One of the distinctive things about mitsuba is its trefoil shape. This gives a decorative touch to dishes where mitsuba is used as a garnish.
As my mitsuba sprouted, I was pleased yet a little puzzled. The tiny leaves on the sprouts were rounded, not three-lobed, and certainly not serrated. I didn't think the seed company had made a mistake, but it seemed odd. Today, however, the mystery was solved.
When I got home from work, I checked the garden (or "the farm," as my mother called it the last time I talked to her). One of the mitsuba sprouts was showing two new leaves, and these had the expected serrated trefoil shape, in miniature. I heaved a sigh of relief. All was well with the world again (or, at least, the world in that mitsuba pot).
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Pork stir-fry
I've been cooking a lot of Japanese food lately, but when I thawed out some pork for tonight's dinner, it was almost inevitable that I'd go Chinese. My original intention was to make some Sichuan spaghetti, but I decided I felt too lazy to chop up ginger tonight (it's been a long week and it's only Tuesday). I finally turned to Gloria Bley Miller's The Thousand Recipe Chinese Cookbook and found a recipe for stir-fried pork in oyster sauce that didn't require much chopping.
Having picked a recipe, I started altering it. First, the garlic had seen better days, so I substituted shallots. Then I used porcini soaking water instead of chicken stock, without really considering the radical difference in taste between the two.
It's a simple recipe: stir-fry your onion of choice in oil, then stir-fry the pork pieces until they're slightly browned. Add a little light soy sauce, then Shao Xing rice wine, and stir-fry for another minute. Add half a cup of (in this case) porcini water and heat, then add the oyster sauce solution (cornstarch, oyster sauce, water, sugar, light soy sauce). Serve with chopped scallions as a garnish.
This was another success. The combination of porcini water and oyster sauce made a rich savory sauce that was a delight. I will have to remember this combination, since it worked so well. Ok, so chopping four scallions for the garnish was definitely overkill, but the sauce was a real treat. I'll probably reuse the leftovers with rice tomorrow for lunch.
Having picked a recipe, I started altering it. First, the garlic had seen better days, so I substituted shallots. Then I used porcini soaking water instead of chicken stock, without really considering the radical difference in taste between the two.
It's a simple recipe: stir-fry your onion of choice in oil, then stir-fry the pork pieces until they're slightly browned. Add a little light soy sauce, then Shao Xing rice wine, and stir-fry for another minute. Add half a cup of (in this case) porcini water and heat, then add the oyster sauce solution (cornstarch, oyster sauce, water, sugar, light soy sauce). Serve with chopped scallions as a garnish.
This was another success. The combination of porcini water and oyster sauce made a rich savory sauce that was a delight. I will have to remember this combination, since it worked so well. Ok, so chopping four scallions for the garnish was definitely overkill, but the sauce was a real treat. I'll probably reuse the leftovers with rice tomorrow for lunch.
Sunday, March 27, 2005
Today's sprouts
Another set of little green sprouts is coming up, this time in the pot that contains scallions, spinach and Chinese celery. Judging from the position of the sprouts, they are incipient spinach plants, though I can't say they look much like spinach at this point.
Of the six mitsuba seedlings, two are looking particularly healthy and strong. Meanwhile, I continue to thin the lettuce patch. Most of those seedlings are long and scrawny; according to my mother this means they aren't getting enough light. It's still a little early to put them outside, though temperatures are moderating. Then again, some of the newer seedlings are less gawky, so maybe they're starting to get enough light.
Next to plant: edible-podded peas, Thai basil, bergamot and hot peppers.
Of the six mitsuba seedlings, two are looking particularly healthy and strong. Meanwhile, I continue to thin the lettuce patch. Most of those seedlings are long and scrawny; according to my mother this means they aren't getting enough light. It's still a little early to put them outside, though temperatures are moderating. Then again, some of the newer seedlings are less gawky, so maybe they're starting to get enough light.
Next to plant: edible-podded peas, Thai basil, bergamot and hot peppers.
Beef yakisoba
In which Friday dinner is transformed into Saturday's birding lunch and a good time is had by all.
It wasn't quite the same as Dosanko's beef yakisoba, but boy, was it good! I used some of the sliced sirloin that I like so much. I started by marinating it in a mix of two tablespoons shoyu, two tablespoons sake, a teaspoon of sesame oil and a teaspoon of cornstarch. I let it soak for about an hour. In the meantime, I chopped some napa cabbage (since this is a Japanese dish, I should probably refer to it as hakusai for the duration of this post), rinsed some leftover water chestnuts and cooked some chukasoba.
In my quest for a new bottle of good mirin I have so far come up empty. The high-end supermarket was all out, and the Asian supermarket only has aji-mirin at the moment (mirin with additives to increase the sweetness). However, my eye was caught by the so-called "kotterin mirin sweet cooking seasoning" that Kikkoman makes. "Kotterin" seems to come from the Japanese word for "thick;" this mirin is fortified with corn syrup, water, vinegar, shoyu, the ever-popular "flavorings" and a dash of sodium benzoate as a preservative. I figured I might as well give it a try and bought a small bottle. I mixed a tablespoon of this with two tablespoons of shoyu and a teaspoon of sesame oil to make the yakisoba sauce. When I tried it, it tasted great.
Yakisoba was easy to cook as usual. I stir-fried the beef in about three tablespoons of peanut oil until it was rare, and added the veggies and stir-fried for another minute or two. Then I added the noodles, stirred them and poured the leftover marinade and the sauce over everything. After heating through, I plated it.
The beef was perfectly done: right at the cusp of medium and medium-rare, with no pink in the middle but still juicy and tender. The beef juices added their signature to the sweet sauce, which lightly coated the other ingredients. It was a great way to celebrate the end of the work week.
Although I did my best to devour it all, enough was left to pack along as lunch on a birding trip with The Lurker and Perfect Tommy the next day. I happily finished it off as we ate at the Freehold WindMill (Perfect Tommy loves their hot dogs). As The Lurker had a barbecue sandwich and Perfect Tommy (of course) had a hot dog, I made side dishes out of The Lurker's lettuce and tomato for his sandwich, as well as some french fries he was willing to share.
It was a fairly quiet birding excursion, though we did see a rarity and some harbingers of spring. We finished our day at Aljon's Pizza, tucking into a wonderful large plain pie. Then it occurred to me that I needed some orange juice, so I figured a quick visit to the Asian supermarket was in order. Neither of the others had ever been there before (though Perfect Tommy often talks about having to get there someday). I did my tour guide routine and Perfect Tommy oohed about much of the food while managing to walk past it. He met his match in a jar of kimchi, however. The Lurker (not a fan of Asian food) trailed along in our wake, but his eyes lit up when he found a jar of mango powder meant to be used in drinks. He left it on the shelf, but I was impressed he found something of interest there. After some checkout confusion regarding a sale on orange juice (I ended up buying two on sale because it was just easier than explaining to the cashier that I just wanted one), we trooped off into the night.
It wasn't quite the same as Dosanko's beef yakisoba, but boy, was it good! I used some of the sliced sirloin that I like so much. I started by marinating it in a mix of two tablespoons shoyu, two tablespoons sake, a teaspoon of sesame oil and a teaspoon of cornstarch. I let it soak for about an hour. In the meantime, I chopped some napa cabbage (since this is a Japanese dish, I should probably refer to it as hakusai for the duration of this post), rinsed some leftover water chestnuts and cooked some chukasoba.
In my quest for a new bottle of good mirin I have so far come up empty. The high-end supermarket was all out, and the Asian supermarket only has aji-mirin at the moment (mirin with additives to increase the sweetness). However, my eye was caught by the so-called "kotterin mirin sweet cooking seasoning" that Kikkoman makes. "Kotterin" seems to come from the Japanese word for "thick;" this mirin is fortified with corn syrup, water, vinegar, shoyu, the ever-popular "flavorings" and a dash of sodium benzoate as a preservative. I figured I might as well give it a try and bought a small bottle. I mixed a tablespoon of this with two tablespoons of shoyu and a teaspoon of sesame oil to make the yakisoba sauce. When I tried it, it tasted great.
Yakisoba was easy to cook as usual. I stir-fried the beef in about three tablespoons of peanut oil until it was rare, and added the veggies and stir-fried for another minute or two. Then I added the noodles, stirred them and poured the leftover marinade and the sauce over everything. After heating through, I plated it.
The beef was perfectly done: right at the cusp of medium and medium-rare, with no pink in the middle but still juicy and tender. The beef juices added their signature to the sweet sauce, which lightly coated the other ingredients. It was a great way to celebrate the end of the work week.
Although I did my best to devour it all, enough was left to pack along as lunch on a birding trip with The Lurker and Perfect Tommy the next day. I happily finished it off as we ate at the Freehold WindMill (Perfect Tommy loves their hot dogs). As The Lurker had a barbecue sandwich and Perfect Tommy (of course) had a hot dog, I made side dishes out of The Lurker's lettuce and tomato for his sandwich, as well as some french fries he was willing to share.
It was a fairly quiet birding excursion, though we did see a rarity and some harbingers of spring. We finished our day at Aljon's Pizza, tucking into a wonderful large plain pie. Then it occurred to me that I needed some orange juice, so I figured a quick visit to the Asian supermarket was in order. Neither of the others had ever been there before (though Perfect Tommy often talks about having to get there someday). I did my tour guide routine and Perfect Tommy oohed about much of the food while managing to walk past it. He met his match in a jar of kimchi, however. The Lurker (not a fan of Asian food) trailed along in our wake, but his eyes lit up when he found a jar of mango powder meant to be used in drinks. He left it on the shelf, but I was impressed he found something of interest there. After some checkout confusion regarding a sale on orange juice (I ended up buying two on sale because it was just easier than explaining to the cashier that I just wanted one), we trooped off into the night.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Braised hijiki
Last night I had a light dinner of braised hijiki. Hijiki is a kind of seaweed; in its dried form it looks like little black wisps. When soaked, it expands in size, but it's still much less substantial than konbu or wakame. To give the dish a little more heft, abura-age is usually added. The drained hijiki is stir-fried in some oil, then the abura-age and the broth ingredients are added. The dish simmers for ten minutes, or until the liquid is absorbed. The broth is a sweet shoyu broth; the version I used last night includes a cup of water, three tablespoons of shoyu, two tablespoons of mirin and three tablespoons of sugar (recipe from Hiroko Urakami's Japanese Family-Style Recipes).
I had expected to need something more to eat, because this is such a light dish, but it was filling enough last night. It would be perfect in the usual Japanese context of a variety of dishes at a meal, but normally I cook one thing for a meal (too much coordination required to have soup, rice, salad and a main dish on the table for one meal).
I had expected to need something more to eat, because this is such a light dish, but it was filling enough last night. It would be perfect in the usual Japanese context of a variety of dishes at a meal, but normally I cook one thing for a meal (too much coordination required to have soup, rice, salad and a main dish on the table for one meal).
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Boring random stir-fry
Well, maybe it was boring, but it wasn't bad. I spent most of the day puttering around on various projects. I also planted spinach, scallions and Chinese (or leaf) celery. As a result, dinner was not going to be an important meal. I wanted something a little more involved than pouring some marinara on some noodles, but I didn't want a big production, either.
I started out with some "wok oil," which is oil that has been infused with onion, garlic, ginger and cilantro (House of Tsang brand). I was too lazy to chop up the seasonings tonight. The wok oil has impressed me as too harshly garlicky in the past, but it didn't bother me tonight. I stir-fried some water chestnuts and boiled bean sprouts for two and a half minutes, then added some cooked chukasoba noodles and cashews, then the sauce. The sauce proportions were two tablespoons shoyu, one tablespoon water, two tablespoons sake, a teaspoon of sesame oil and sugar to taste. I wanted a sweet stir-fry, so I added a lot of sugar. I cooked it until it seemed heated through, then sat down for dinner.
The sauce ended up being pretty bland and undistinguished, just like the food's appearance (maybe I should've added some slivered carrots for color, or a green garnish of some sort). The veggies didn't have that ideal fresh crunch you want in a really good stir-fry. But I have to admit that I didn't care tonight. It was simple, it was undemanding, it was filling. It was exactly what I wanted out of dinner tonight. Sometimes wonderful culinary pyrotechnics are just so much overkill. Some other time I can take this basic plan and tinker with it. For tonight, it was just what the doctor ordered.
I started out with some "wok oil," which is oil that has been infused with onion, garlic, ginger and cilantro (House of Tsang brand). I was too lazy to chop up the seasonings tonight. The wok oil has impressed me as too harshly garlicky in the past, but it didn't bother me tonight. I stir-fried some water chestnuts and boiled bean sprouts for two and a half minutes, then added some cooked chukasoba noodles and cashews, then the sauce. The sauce proportions were two tablespoons shoyu, one tablespoon water, two tablespoons sake, a teaspoon of sesame oil and sugar to taste. I wanted a sweet stir-fry, so I added a lot of sugar. I cooked it until it seemed heated through, then sat down for dinner.
The sauce ended up being pretty bland and undistinguished, just like the food's appearance (maybe I should've added some slivered carrots for color, or a green garnish of some sort). The veggies didn't have that ideal fresh crunch you want in a really good stir-fry. But I have to admit that I didn't care tonight. It was simple, it was undemanding, it was filling. It was exactly what I wanted out of dinner tonight. Sometimes wonderful culinary pyrotechnics are just so much overkill. Some other time I can take this basic plan and tinker with it. For tonight, it was just what the doctor ordered.
Saturday, March 19, 2005
Spring sleet
Leftover time. My leftovers from the mizore nabe were broth, some daikon, a few chicken pieces and some sprouts. After responding to obachan's comments this morning, I had an idea for lunch. I reheated the leftovers in my big skillet, then added some cubed firm tofu and some more sprouts. I also grated more daikon right into the skillet as it simmered on the stove. I cooked it until the tofu cubes I fished out for tasting purposes tasted good and hot, then poured it into a bowl and anointed it with ponzu.
Ponzu is a citrus-flavored shoyu-based dipping sauce; the recipe that Hiroko Shimbo gives for it calls for yuzu juice, mirin, rice vinegar, shoyu and dashi. Yuzu is a Japanese citrus fruit that is very hard to find in the US. When I first started going to the Asian supermarket, there was a little jar of yuzu juice in the Japanese section; since it was pricey, I gave it a miss. Inevitably, it vanished, and I've been kicking myself ever since because it has not reappeared. I've learned from this and other experiences that sometimes there are unusual delays in restocking at the Asian supermarket, and sometimes things never reappear at all. Maybe that's because most of their stock is imported. But I digress. Besides, it's very easy to get a bottle of premade ponzu right in that same Japanese section.
Obachan was absolutely right about the ponzu; even though the nabe broth smelled wonderful as it cooked, the ponzu added something to the dish that made it even better. I can't really describe it, except that it was similar to the way a drop or two of sesame oil can bind a sauce together. Thank you, obachan! Another good thing about the leftovers was that reheating them quickly in the skillet made it possible to concentrate on the food, rather than how long it was taking to cook. It was very tasty; I even drank off the leftover broth. Maybe I gave the mizore nabe a bum rap the other night.
For dessert, I relaxed with a cup of genmaicha (green tea with toasted rice) and listened to Wall to Wall Stephen Sondheim on WNYC. I've been a Sondheim fan since childhood (thanks, dad!), and my only regret was that I couldn't hear the whole thing (like those lucky XM Satellite Radio listeners). Even people at Symphony Space in New York were being encouraged to listen for a while and then depart so as to give another person an opportunity to hear the music. I most wanted to hear something from Pacific Overtures, my favorite Sondheim musical, but was disappointed on that score. I still got to hear lots of good stuff, though. A great way to spend an afternoon.
Ponzu is a citrus-flavored shoyu-based dipping sauce; the recipe that Hiroko Shimbo gives for it calls for yuzu juice, mirin, rice vinegar, shoyu and dashi. Yuzu is a Japanese citrus fruit that is very hard to find in the US. When I first started going to the Asian supermarket, there was a little jar of yuzu juice in the Japanese section; since it was pricey, I gave it a miss. Inevitably, it vanished, and I've been kicking myself ever since because it has not reappeared. I've learned from this and other experiences that sometimes there are unusual delays in restocking at the Asian supermarket, and sometimes things never reappear at all. Maybe that's because most of their stock is imported. But I digress. Besides, it's very easy to get a bottle of premade ponzu right in that same Japanese section.
Obachan was absolutely right about the ponzu; even though the nabe broth smelled wonderful as it cooked, the ponzu added something to the dish that made it even better. I can't really describe it, except that it was similar to the way a drop or two of sesame oil can bind a sauce together. Thank you, obachan! Another good thing about the leftovers was that reheating them quickly in the skillet made it possible to concentrate on the food, rather than how long it was taking to cook. It was very tasty; I even drank off the leftover broth. Maybe I gave the mizore nabe a bum rap the other night.
For dessert, I relaxed with a cup of genmaicha (green tea with toasted rice) and listened to Wall to Wall Stephen Sondheim on WNYC. I've been a Sondheim fan since childhood (thanks, dad!), and my only regret was that I couldn't hear the whole thing (like those lucky XM Satellite Radio listeners). Even people at Symphony Space in New York were being encouraged to listen for a while and then depart so as to give another person an opportunity to hear the music. I most wanted to hear something from Pacific Overtures, my favorite Sondheim musical, but was disappointed on that score. I still got to hear lots of good stuff, though. A great way to spend an afternoon.
Double your garden, double your fun
I have another crop. Last night, after coming home from a corned beef dinner at The Deacon's, I found one tiny little seedling poking up in the mitsuba pot. This morning I could see its two tiny leaves, all ready to do service as solar panels. Not only that, another little seedling has appeared. I'm very pleased, because I understand that parsleys are much harder to grow than lettuce, and I wasn't sure if any seeds from my indoor start of mitsuba would come up. There they are, ready to go, and a little ahead of schedule, even.
Speaking of lettuce, it continues to go great guns. The seedings are around an inch tall (some more, some less), and even at this small size, some differences in structure between seedlings have appeared. There are big rounded ones and little crinkly ones, neither of which have been identified to variety yet. The official variety breakdown is 25% Deer Tongue, 18% Oakleaf, 18% Simpson Elite, 18% Tango, 10.5% Royal Red and 10.5% of a Red Oakleaf.
Since the lettuce is growing like crazy, the seedlings have gotten very crowded in some parts of the pot. So, I took a deep breath and started thinning this morning. I took out or moved about ten seedlings, and will keep at it progressively. The ones I took out became a very light breakfast snack. They're definitely lettuce, with a light delicate taste. I think I can get used to this.
Speaking of lettuce, it continues to go great guns. The seedings are around an inch tall (some more, some less), and even at this small size, some differences in structure between seedlings have appeared. There are big rounded ones and little crinkly ones, neither of which have been identified to variety yet. The official variety breakdown is 25% Deer Tongue, 18% Oakleaf, 18% Simpson Elite, 18% Tango, 10.5% Royal Red and 10.5% of a Red Oakleaf.
Since the lettuce is growing like crazy, the seedlings have gotten very crowded in some parts of the pot. So, I took a deep breath and started thinning this morning. I took out or moved about ten seedlings, and will keep at it progressively. The ones I took out became a very light breakfast snack. They're definitely lettuce, with a light delicate taste. I think I can get used to this.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Mizore nabe
I'm starting to think I should go back to cooking something I have a proven track record with. I've had a succession of new dishes that have not worked out too well. Then again, the sukiyaki wasn't new. Never mind.
Tonight I decided to try making mizore nabe, or "sleet in a claypot," as Obachan so aptly puts it. I was inspired by her post on the dish back in January. After some poking around the internet, I found a recipe for it at Yasuko-san's blog. After comparing and contrasting the two, I decided to take them as a starting point and extrapolate a little from there.
Naming a winter hotpot dish after sleet seems so poetic that I had to try cooking it. The "sleet" is really grated daikon. When I was grating the daikon, however, I realized that I had forgotten what hard work poetry can be. I have a tiny grater, and when I had grated a certain amount of daikon, it would get too slippery to continue until I cleaned the grater off. I finally figured out that more pressure on the daikon against the grater worked better, so I switched hands so that I was holding the daikon in my left hand (which is stronger than my right). It went much better after that.
While I was grating daikon, slicing scallions and selecting bean sprouts, chicken was marinating in a mixture of shoyu, sake and sugar. Mirin is recommended, but I'm currently out of it, so I substituted a tablespoon of sake mixed with two teaspoons of sugar for each tablespoon of mirin, as per Hiroko Shimbo. The marinade smelled suitably mirin-like.
Since this was a nabe dish, I figured it was a good excuse to cook with the donabe. To make a long story short, I think I won't be cooking with the donabe on weeknights any more. It just takes too long. The total cooking time for the mizore nabe wound up being an hour and a half, and I probably could've let it go longer. Getting the donabe warmed up takes a while, and then adding ingredients to it lowers the broth temperature, so I have to wait for it to warm up again. Once it reaches a good temperature, it does cook along quite well; I never raised the burner above medium heat but did manage to get a boil going at times. Then again, I don't know if the crackling sound I heard when the donabe was hottest was boiling broth or crackling clay. At least the donabe seemed undamaged afterward.
The mizore nabe tasted reasonably good. It was probably not as sweet as it would be if I had used mirin in the broth. The broth was a combination of one cup of water, a four-inch piece of konbu kelp, five tablespoons of shoyu, two and a half tablespoons of sugar, and two and a half tablespoons of "mirin substitute." That broth is more or less what I use to make donburi, and the proportions come from Hiroko Urakami's Japanese Family-Style Recipes. The daikon did look sleety while cooking, but once I added the chicken and its marinade, it turned into brown slush. I don't cook with daikon often because I'm not that fond of its flavor, but its strong taste worked well in the mizore nabe.
Bottom line: not a bad meal, and I'm eager to try Obachan's chicken meatballs and Yasuko-san's deep-fried chicken version, but I may not do that in the donabe next time. Unless it's a weekend.
Tonight I decided to try making mizore nabe, or "sleet in a claypot," as Obachan so aptly puts it. I was inspired by her post on the dish back in January. After some poking around the internet, I found a recipe for it at Yasuko-san's blog. After comparing and contrasting the two, I decided to take them as a starting point and extrapolate a little from there.
Naming a winter hotpot dish after sleet seems so poetic that I had to try cooking it. The "sleet" is really grated daikon. When I was grating the daikon, however, I realized that I had forgotten what hard work poetry can be. I have a tiny grater, and when I had grated a certain amount of daikon, it would get too slippery to continue until I cleaned the grater off. I finally figured out that more pressure on the daikon against the grater worked better, so I switched hands so that I was holding the daikon in my left hand (which is stronger than my right). It went much better after that.
While I was grating daikon, slicing scallions and selecting bean sprouts, chicken was marinating in a mixture of shoyu, sake and sugar. Mirin is recommended, but I'm currently out of it, so I substituted a tablespoon of sake mixed with two teaspoons of sugar for each tablespoon of mirin, as per Hiroko Shimbo. The marinade smelled suitably mirin-like.
Since this was a nabe dish, I figured it was a good excuse to cook with the donabe. To make a long story short, I think I won't be cooking with the donabe on weeknights any more. It just takes too long. The total cooking time for the mizore nabe wound up being an hour and a half, and I probably could've let it go longer. Getting the donabe warmed up takes a while, and then adding ingredients to it lowers the broth temperature, so I have to wait for it to warm up again. Once it reaches a good temperature, it does cook along quite well; I never raised the burner above medium heat but did manage to get a boil going at times. Then again, I don't know if the crackling sound I heard when the donabe was hottest was boiling broth or crackling clay. At least the donabe seemed undamaged afterward.
The mizore nabe tasted reasonably good. It was probably not as sweet as it would be if I had used mirin in the broth. The broth was a combination of one cup of water, a four-inch piece of konbu kelp, five tablespoons of shoyu, two and a half tablespoons of sugar, and two and a half tablespoons of "mirin substitute." That broth is more or less what I use to make donburi, and the proportions come from Hiroko Urakami's Japanese Family-Style Recipes. The daikon did look sleety while cooking, but once I added the chicken and its marinade, it turned into brown slush. I don't cook with daikon often because I'm not that fond of its flavor, but its strong taste worked well in the mizore nabe.
Bottom line: not a bad meal, and I'm eager to try Obachan's chicken meatballs and Yasuko-san's deep-fried chicken version, but I may not do that in the donabe next time. Unless it's a weekend.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Sukiyaki leftovers
Tonight I had the leftover sukiyaki from my less-than-successful attempt on Sunday morning. Since I was going birding with The Lurker and Perfect Tommy, and since we were starting late, I figured I'd have enough time to whip up a batch of sukiyaki. Unfortunately, I made a few mistakes:
1. Thin beef, when cooked too long, attains the texture of shoe leather.
2. Measuring out a cup of shoyu by pouring it over a cup of sake until you reach the two cup mark on the measuring glass means you'll probably end up with too much shoyu in your broth.
I attempted to rescue it by emptying my bottle of mirin into the brew, cooking it down and pouring it over short-grain rice. It wound up being an edible lunch for a birding trip, but not much more. When The Lurker inhaled the cooking fumes, he thought something smelled Italian, kind of like some sort of toast. I'm afraid that must have been because the rice was a bit closer to burning than I had thought.
So that was dinner tonight. The shoe-leather beef actually had a better flavor than one might expect, and the broth wasn't that bad: just less sweet and more intense than I wanted.
1. Thin beef, when cooked too long, attains the texture of shoe leather.
2. Measuring out a cup of shoyu by pouring it over a cup of sake until you reach the two cup mark on the measuring glass means you'll probably end up with too much shoyu in your broth.
I attempted to rescue it by emptying my bottle of mirin into the brew, cooking it down and pouring it over short-grain rice. It wound up being an edible lunch for a birding trip, but not much more. When The Lurker inhaled the cooking fumes, he thought something smelled Italian, kind of like some sort of toast. I'm afraid that must have been because the rice was a bit closer to burning than I had thought.
So that was dinner tonight. The shoe-leather beef actually had a better flavor than one might expect, and the broth wasn't that bad: just less sweet and more intense than I wanted.
Saturday, March 12, 2005
Busy busy busy
March is shaping up to be a busy month, so my blogging may be more irregular for a while. There's been some stuff I've been meaning to blog, but there are some other projects with actual deadlines that need to be taken care of as well.
The lettuce seedlings continue to flourish. I watered them last night and they looked very perky this morning. I'll have to thin some of them soon, as some of the seedlings are practically on top of each other. Meanwhile, still nothing from the mitsuba, but it shoudn't be sprouting yet anyway.
I hope to post later about an actual cooking session, since sukiyaki is on the menu today.
The lettuce seedlings continue to flourish. I watered them last night and they looked very perky this morning. I'll have to thin some of them soon, as some of the seedlings are practically on top of each other. Meanwhile, still nothing from the mitsuba, but it shoudn't be sprouting yet anyway.
I hope to post later about an actual cooking session, since sukiyaki is on the menu today.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Lettuce
I got home today and was delighted to find little green lettuce seedlings poking up from the pot. They were right on schedule, since I planted the seeds on March 1st and the seeds were supposed to sprout in seven to ten days, according to the seed packet. They're a long way from any kind of salad, but it looks like the kitchen garden experiment may be a go after all.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Vegetarian kung pao stir-fry
Tonight I wanted something a little special for dinner, so I decided to make kung pao chicken. Of course, I had no chicken thawed, so I decided to use Quorn nuggets instead. Then, since I got home later than anticipated, I decided to omit the step of velveting the meat (or protein, in this case) and just make it a simple stir-fry. I used a recipe from Ken Hom's Easy Family Recipes from a Chinese-American Childhood. Instead of using chicken stock, I substituted vegetarian boullion. I also left out the dried chiles, instead making do with a few shakes of Tabasco sauce. I used grated palm sugar, though crushed rock sugar probably would have been more authentic.
The stir-fry went well, though ideally the vegetarian kung pao should have been served with rice. The stir-fry in its dark sauce would have benefitted from the contrast with the bland rice. Since the Quorn nuggets were not precooked by velveting, I had to cook them longer than normal; when the pan and sauce began to smoke, I deglazed the pan with some Shao Xing rice wine (the salted cooking variety, since this sauce called for salt). This probably diluted the punch of the Tabasco sauce.
The stir-fry went well, though ideally the vegetarian kung pao should have been served with rice. The stir-fry in its dark sauce would have benefitted from the contrast with the bland rice. Since the Quorn nuggets were not precooked by velveting, I had to cook them longer than normal; when the pan and sauce began to smoke, I deglazed the pan with some Shao Xing rice wine (the salted cooking variety, since this sauce called for salt). This probably diluted the punch of the Tabasco sauce.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Spring hath sprung
I suppose it may seem eccentric to insist that spring is well on its way, given that we had our latest winter storm yesterday. But for me, spring has been here since the beginnng of February, when the cardinals and Song Sparrows started singing, just like clockwork. The big flock of wintering Canada Geese has moved out and flocks of blackbirds are moving in. The weather may not know it's spring, but the birds do.
Just to clinch it, I planted my first seeds today. After I got home from work, I sprinkled an assortment of lettuce seeds in one pot, and planted a few mitsuba seeds in another pot. The lettuce should be sprouting in 7-10 days, while the mitsuba will probably take closer to 20 days, since it is a parsley and they are slow to germinate. At least, that's what my information tells me. Planting a garden will be one big experiment because this is the first year I've ever tried it.
Just to clinch it, I planted my first seeds today. After I got home from work, I sprinkled an assortment of lettuce seeds in one pot, and planted a few mitsuba seeds in another pot. The lettuce should be sprouting in 7-10 days, while the mitsuba will probably take closer to 20 days, since it is a parsley and they are slow to germinate. At least, that's what my information tells me. Planting a garden will be one big experiment because this is the first year I've ever tried it.
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Sliced sirloin in red wine sauce
I got inspired by Cuisine Capers and the recent recipe for venison tips over brown rice. However, I didn’t have four cups of fresh mushrooms (nor any venison) in the pantry. As a result, I decided to make a simple beef dinner with red wine sauce and mushrooms.
The last time I tried this kind of thing was for a vegetarian dish from Moosewood Restaurant Cooks at Home, and it came out way too watery. I also used shiitake mushrooms, and concluded that their dark earthy flavor was too intense to work well with a red wine sauce.
I went looking for a simple recipe for red wine sauce. Every recipe I found, however, was written for more meat than I wanted to use; I was just working with some sliced-up sirloin strips intended for a stir-fry. Normally, I turn up my nose at meat pre-sliced for stir-fries; I can do my slicing myself, thank you very much. What keeps me coming back to this meat is that it’s flat-out good beef that turns out very tasty when I cook it. As someone with a long history of boring overdone steaks and hamburgers behind me, I appreciate a cut of beef that can stand my lack of technique. Or maybe I’m just a better stir-fry chef than steak chef.
Finally, after scanning many recipes and a final trip over to trans Fatty’s post on finishing sauces, I decided to wing it. A basic theoretical understanding would have to be enough.
I started by melting a blend of olive oil and butter in the skillet; the butter chunks splattered quite impressively when they hit the oil. I browned the sirloin pieces in the hot oil and butter, then removed them. Then I added half a cup of red wine (Yellowtail merlot) and the soaking water from the porcini mushrooms. At some point, I added a teaspoon of cornstarch, which promptly turned into starch nuggets because I had neglected to dissolve it in fluid first. Oops! Another teaspoon of dissolved cornstarch and some mashing of starch nuggets with the spatula came to the rescue.
Once the sauce was hot and had reduced a bit, I added the porcini mushrooms. Then the sirloin pieces went in and I cooked them until they looked done, the sauce had reduced some more, and I got impatient (I’m starting to think I lack the patience to create really tasty creamy sauces). I poured it all over a plate of spinach fettucini.
It was fine for a first try without a recipe, but it needed something, as usual. Even with the cornstarch, the red wine sauce was more toward the au jus end of the spectrum rather than the gravy end of the spectrum (not that this is a bad thing, I just wanted something more like gravy). More mushrooms, less assertively-flavored mushrooms, would be a good addition. Maybe if I served it with mashed potatoes next time, the potatoes would soak up the sauce better than the pasta. Ah, well, it was better than I'm making it sound.
The last time I tried this kind of thing was for a vegetarian dish from Moosewood Restaurant Cooks at Home, and it came out way too watery. I also used shiitake mushrooms, and concluded that their dark earthy flavor was too intense to work well with a red wine sauce.
I went looking for a simple recipe for red wine sauce. Every recipe I found, however, was written for more meat than I wanted to use; I was just working with some sliced-up sirloin strips intended for a stir-fry. Normally, I turn up my nose at meat pre-sliced for stir-fries; I can do my slicing myself, thank you very much. What keeps me coming back to this meat is that it’s flat-out good beef that turns out very tasty when I cook it. As someone with a long history of boring overdone steaks and hamburgers behind me, I appreciate a cut of beef that can stand my lack of technique. Or maybe I’m just a better stir-fry chef than steak chef.
Finally, after scanning many recipes and a final trip over to trans Fatty’s post on finishing sauces, I decided to wing it. A basic theoretical understanding would have to be enough.
I started by melting a blend of olive oil and butter in the skillet; the butter chunks splattered quite impressively when they hit the oil. I browned the sirloin pieces in the hot oil and butter, then removed them. Then I added half a cup of red wine (Yellowtail merlot) and the soaking water from the porcini mushrooms. At some point, I added a teaspoon of cornstarch, which promptly turned into starch nuggets because I had neglected to dissolve it in fluid first. Oops! Another teaspoon of dissolved cornstarch and some mashing of starch nuggets with the spatula came to the rescue.
Once the sauce was hot and had reduced a bit, I added the porcini mushrooms. Then the sirloin pieces went in and I cooked them until they looked done, the sauce had reduced some more, and I got impatient (I’m starting to think I lack the patience to create really tasty creamy sauces). I poured it all over a plate of spinach fettucini.
It was fine for a first try without a recipe, but it needed something, as usual. Even with the cornstarch, the red wine sauce was more toward the au jus end of the spectrum rather than the gravy end of the spectrum (not that this is a bad thing, I just wanted something more like gravy). More mushrooms, less assertively-flavored mushrooms, would be a good addition. Maybe if I served it with mashed potatoes next time, the potatoes would soak up the sauce better than the pasta. Ah, well, it was better than I'm making it sound.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Panang curry rice
The index proved its worth today. I was eating my sandwich at lunch today, idly pondering what to have for dinner. I needed to use up some coconut milk, bamboo shoots and jasmine rice. A Thai curry seemed like the obvious choice, but what had I done in the past? Inspiration struck, and I searched through the SevenSoy index to find the random Panang curry entry. Before long, I was armed with a plan and ideas with which to tweak the dish. “THIS is why I wanted an index!” I thought, and, “This is SO cool!”
I mixed half a can of coconut milk with a cup of water, then heated it in the skillet. When it was hot enough, I added two heaping tablespoons of Maesri Panang curry paste, then a tablespoon of tamarind paste (inspired by an eGullet conversation on Thai cooking by mamster and Pim of chez pim). It tasted interesting but it was too soupy. I added the bamboo shoots and some shredded carrots and cooked them for a while, then added grated palm sugar to taste and two tablespoons of fish sauce. The sauce was starting to reduce by now. I added the rice (which completely soaked up the sauce), garnished it with sliced almonds, covered the skillet and simmered for five minutes. After the simmering, I added more garnishes: orange mint leaves and Maesri crunchy chili bits (nam prik klang dong). A few squirts of lime juice and it was done.
I was very pleased with the curry. It was hot, sweet and tart, all at once. The tamarind flavor was lost in the final dish, but the mint leaves added a surprisingly strong punch. I’m not sure the almonds added anything useful to the curry. In any case, it worked out very well and yes, I have leftovers.
I mixed half a can of coconut milk with a cup of water, then heated it in the skillet. When it was hot enough, I added two heaping tablespoons of Maesri Panang curry paste, then a tablespoon of tamarind paste (inspired by an eGullet conversation on Thai cooking by mamster and Pim of chez pim). It tasted interesting but it was too soupy. I added the bamboo shoots and some shredded carrots and cooked them for a while, then added grated palm sugar to taste and two tablespoons of fish sauce. The sauce was starting to reduce by now. I added the rice (which completely soaked up the sauce), garnished it with sliced almonds, covered the skillet and simmered for five minutes. After the simmering, I added more garnishes: orange mint leaves and Maesri crunchy chili bits (nam prik klang dong). A few squirts of lime juice and it was done.
I was very pleased with the curry. It was hot, sweet and tart, all at once. The tamarind flavor was lost in the final dish, but the mint leaves added a surprisingly strong punch. I’m not sure the almonds added anything useful to the curry. In any case, it worked out very well and yes, I have leftovers.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
A brief note
This business of flaking out during the week and blogging retrospectively has really got to stop. I know life has been busy, but still. There are things I'd like to blog about.
The short form of this week includes getting four different meals out of the ground pork from the Pennsylvania Dutch Farmer's Market, which is a record. They were all stir-fries involving slightly different sauces and noodles, and all were great. They would've been kind of routine to blog, however ("Ok, tonight I used the new fancy wide Chinese noodles instead of udon."). I do love the new fancy Chinese wide noodles, but recooking the same dish with minor variations in ingredients is not exactly scintillating to write nor, I suspect, to read.
My tomato plant keeps putting out flowers but until it puts out two or more at the same time, they aren't going to get pollinated. Feh. In good garden news, however, I can start planting seeds in a few days. I can hardly wait.
Oh, well, I guess I'd better go decide what's for dinner tonight.
The short form of this week includes getting four different meals out of the ground pork from the Pennsylvania Dutch Farmer's Market, which is a record. They were all stir-fries involving slightly different sauces and noodles, and all were great. They would've been kind of routine to blog, however ("Ok, tonight I used the new fancy wide Chinese noodles instead of udon."). I do love the new fancy Chinese wide noodles, but recooking the same dish with minor variations in ingredients is not exactly scintillating to write nor, I suspect, to read.
My tomato plant keeps putting out flowers but until it puts out two or more at the same time, they aren't going to get pollinated. Feh. In good garden news, however, I can start planting seeds in a few days. I can hardly wait.
Oh, well, I guess I'd better go decide what's for dinner tonight.
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Dutch treat
Living in New Jersey means that, with a little research and persistence, you can probably find people from just about any culture in the world. The culinary benefits of this are obvious; it would be a lot more difficult to cook Asian if I were living in other places where a wealth of real Asian ingredients is hard to find.
There are plenty of other cultural groups here, though, and today I visited a different local “ethnic” market. I’ve wanted to visit the Pennsylvania Dutch Farmer’s Market in Kingston ever since I heard about it, especially since it’s not too far from home. Since they have very limited hours, this takes a little preparation or luck. I decided that since it was a sunny afternoon and I had some errands to run anyway, I’d drive by and see if they were open. At worst, I’d get to take down their hours from the sign on the door.
Luck was with me, since I arrived while their working week had about an hour to run. Many of the meat cases had been completely cleaned out, but I was able to get a pound of excellent ground pork. I needed butter, so I got a big hunk of unsalted sweet butter. Being the noodle addict I am, I bought two bags of dried egg noodles; one of wide noodles and another of more spaghetti-like dimensions. I hurried by the abundant pies and sweets in an attempt to not make the trip too unhealthy (or too expensive, for that matter). There was a decent selection of winter vegetables and I’m still regretting not getting the beautiful head of romaine I walked past. I also got some candles.
The market has different sections and a register for each section; you pay for your purchases in the department where you get them. The staff is composed of Mennonites from Pennsylvania. The fresh produce comes from farms in Pennsylvania, though packaged goods may come from farther afield; my noodles hail from Ohio. Not only can you buy a wealth of food there, you can also buy various crafts or even furniture. If you just want to stop in for a snack, they have a lunch counter, too.
Dinner was the ground pork, sautéed in the butter and mixed with shoyu, mushroom-flavored soy, mirin and sesame oil, then served over the wide egg noodles. I’ll be back to that market, I’m sure.
There are plenty of other cultural groups here, though, and today I visited a different local “ethnic” market. I’ve wanted to visit the Pennsylvania Dutch Farmer’s Market in Kingston ever since I heard about it, especially since it’s not too far from home. Since they have very limited hours, this takes a little preparation or luck. I decided that since it was a sunny afternoon and I had some errands to run anyway, I’d drive by and see if they were open. At worst, I’d get to take down their hours from the sign on the door.
Luck was with me, since I arrived while their working week had about an hour to run. Many of the meat cases had been completely cleaned out, but I was able to get a pound of excellent ground pork. I needed butter, so I got a big hunk of unsalted sweet butter. Being the noodle addict I am, I bought two bags of dried egg noodles; one of wide noodles and another of more spaghetti-like dimensions. I hurried by the abundant pies and sweets in an attempt to not make the trip too unhealthy (or too expensive, for that matter). There was a decent selection of winter vegetables and I’m still regretting not getting the beautiful head of romaine I walked past. I also got some candles.
The market has different sections and a register for each section; you pay for your purchases in the department where you get them. The staff is composed of Mennonites from Pennsylvania. The fresh produce comes from farms in Pennsylvania, though packaged goods may come from farther afield; my noodles hail from Ohio. Not only can you buy a wealth of food there, you can also buy various crafts or even furniture. If you just want to stop in for a snack, they have a lunch counter, too.
Dinner was the ground pork, sautéed in the butter and mixed with shoyu, mushroom-flavored soy, mirin and sesame oil, then served over the wide egg noodles. I’ll be back to that market, I’m sure.
Friday, February 18, 2005
Sinfully decadent leftovers
Tonight I finished up the braised chicken and noodles from last night. I heated the leftovers in the skillet while boiling up some more rice flakes to sop up the sauce. The rice flakes weren't quite as sublime as last night's rice flakes, I think because last night's sat for a while before having the sauce poured over them. They probably dried out a bit and were able to soak up the sauce more effectively.
Having said that, dinner was still mind-blowingly rich and decadent, even before the glass of sherry that put it over the top. I should probably go on a bread and water diet for the next few days to recover. Whew.
Having said that, dinner was still mind-blowingly rich and decadent, even before the glass of sherry that put it over the top. I should probably go on a bread and water diet for the next few days to recover. Whew.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Laotian (?) braised chicken with Thai noodles
Sometimes I feel guilty about blogging. "Why," I ask myself, "would anyone want to read what an anglo in central Jersey has to say about cooking Asian food, when there are so many real Asian food blogs out there?" I love Asian food, but it is hardly my birthright or heritage. So many people out there know so much more than me. Does the world really need one more well-meaning American indulging in cultural appropriation?
Take tonight's dinner. I decided I wanted to try Bruce Cost's "Laotian Braised Chicken with Shallots and Cracked Black Pepper" from Asian Ingredients. I've cooked this before, but it came out too salty; it was also one of the first dishes I ever cooked using fish sauce, so that threw me.
Once I decided on the menu, I got a little more curious about Laotian food. To say it has a low profile in the States is a vast understatement (though apparently there are a couple of restaurants in Philly that serve it). I did a Google search and found that most of the hits ran to reviews and sales links for a handful of Lao and partial-Lao cookbooks. There were a few restaurant reviews. But one phrase seemed to recur with worrying frequency: Laotian cooking doesn't use coconut milk. Since Cost's braised Laotian chicken leans heavily on coconut milk, I began to wonder whether I was cooking an Authentic recipe.
The most detailed information I found was in a review of a cookbook called Taste of Laos. The review is here, should you care to peruse it. I couldn't begin to paraphrase it, but it sounds convincing and makes me want to learn more about Laotian cooking.
Asking someone completely clueless about Laotian cooking to judge the authenticity of a dish claiming this nationality is probably too much, so I got back to the actual cooking. In spite of halving the recipe, there was still way too much food, especially sauce. I suppose I could have reduced the sauce further than I did, but I got impatient. I browned the shallots, scallions and chicken pieces in a cup of peanut oil, then poured out most of the peanut oil so I could stir-fry the chicken in the oil and coconut milk. Progressively, one adds water, shallots and fish sauce, then covers to simmer for about ten minutes. I omitted the chili peppers and settled for some Tabasco sauce, which was completely lost in the final product. I also omitted the initial step of salting the chicken pieces and letting them sit for half an hour. This time it wasn't salty at all, but probably sweeter than the recipe intended.
Once the dish is done, you are supposed to serve it over the scallions, but I decided to use Thai "rice flake" noodles instead. These were the big discovery of the evening. I got them at the Asian supermarket when attempting to find an equivalent for some wonderful wide egg noodles I had at a restaurant called Aroma in Franklin Park. The rice flakes are brittle large triangular pieces of vermicelli, for lack of a better description. When cooked, they rolled up into tubes like penne pasta. Tasting one was a rude shock, however, as it tasted like tap water. Bad tap water.
Eventually the rice flakes were done and I poured them into a big bowl. When the chicken and sauce were done, they went on top of the rice flakes. And what a change in the rice flakes! Now they had a wonderful buttery, egg noodle-like consistency, very rich and decadent. Like vermicelli, they take on the nature of the sauce or soup in which they are cooked. I will definitely be looking for more rice flakes when I go to the Asian supermarket next. Mmmmm!
So, whether or not the recipe was authentic to start with, it sure wasn't when I got through with it. But it was quite tasty.
Take tonight's dinner. I decided I wanted to try Bruce Cost's "Laotian Braised Chicken with Shallots and Cracked Black Pepper" from Asian Ingredients. I've cooked this before, but it came out too salty; it was also one of the first dishes I ever cooked using fish sauce, so that threw me.
Once I decided on the menu, I got a little more curious about Laotian food. To say it has a low profile in the States is a vast understatement (though apparently there are a couple of restaurants in Philly that serve it). I did a Google search and found that most of the hits ran to reviews and sales links for a handful of Lao and partial-Lao cookbooks. There were a few restaurant reviews. But one phrase seemed to recur with worrying frequency: Laotian cooking doesn't use coconut milk. Since Cost's braised Laotian chicken leans heavily on coconut milk, I began to wonder whether I was cooking an Authentic recipe.
The most detailed information I found was in a review of a cookbook called Taste of Laos. The review is here, should you care to peruse it. I couldn't begin to paraphrase it, but it sounds convincing and makes me want to learn more about Laotian cooking.
Asking someone completely clueless about Laotian cooking to judge the authenticity of a dish claiming this nationality is probably too much, so I got back to the actual cooking. In spite of halving the recipe, there was still way too much food, especially sauce. I suppose I could have reduced the sauce further than I did, but I got impatient. I browned the shallots, scallions and chicken pieces in a cup of peanut oil, then poured out most of the peanut oil so I could stir-fry the chicken in the oil and coconut milk. Progressively, one adds water, shallots and fish sauce, then covers to simmer for about ten minutes. I omitted the chili peppers and settled for some Tabasco sauce, which was completely lost in the final product. I also omitted the initial step of salting the chicken pieces and letting them sit for half an hour. This time it wasn't salty at all, but probably sweeter than the recipe intended.
Once the dish is done, you are supposed to serve it over the scallions, but I decided to use Thai "rice flake" noodles instead. These were the big discovery of the evening. I got them at the Asian supermarket when attempting to find an equivalent for some wonderful wide egg noodles I had at a restaurant called Aroma in Franklin Park. The rice flakes are brittle large triangular pieces of vermicelli, for lack of a better description. When cooked, they rolled up into tubes like penne pasta. Tasting one was a rude shock, however, as it tasted like tap water. Bad tap water.
Eventually the rice flakes were done and I poured them into a big bowl. When the chicken and sauce were done, they went on top of the rice flakes. And what a change in the rice flakes! Now they had a wonderful buttery, egg noodle-like consistency, very rich and decadent. Like vermicelli, they take on the nature of the sauce or soup in which they are cooked. I will definitely be looking for more rice flakes when I go to the Asian supermarket next. Mmmmm!
So, whether or not the recipe was authentic to start with, it sure wasn't when I got through with it. But it was quite tasty.
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