A big bowl of canh ca plus rice makes for a satisfying spring supper. Do you notice the delicate blush of the broth from the rhubarb?
Rhubarb ranks way up there, together with ramps and fava beans, as a local vegetable I have absolutely no clue how to tackle.
In Singapore, where I didn’t eat my first fresh, fuzz-covered peach until I was 14 and imported smoked salmon cost $50 an ounce (okay so maybe not that much, but you get the point), there was nary a stalk of rhubarb in sight.
Every spring since I moved stateside, when a friend waxes lyrical about grandma’s strawberry-rhubarb pie, or my inbox overflows with emails linking to the latest and greatest rhubarb recipes, I’d be as elated as a ladybug chewing on a leaf. I simply didn’t get all the hoo-hah that swirled around spring’s first fruit (right, it’s a vegetable but many American cooks think of it as a fruit because it’s a common ingredient in dessert).
After all these years of being reticent about rhubarb, I wondered if I just might be missing out. I also wanted to truly enjoy the Pacific Northwest’s bounty, so I decided to reexamine my feelings toward the pie plant, so named because it’s most commonly used in pie. Of course I had to find a way to use it in an Asianesque preparation. No easy task, mind you.
Inspiration eventually came in the form of a Vietnamese sour soup (canh chua).
We were celebrating my mom’s birthday with about 20 (!) of her friends at a Vietnamese restaurant in Seattle’s Central District when a big, steaming bowl of soup was placed in front of me. I scooped up some of the crystal clear soup brimming with bright red tomatoes, brilliantly-green baby bok choy, bean sprouts as white and unblemished as a bride’s wedding dress, and of course, the requisite bac ha (aka taro stem) into a bowl. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting the broth to have that much flavor. I didn’t think a clear vegetable soup could! But the tamarind-soured soup was tempered by the right amount of sweetness, and the vegetables tasted as fresh as morning’s first dew. I shamelessly ate four bowls!
When I next saw rhubarb at the market, it all came together. Rhubarb is sour. Canh chua is sour. Why not bring them together?
I contemplated the best way to bring out rhubarb’s pucker power in my soup and decided to stirfry it with the aromatics before adding the rest of the ingredients. I liked the subtle tang of the soup as well as the resulting texture of the rhubarb. In a cool coincidence, Marvin at BurntLumpia devised a different method to extract rhubarb’s sourly delights for the Filipino sour soup, sinigang. Have a look. (We didn’t plan this, I swear!)
Perhaps next year when spring rolls around, I’ll have another stroke of genius, this time on the sweet side. At the very least, I’ll be joining the masses in cheering the joys of rhubarb.
If you have an idea for an Asian preparation using rhubarb (especially a sweet one), do leave a comment!
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Vietnamese Sour Vegetable Soup with Rhubarb (Canh Chua Chay)
If you are unfamiliar with rhubarb (like I was!), do read this tutorial about handling and preparation. Be sure to remove all traces of the leaves as they contain toxins. The rhubarb imparts a tang that’s a little more coy than tamarind but you end up with a pretty soup tinged a delicate pink. Plus, the rhubarb develops a soft, spongy texture akin to bac ha (taro stem), the vegetable traditionally added to canh chua.
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 small onion, chopped (3/4 cup)
2 small stalks rhubarb, halved lengthwise and chopped into ¼-inch pieces (1 cup)
6 cups vegetable stock (I made mine using Harvest brand MSG-free vegetable bouillon)
2 large firm, ripe tomatoes, cut into eighths
1/2 small Chinese (napa) cabbage, sliced, green leaves and white stalks separated
1-1/2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon fish sauce
8 ounces bean sprouts, tails snapped off
Chopped cilantro and green onions for garnish
Lemon wedges to serve (optional)
Time: 20 minutes
Makes: 4 to 6 servings as part of a multicourse family meal
Swirl the oil into a large pot and heat over medium heat until it shimmers. Add the garlic and onion and stir and cook until the onion turns translucent, 2 to 3 minutes.
Add the chopped rhubarb and stir and cook for 1 to 2 minutes, until the rhubarb pieces soften and turn a shade paler. Pour in the vegetable stock and bring to a boil.
Add the white cabbage stalks and cook for 1 to 2 minutes. Add the cabbage leaves and the tomatoes, and cook for another 1 to 2 minutes until the tomatoes soften a little and the cabbage is cooked but still crisp (or for however long you may like).
Stir in the sugar and the fish sauce. Taste and adjust the flavors as needed. Turn off the heat and add the bean sprouts, they will cook in the residual heat but still be crunchy. Sprinkle with cilantro and green onions with or without abandon.
Serve immediately on the table family style, or in individual bowls with steamed rice and another dish or two. Or just have a huge bowl of it with rice. You can also have lemon wedges on the table if you’d like to spritz some juice on your soup
~~~
If you have an idea for an Asian preparation using rhubarb (especially a sweet one), do leave a comment!
Memorial Day marks the beginning of grilling season (and unofficially, summer!) in the U.S. Unless, of course, you live in Seattle where we feign insouciance and grill under gray skies while listening to the rhythmic pitter-patter of raindrops until at least July 4th.
Growing up, satay, chicken wings, and pork chops were always staples on the grill. Yes, every family does it differently. You may think that satay, chicken wings and pork chops are very exciting but inevitably the same stuff on the grill, bbq after bbq (regardless of the numerous permutations and combinations), does become a bit of a bore.
So, if you, like me, are tired of the same ole same ole, here are 5 ideas to help you break out of the boring barbecue box:
1. Aloo Paratha
Easy to make and nutritious too, aloo paratha is a potato-stuffed flatbread. This one-dish Indian meal can be eaten for breakfast, lunch, dinner, or at your next barbecue. In this recipe, Champa uses an electric griddle but I think the barbecue grill would make a fine substitute. Just be sure the grill grates are well-oiled.
I don’t usually grill fish on the barbecue but this isn’t quite grilling. Follow all the steps in this recipe but instead of steaming the fish in a claypot, wrap it up in aluminum foil and place it on the grill. The fish will steam nicely inside the foil packet. Remember to check on it frequently so it doesn’t overcook.
3. Cambodian Stuffed Chicken Wings
What’s better than chicken wings on the grill? Stuffed chicken wings on the grill! Prepping this dish is a little laborious but the accolades from your guests will make it all worthwhile. Whether you choose to stuff chicken wings or a whole chicken, you will be rewarded with delicious bird.
4. Cantonese-style Steamed Cake
Steam a cake on the grill? Why not? In this case, I’d use a metal cake pan, not a glass one.
5. Grilled Rice Balls (Yaki Onigiri)
Photo by: umamimart.com
I’m Asian, I like rice. And these delicious rice balls are a delightful way to have my rice and grill it too.
~~~
Here are more fanciful ideas for the grill from around the Web:
The Daily Meal’s “8 Unlikely Grill Foods”
Delish.com’s “12 Unusual Recipes for the Grill”
HuffPost’s “Foods To Barbecue: Strange Options You Never Considered Before”
~~~
What are some of your break-out-of-the-box items you like to put on the grill?
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A Post-Mother’s Day Post and “Losing Face”
The endless knot, also called mystic or love knot, is a feng shui symbol representing never-ending love and unity among family members in Chinese culture. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Last week, I had written a Mother’s Day post that came from the heart.
My many days of soul-searching were rewarded with memories that revealed themselves in full Technicolor splendor. My words were honest and truthful, as personal essays ought to be. I did share some intimate moments from my childhood but nothing I thought would color anyone’s opinion of me or my mother. Yet, something was nagging at me, like a hangnail so teensy yet so there.
When it came time to hit the ‘publish’ key, my finger froze. I couldn’t do it. I hit ‘delete’ instead. I shut down my computer and went off to wallow in a teetering bowl of Tillamook Mud Slide ice cream and a decadent afternoon nap.
A few days later, I made a new acquaintance. When she found out I was a food writer, she told me she knew a very famous food blogger and writer and had once asked her, “Does it bother you that the whole world knows every detail of your life?” The answer was, “No.”
That simple conversation was a revelation. In hindsight, I was concerned about how my mum would react to my essay (not that she reads my blog but still…), or that she might “lose face” if any of her friends or friends of friends read the piece (not that they will but still…).
As Asians, we are very concerned about “saving face,” an abstract concept that can simply be described as taking steps not to publicly humiliate oneself or others. Western culture appreciates honesty (sometimes to the point of being too in-your-face) and transparency but the opposite holds true with Asians.
As such, we never air our dirty laundry. Certain topics are so taboo they’re not even discussed behind closed doors, let alone laid bare for the prying eyes and ears of others!
I was also feeling particularly sensitive having just read Amy Chua’s contentious Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. The book evoked many emotional (and verbal!) responses that I won’t get into but what I found most shocking was that despite Chua’s flagrant claims of being a very traditional Chinese parent, she’s flaunting some seriously filthy laundry for the whole entire world to ogle, rips, tears, stains, racy hot pink panties and all.
I could never do that to my family. And knowing how sensitive–and how very Asian–my mum is, I was right to err on the side of caution.
After some reflection, I decided on the following guideline *for my blog: If I thought my words may have even the slightest chance of hurting someone *close to me or making them feel uncomfortable, I would keep them to myself. (The same goes in real life, no?) My family and friends are worth much, much more than any number of hits on my blog.
What about you? Where do you draw the line when revealing details about your private life to the blogosphere? Do you have guiding principles? Please share your responses in the comments section, I’d love to hear them!
(*Addendum: I added the words in red after original publication)
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Of Fusion Cuisine and Fusion Babies
The online Merriam Webster dictionary defines fusion cuisine as: “food prepared by using the techniques and ingredients of two or more ethnic or regional cuisines”
Going by this definition, just about everything we cook or eat is fusion cuisine. Noodles came from China (yes, they did!), so technically, spaghetti is a fusion dish. The Seattle dining scene is heavily influenced by the Pacific Rim, and even if no one bats an eyelid at grassfed flank steak shellacked with Sriracha-hoisin glaze served with a side of parsnip puree, this dish screams fusion! And while it never occurred to me when I was growing up, I was raised on fusion food. Many traditional Singaporean favorites are an amalgamation of the cultures that simmer in that diverse melting pot of a society. As were the Indonesian dishes my mum put on the table day after day.
In the same way, you could say my son is a fusion baby: he was created through the union of two or more ethnic groups. I am Indonesian-Chinese and my husband, Pakistani-White American (forgive the generalization as my husband is adopted and unsure of his heritage).
Fusion baby or not, all toddler boys are programmed to love trains especially one named Thomas.
So it’s not surprising he was the inspiration for this fusion dish I created for #LetsLunch, our monthly Twitter-inspired food bloggers potluck.
One weekday several months ago, I was exhausted after a whole day of Isaac-sitting and I didn’t really want to cook. I was fine eating leftovers but I didn’t think Isaac would appreciate the fiery Indian curry from several days ago so I rummaged around in the fridge and found leftover cooked pasta, frozen peas and tofu. Yay, I thought, my kid loves tofu and will eat it with anything. However, tofu and red sauce didn’t quite appeal so I decided to try an Asian-style pasta stirfry.
I cut the tofu into cubes and brushed them with oyster sauce before pan-frying them. Once they were done, I removed them from the pan then continued with the rest of the ingredients. When everything had been given a final toss in the pan, I was a little skeptical but once I tasted the dish, I was pleasantly surprised.
When I made the dish again, I wanted a crisper tofu so I tossed the cubes in olive oil and baked them. The result–light golden cubes with crusty edges that held up better in the pan. I also added some butter toward the end to give the dish richness and flavor, a tip I learned from a Vietnamese chef when I was gathering recipes for The Asian Grandmothers Cookbook. I thought, “why not?’ since Isaac’s pediatrician was always telling me to add olive oil and butter to his meals to fatten him up.
Tofu, pasta, and butter(!) may seem like an odd combo but this dish turned out very tasty and has been filed away in my “recipes to keep” folder. Plus, Isaac LOVES it! There we are, fusion cuisine for a fusion baby.
Our very own #LetsLunch-er Grace Hwang Lynch of HapaMama wrote a BlogHer article, highlighting that one in ten married couples have partners of different races. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, mixed-race marriages have increased by 28% in the past decade nationwide. Not surprisingly, more mixed-race (fusion!) babies are being born, according to this Washington Post article.
In the next century, perhaps fusion cuisine will be an obsolete term, humankind will be entirely mixed-race, and if Joss Wheedon (sorry typo, thanks Mo!) is truly a soothsayer, we’ll all be space cowboys cursing in Cantonese on the frontier! (And if you didn’t get that “Firefly” reference, you really need to email me to fix that!)
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Buttery Tofu, Pasta and Peas
This is an easy, no-fuss recipe perfect for a weeknight meal. You can bake the tofu the night before and refrigerate until needed, or utilize the baking time to cook the pasta and chop the garlic and onions. You’ll still have time to take a shower and feed the dogs! I like my tofu a little crisp but if you’re running short on time, pan-fry the tofu cubes for about 2 to 3 minutes on each side instead. You can also use store-bought fried tofu or baked tofu.
Time: 1 hour, 15 minutes active
Makes: 4 servings
14-ounce package firm or extra firm tofu, cut into 1-inch cubes
2 teaspoons olive oil, plus 1 tablespoon for cooking
Sea salt
8 ounces farfalle pasta, cooked according to package directions
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 medium yellow onion, chopped (about 3/4 cup)
1-1/2 tablespoons oyster sauce
1 tablespoon soy sauce
2 tablespoons butter
1 cup frozen peas
Freshly ground pepper
Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F.
In a large bowl, toss the tofu cubes with 2 teaspoons of olive oil and salt to taste. Spread them evenly in one layer on a baking sheet. Bake until golden and crispy along the edges, 45 minutes to 1 hour.
While the tofu is baking, cook the pasta according to package directions.
Once the tofu is done, swirl in the remaining oil into a large pot and heat over medium-high heat until it shimmers. Cook the garlic and onion until the onion turns translucent. Add the pasta, followed by the oyster sauce and soy sauce. Mix well to coat the pasta.
Add the frozen peas and the butter and toss until the peas are heated through and the butter has completely melted. Add salt and pepper to taste. Serve with a glass of white wine or a sippy cup of milk (for you know who).
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Don’t forget to check out the Let’s Lunchers’ creations below. And if you’d like to join Let’s Lunch, go to Twitter and post a message with the hashtag #LetsLunch.
Anastasia‘s Miso Salmon with Mango Salsa at In Foodie Fashion
Cathy‘s Bacon-Studded Polenta With Tomato Gravy at ShowFood Chef
Charissa‘s Gluten-Free Azuki Bean Bundt Cake at Zest Bakery
Cheryl‘s Goan Pork Curry Tacos at A Tiger in the Kitchen
Eleanor‘s Wok Picadillo at Wok Star
Ellise‘s Salty Lime Sablés (Margarita Cookies) at Cowgirl Chef
Emma‘s Kimchi Bulgogi Nachos at Dreaming of Pots And Pans
Felicia‘s Mexican-Lebanese Hummus at Burnt-Out Baker
Grace‘s Taiwanese Fried Chicken at HapaMama
Jill‘s Southern Pimento-Stuffed Knishes at Eating My Words
Joe‘s Grilled KimCheese Sandwich at Joe Yonan
Juliana‘s Fusion Chicken Casserole at Food, Fun & Life
Karen‘s Ukrainian-German Cabbage Rolls at GeoFooding
Leigh‘s Venezuelan-Italian Cachapas Con Queso at Leigh Nannini
Linda‘s Project Runway Pelau: Rice & Beans Trinidad-Style at Spicebox Travels
Linda‘s Edible Salad Totes at Free Range Cookies
Lisa‘s Sunday Night Jewish-Chinese Brisket at Monday Morning Cooking Club
Lucy‘s Coconut Rice Pudding with Mango at A Cook And Her Books
Maria‘s Spanish Shrimp with Bacon, Cheddar & Chive Grits at Maria’s Good Things
Nancie‘s Chili-Cheese Biscuits with Avocado Butter at Nancie McDermott
Patricia‘s Buttery Tofu, Pasta & Peas at The Asian Grandmother’s Cookbook
Patrick‘s Kimchi Jigae and British Mash at Patrick G. Lee
Rashda‘s Mango Cobbler at Hot Curries & Cold Beer
Renee‘s Asian-Spiced Quick Pickles at My Kitchen And I
Steff‘s Chicken Fried Steak at The Kitchen Trials
Vivian‘s Funky Fusion Linguini at Vivian Pei
Hello? Seattle?
The Space Needle and Seattle Center as night falls. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I’ve been in a pseudo state of déjà-vu since we returned to Seattle two months ago.
Considering how long I’ve lived here (albeit off and on), I expected to ease into Seattle life as effortlessly as shimmying into a favorite pair of well-worn jeans.
Everything I love about this city still exists. The crisp, cool air that makes believe I’m living and breathing spearmint and wildflowers. Delectable dim sum at Jade Garden, including their pillowy-soft har gao (shrimp dumplings) and sweet and savory char siu sou (bbq pork pastry), for less than $15 per person. A spectacular view of snowcapped mountains in triplicate.
Then, there are the things I don’t love as much. A freeway that is a perpetual parking lot whether or not it’s rush hour. The slate-grey concrete slab that passes for sky and the 50-something temperatures … it’s April for goodness sake! (Although last weekend was fabulously sunshiney!)
Yet somehow, I don’t feel like I’m in my Seattle. My Seattle doesn’t have a toll bridge (paying to cross beautiful Lake Washington is just wrong!). My Seattle doesn’t have a dozen hip restaurants I’ve never been to. Add to that the friends who have moved, or drifted, away.
More likely, I’m feeling the pang of my husband’s absence. He was a huge part of what made Seattle my Seattle.
No sense pining. I figured the only way to remedy the situation was to be like a tourist and reacquaint myself with the city of my past.
A couple of Wednesdays ago, my friend Ivy and I paid a visit to new-to-me Melrose Market. Stepping into the series of conjoined buildings, I was transported to another time and place. What used to be a series of repair and rebuild shops for foreign autos is now a covered shopping arcade housing, among other (mostly food) retailers, Homegrown sustainable sandwiches, Taylor Shellfish Farms, The Calf and the Kid cheese shop, and Rain Shadow Meats.
At the back corner of the market sat a sweet little flower shop called Marigold and Mint. While the blooms were attractive enough, I ended buying a clutch of flowering kale rapini from Oxbow Farms for the one reason that they ping-ponged between being familiar and not. It was my first encounter with these greens but their thick purple stalks and serrated leaves reminded me of purple kale, and the yellow flower clusters, gai lan (Chinese broccoli). I already knew exactly what I was going to do with them. I was going to prepare them the same way I would gai lan.
These gorgeous greens belong as much in a floral bouquet as on your plate!
At home, I gently unraveled the bundle–careful to keep the fragile flowerheads from falling off–to find the inner stalks still glistening. Droplets of morning dew perhaps? I’d like to think so!
I steamed the vegetables in the microwave and plated them. A few lashings of oyster sauce, a drizzle of sesame oil, plus a flurry of fried shallots later, lunch was ready.
As I took a bittersweet, herbaceous bite of my first kale rapini, I decided that even though Seattle this time round feels different, that’s OK. If I can use tried and true techniques to tame novel ingredients, why not approach life in the same way, by weaving the comfort of the familiar into the foreignness of what’s new.
~~~
Steamed Kale Rapini with Oyster Sauce and Sesame Oil
This is more a method than a recipe as I don’t usually bother measuring and eyeball everything, as can you! If you prefer, use an asparagus steamer or simply a pot of boiling water to blanch the vegetables. Just don’t overcook them. Try this with broccolini, kale, or asparagus; the medley of bitter greens, salty-sweet oyster sauce, and nutty sesame oil cannot be beat.
Makes: 1 to 2 servings as part of a multicourse meal
Time: 10 minutes
2 tablespoons oyster sauce
8 ounces flowering kale rapini, trimmed
Sesame oil
Fried shallots
Take your oyster sauce out of the fridge (that’s where I keep mine) and let it stand at room temperature. It will warm up a little, making it easier to drizzle.
Wash the kale rapini and spread the stalks in a shallow dish. Sprinkle with about 2 tablespoons of water and cover with a damp paper towel or microwave food cover (I love these!).
Microwave on high for 2 to 3 minutes until the vegetables turn bright green and are tender to the bite. I like the stems crisp, not soft and floppy. Microwaves vary in power so keep microwaving in 30 second increments until the vegetables are cooked the way you like.
Arrange the vegetables on a large plate. Drizzle with oyster sauce, sesame oil and sprinkle with fried shallots. Serve with freshly steamed rice.
Related articles
- Sesame Kale Sauté with Garlic and Shallot // Quick and Easy Side (happygoodtime.com)
- a sesame kale salad that kids will love (butterbeanskitchen.wordpress.com)
- Tried & tested rapini gets dried & fried (life.nationalpost.com)
Sweet and Savory Stuffed Lychees
I found a lonely can of lychees at the back of my pantry and it begged to be turned into something
My friend Yuki recoils at the mere mention of meat and fruit in tandem. I can still remember the times her face scrunched up into an origami of disgust at everything from sweet and sour pork to Hawaiian pizza.
As for me, give me pork stewed with prunes or mango chicken any day.
So it’s not surprising that I fell in love with an appetizer of sweet lychees stuffed with savory ground pork when I went to Duangrat’s Thai Restaurant in Falls Church, VA. Lychee, also commonly called litchi or lichi, is the fruit of a tropical and subtropical tree native to southern China and Southeast Asia, and now cultivated in many parts of the world. When eaten fresh, the translucent white pulp surrounding the seed is delicate and springy and it has a faint floral perfume and flavor. Unfortunately, I mostly make do with eating it out of a can.
Anyway, I’ve been fantasizing about this dish for weeks and as I was rummaging through my pantry during Operation CDMK, I found a can of lychees. My next post literally wrote itself.
To recreate the dish, I relied on my taste memory to deconstruct the flavors of the ground pork stuffing. For sweetness, the natural choice was the syrup the lychees came in, but I made a note to moderate the amount I used. Duangrat’s version was a little too sugary for even my major sweet tooth. I figured I could rely on either soy sauce or fish sauce for the savory layer. Instead of ground pork, I used turkey for a less greasy finish.
When it came time to cook, I started with a basic foundation of onions and garlic. I cooked the turkey until it was no longer pink then added the lychee syrup and simmered until the syrup was absorbed, rendering the meat subtly sweet. I added some chopped green onions for color and flourish.
Next, I had to figure out an efficient way to stuff the lychees. After breaking apart one too many lychees, I eventually learned how to gently pry open each fruit with my thumb and stuff it with a 1/2 teaspoon of filling at a time while leaving the fruit intact. A chopstick acted as a poking device when necessary.
At Duangrat’s, the stuffed lychees were served cold and almost gave my tongue the impression that I was eating a salty dessert. So I stuck mine under the broiler until they were burnished. I think this extra step not only integrated but also intensified the flavors and gave the little appetizers a peachier, prettier appearance. And personally, I prefer warm appetizers.
What about you? “Yay” or “Nay” to meat and fruit?
~~~
Sweet and Savory Stuffed Lychees
These appetizers are absolutely scrumptious and will make a delightful introduction at your next dinner party. I would make enough for at least 5 or 6 per person. Trust me, you simply can’t stop at just one or two. Stuffing the lychees does involve some fiddly work but you can make the filling up to 2 days ahead and refrigerate it. Then fill the lychees on the day you plan to serve them.
2 (20 oz) cans lychees (about 45 lychees)
8 ounces/250 g ground turkey, pork, or chicken
1/4 cup minced onion
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
2 teaspoons fish or soy sauce
White pepper
2 green onions, chopped
Salt
Time: 40 minutes
Makes: about 45 stuffed lychees
Drain the lychees, reserving 1/4 cup/60 ml of syrup. (The rest of the syrup makes a refreshing drink over ice or add it to a cocktail.)
In a large skillet, heat the oil over medium heat until it shimmers. Add the onion and garlic and fry until fragrant, about 1 to 2 minutes.
Raise the heat to medium-high and tumble in the turkey. Stir to break up the meat, frying until it is no longer pink. Sprinkle in the fish sauce and a dash of white pepper.
Pour in the reserved lychee syrup and simmer over low heat until the liquid is absorbed, 5 to 6 minutes. Add the green onions and stir until wilted, about 30 to 45 seconds. Taste and add salt and more pepper if desired.
Set the filling aside to cool.
Move an oven rack to the topmost rung, 4 to 5 inches from the heat source. Start your broiler, on HIGH if you have the option. Line 2 baking trays with aluminum foil and brush with oil or spray with nonstick spray.
Stick your thumb gently into a lychee to expand the opening. Stuff the fruit with about 1 teaspoon of the turkey filling using a 1/2 (measuring) teaspoon. Use a chopstick to push the filling into the lychee if necessary. Lay the stuffed lychee on the baking tray on its side. Repeat until all the lychees and filling are used up.
Broil the stuffed lychees for 2 to 3 minutes, until the meat is lightly caramelized but not charred, and the lychees take on a slight blush.
Serve immediately.
~~~
Related articles
- Lychee weekend! (foodservicewarehouse.com)
- Lychee berries~ the sweetest fruit of them all (blissreturned.wordpress.com)
- imabonehead: Lychee Short Ribs from Zestuous (zestuous.com)
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Coronation Chicken–A Sandwich Fixing Fit for a Queen
Depending on the quality and amount of curry used, the color of coronation chicken can range from acid yellow to subtle ochre. I like to think mine is the latter
Coronation chicken isn’t so well known in these parts (i.e. the U.S.) but in the U.K., this dish has a fabled history.
A humble dish with a regal name, coronation chicken was invented by Rosemary Hume, the founder of Le Cordon Bleu, joining the ranks of its Anglo-Indian brethren, chicken tikka masala and mulligatawny soup. It’s basically chicken salad’s gussied up little sister–shredded chicken dressed with a curry- and chutney-spiked mayo and studded with raisins–served over basmati rice or between bread.
According to this Guardian Newspaper article (where you can also read more about its provenance and permutations), coronation chicken was originally called poulet reine Elizabeth (Queen Elizabeth chicken). And since Queen Elizabeth II celebrates her Diamond Jubilee this year (she ascended the throne 60 years ago on February 6th, and her coronation took place June 2, 1953), why not pay tribute to my colonial heritage?
And besides, I had leftover chicken, curry powder, and preserves just waiting to be used up. Operation “Cook Down My Kitchen” cracks on!
Do you have a favorite way with coronation chicken?
~~~
Coronation Chicken
I first discovered Coronation Chicken when I was living in England. A friend ordered a coronation chicken sandwich for lunch one day. (This was one dish that didn’t quite catch on in the colonies, at least not Singapore). I wasn’t enticed by the turmeric yellow-tinged chicken but she coaxed me into having a bite and I’m glad she did! That first bite was an intriguing mélange of tender chicken, spicy curry, and sweet raisins. I’ve had many versions since then, not always tasty and often not pretty. I came up with a dressing that wasn’t too sweet, doing away with the requisite raisins/dried apricots of many recipes, and cut the greasy mayo with the lighter texture of yogurt. Plus, I added some celery (another refrigerator legacy!) for a nice crunch. The result–a light and bright filling I enjoyed sandwiched between hearty slices of herb bread.
Time: 15 minutes
Makes: 4 appetizer servings, or enough filling for 2 to 3 sandwiches
2 cups shredded cooked chicken (about 4 drumsticks or 3 breasts worth)
2 stalks celery hearts, finely chopped (about 2 tablespoons)
1 teaspoon curry powder
1 1/2 teaspoon preserves (I used a tropical mix but try apricot) or mango chutney
2 tablespoons yogurt (whole milk or lowfat is fine)
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
A few squirts of lemon juice
Salt and pepper
Place the chicken and celery in a medium bowl.
In a small cast iron skillet, toast the curry powder until fragrant, about 4 to 5 minutes.
Combine the curry powder, chutney, yogurt, mayo, and lemon juice in a small bowl and mix thoroughly.
Fold the curry dressing into the chicken until the chicken is well coated. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Let sit for at least an hour in the fridge to allow the flavors to meld. Serve the chicken on a bed of lettuce leaves or between slices of freshly baked bread.
~~~
Related articles
- A dish fit for a queen (telegraph.co.uk)
