 2 pounds roast pork (or any other roast meat like duck and chicken)
2 (12 ounce) bunches mustard cabbage (gai choy), cut into thirds
1 1/2 tablespoon sugar
1 1/2 teaspoon salt
In a big stock pot, heat the oil over medium heat until it starts to shimmer. Add the assam keping, dried and fresh chilies (add more to taste, if desired), ginger, and garlic and stir until fragrant.
Add the roast pork and mustard cabbage. Add the sugar, salt and enough water to cover the ingredients. Raise the heat to high and bring to a boil. Then reduce heat to low and simmer for about 1 hour, or until the mustard cabbage is soft. Serve with rice.
As grandma always says, please share!
