In Cold Blood: A Tale of Crustacean Murder in Three Parts

I. It was a dark & stormy afternoon. It was a Thursday, as I recall, or maybe it was a Friday. They say you never forget your first time, but now that I've been there and back, who can remember? Anyway, the dates don't really matter, because I'd had only one thing on my mind for a long time.

MURDER.

My partner, he phoned me from the place, you know, the place, the one where things get taken care of*. 'You wanna do this thing?' he asked me. I hesitated for only the briefest fraction of a second, considering the practicalities: Did I have the tools** to get the job done? Did I dare to do the deed itself? 'Oh yes,' I said hastily. 'Let's do this thing.' He arrived with our victims loosely contained in a paper bag, gently crinkling with the movement of an exploratory claw here and there.

* aka, the grocery store. You know. The place where things get taken care of.

** 5-quart stockpot, cooking tongs, large sink for rinsing, fresh sweet corn on the cob, potatoes, smoked sausage and seasonings.

II. Now before anyone gets upset, you should know that these particular freshwater crustaceans deserved their fate, for having thwarted me once before. We had a long, twisted history, and it wasn't pretty. When my partner arrived we dumped the unsuspecting victims from their brown paper sack into a large pot and covered them with a few changes of cool, fresh water.


We gave them a final rinse in the sink to remove any lingering traces of grit. I gave them a final chance to repent, but they were recalcitrant. I swear, one of them even raised a tiny, clenched little claw out of the water at me and shook it menacingly. 'All right, you little devils,' I said with gritted teeth tightly clenched. 'I've got a nice hot bath for ya.' And it was nice: full of halved cobs of corn, fat slices of smoked sausage, onion wedges, whole garlic cloves and generous shakes of cajun seasoning. Delicious*. As long as you weren't a crawfish.

* We used a recipe/method similar to the one given here.

One of them made a last, desperate attempt at escape. We laughed, having our 'Annie Hall' moment, somewhat nervously wielding a mesh strainer and hoping that between the two of us, we'd have the strength and steely nerve to wrangle this lone ranger back into the pot. Luck, or skill, was on our side. He was a brave fighter, but ultimately, a goner.

III. We pitched the whole mess out, once done, onto a tablecloth of newsprint*. Once you've dispatched your victims, it's best to get rid of them as quickly and as tastily as possible. And that mean sucking the delicious hot fat & liquid brains out of the heads**.


The sweetness of the crawfish meat (they are like tiny lobsters, after all, with most of the amazing meat resting in the tail) contrasted nicely with creamy bites of potato, golden kernels of corn, and salty, savory bites of sausage, all bound together in the same spicy seasoning that hints of fresh garlic and onion. A few of my favorite things, all in a pot together. Definitely don't forget to suck the heads.

* This is the best way to eat a simple, delicious boiled dinner with your fingers: all jumbled together, whole, with spices all blended together and no need to clean up afterwards. Just fold up the used newspaper with the shells and cobs and throw away!

** How to eat a whole crawfish: grasp the head tightly in one hand, the body/tail in the other. Squeeze the body close to where it joins with the head, twist until they separate. Place the tail meat between your teeth, bite down and suck or twist the tail meat free until it leaves the shell. Now, place the open end of the head in your mouth and create suction--you will be rewarded with warm, spicy, fatty juices! Suck all that you can out of there. This, along with the delicious tail meat (something with the texture and size of shrimp but the sweetness of lobster) is the good stuff. Suck those heads.

This is where the whole sordid tale came to an end: at the dining room table. If you do commit murder, it's best to have an accomplice. Tasty, tasty murder. No regrets. :)

Project Food Blog Entry #2: Just call me Miss Saigon Crepe......

Was it the weather?

It could, I suppose, have been the weather.

It's been unfairly hot and punishingly humid around the Valley all through September. Mosquitoes have been feasting on us, hair has been limp, eyeliner has been running.......but it all seems so very much more romantic if you close your eyes and imagine that instead of sweaty Phoenix you might be in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam (once Saigon), clinging to the back of a motor scooter weaving its way through the humidity and the crowded streets, on your way to some fresh, streetside fare like phở.....or perhaps bánh xèo and chao tom?

It might also have been because of the discovery Mike and I made this month of our new favorite Vietnamese soup house, a place so nice we visited it twice......in a single week. 'You--back again??" roared the cheerful female Vietnamese proprietor when I strolled back in just two days after having eaten a lovely meal there and chatting with her and her husband over steaming bowls of beef tendon and tripe in broth. I threw up my hands in an 'I give up' gesture, laughing at the absurdity and admitting to her the cravings that both my husband and I had been suffering for her soup ever since we'd first been. Vietnamese cuisine, as it turns out, can be a highly addictive substance.

Still, when the second challenge for Project Food Blog came along and challenged me to choose 'an ethnic classic that is outside your comfort zone,' Vietnamese didn't immediately spring to mind. After all, there are so many places I've never traveled, not even at the end of a fork, so many cultures I've never visited. I've never had taro in Tahiti or hákarl in Iceland, never known what it's like to sample ajiaco or arepas in Colombia, or sega wat with injera in Ethiopia. I think of myself as a fearless cook, ready to tackle even the most unknown-to-me dishes, but truthfully there are a lot of things that could be said to be 'outside of my comfort zone.' Finally, I remembered that first, ecstatic bowl of phở and my head cleared. I have a lot of enthusiasm for eating Vietnamese food, clearly, but not much experience actually preparing it myself. At home. From scratch. With authentic ingredients. Envisioning a trip to our local pan-Asian megamarket (the venerable LeeLee Market, originator of such previous posts as this one), I excitedly began researching recipes.

Phở was too simple, too obvious. Phở is arguably a food whose time has come, one which has gone mainstream in a major and well-deserved way. Even my non-foodie friends are starting to talk about it, a sure sign of the times. And soup, even divine, sublime soup just didn't seem.......challenging enough for a Project Food Blog challenge. Where's the flash, the drama, the sweat? Where's the oh-my-God-this-might-fail-at-the-last-crucial-moment cooking method? Soup just..........simmers. And then my brain rested on something else, something I've never cooked or eaten, from a country I've never visited. A dish I've never even seen except through others' descriptions and photographs. A street food sizzling-crepe classic known as bánh xèo.

As with any local specialty in the world, there are as many different ways to make bánh xèo as there are local regions where it is made. There may even be as many different ways as there are people in all of Vietnam. Most seem to agree, however, that pork, shrimp and bean sprouts are the preferred filling. I settled on a version that includes turmeric, rice flour and coconut milk in the banh batter. Also, interestingly enough, this particular recipe calls for........beer. Some recipes called only for water, but I reasoned that beer as an ingredient would result in the light, bubbly batter I needed to make the wafer-thin, crispy and ever so slightly chewy pancakes I was after. So, beer* it was.

( *Full disclosure: No Vietnamese beer of any kind being available, even at our beloved LeeLee Market, I reached for a popular Chinese brew instead. Still delicious.)

The name bánh xèo is adorably onomatopoetic, a fancy term meaning that to say the word aloud suggests a sound, in this case the sound of a thin crepe merrily sizzling in hot, splattering oil over a searingly hot skillet. Banh ssssssssssssaaaayyyoww. It's even fun to say!


To accompany our bánh xèo, I chose another popular dish known as chao tom, a juicy little shrimpcake made of finely minced shrimp, sugar, scallion and a little beaten egg, molded kebab-style around a skewer of sugar cane which also imparts its sweetness to the dish. These are then grilled over coals until lightly charred to perfection, then dipped in salty fish sauce and enjoyed. I've had chao tom before, including a fantastic version at a little Vietnamese place on a side street of Hong Kong, and they're amazing as an accompaniment to just about everything. Plus, if you're going to stand at your kitchen counter and peel and devein a pound of shrimp for an hour, you might as well get an extra shrimp dish out of the whole affair, am I right? Right.

Some slight trouble arose when Mike and I realized that the simple-enough-sounding little shrimpcakes, in order to achieve maximum deliciousness and authenticity, would need to be grilled outside over charcoal. We hadn't grilled all summer. We looked at each other and froze in horror, having both just remembered the day we threw out our rusted old Weber grill, several months prior to this moment, in a fit of extreme spring cleaning. True, the thing was on its last aluminum legs, rusted almost completely through the bottom, and had originally been purchased in rough shape by me at a Goodwill, five years earlier. But at that moment I would have given anything to have the old girl back. How on earth were we going to cook the savory-sweet, smokey, juicy morsels of fragrant shrimp paste of my dreams?


In what I like to think of as the true street food vendor spirit, we devised an improvised plan that worked suprisingly well, involving hot coals, an old saucer-shaped metal firepit that was also hanging around the yard (no photos of our yard will be shown, for obvious reasons....the theme song from 'Sanford & Son' is already running through my head), and long, oiled strips of twisted aluminum foil. Mission Grill? Accomplished!

With the chao tom out of the way, I set myself to the task of putting together the bánh xèo, which comes together at very, very high temperature in a short matter of minutes. The batter was whisked together and set aside while I chopped scallions and sliced pork shoulder. The bean sprouts and small brown beech mushrooms were lightly stir-fried in a small amount of vegetable oil and a pinch of salt, then also set aside. Finally, it was time to put everything in the pan, super-heated and shimmering with vegetable oil. First in went the slices of pork, which were swirled briefly until almost cooked, and then the shrimp. The batter I poured directly on top of this and swirled again until it was as thin a crepe as I could possibly make it. The characteristic sizzle was happening here, the desired crispy edges appearing. The bánh xèo cooked from the edges inward, and when the cooking had all but reached the center I spread the rest of the filling of bean sprouts and mushrooms on one side, then lifted the other side of the crepe and gently folded it over--bánh xèo at this point should be hot, oily and crackling but still soft enough to manipulate.

I slid one masterpiece onto a plate and held my breath, feeling like someone on the verge of a new discovery. It smelled amazing. It even sounded amazing. It was sizzling. Sssssssssssssaaaayyyoww!

And then Mike whisked it, and the plate that followed, away for photo-taking and our once-sizzling Saigon crepes eventually became cold bánh xèo that needed to be reheated--gasp!--in the oven. Such is the lot in life of a food blogger, I suppose. We suffer a little so that you may enjoy photographs taken right at the moment our lovely newborn food enters the world, steaming hot and already dying a little every second. And anyway, even rewarmed from the oven they tasted amazing--each bite is wrapped in cooling lettuce leaf and mint leaves, then dipped in your condiment of choice, pickled chili-garlic paste, lime juice, nuoc mam. The fresh, herbal zing of the greens containing the rich sliced meats and crackling pancake, bound together by a splash of salty sauce was true heaven.


So, bánh xèo: the ingredients, the method, the taste, even the pronunciation......it's no longer outside my comfort zone but has become a true comfort food in my mind.

Say it with me again..........baaaanh sssssssssssssssssssaaaayyyoww! It's a good, good thing. A classic, even.

Bánh Xèo - 'Sizzling Saigon Crepe' (serves 2 hungry people comfortably)

1/3 lb. shrimp (I bought 1 lb., the remainder was used in the chao tom)
2 T. beer
splash of fish sauce
sugar
1/2 lb. pork shoulder
1/2 C. bean sprouts
1/4 C. brown beech mushrooms

2/3 C. rice flour
1/2 tsp. turmeric
1/3 C. beer (use something light in color and taste, a pilsner, lager or similar)
1/3 C. coconut milk, unsweetened
2 scallions
6 T. vegetable or canola oil

For serving:

lettuce leaves
mint leaves
dipping condiment of choice (pickled chili-garlic paste, lime juice, nuoc mam, etc)

Peel and devein shrimp (chef's tip: a cold beer helps accomplish this task much more enjoyably), place in bowl and splash lightly with beer, fish sauce and sugar, mix briefly and set aside. Thinly slice pork shoulder, set aside.

Heat skillet to high, add 2 T. oil and quickly stir fry bean sprouts and mushrooms with a pinch of salt until just soft. Remove from pan, set aside, and wipe out pan.

In a large or medium sized mixing bowl, whisk together coconut milk, turmeric and rice flour. Chop scallions and add to batter. Add beer, whisk lightly just to combine, and set aside.

Add 2 T. oil (you will use the last 2 T. to cook the second crepe) to skillet and heat on high until oil is shimmering. Throw pork slices (enough for one serving, serving size is up to you) in pan and swirl in oil for about 20 seconds, add shrimp (again, enough for one serving) and continue to swirl pan until meat is just cooked. Pour half of batter into pan and quickly swirl until batter forms as large and thin a crepe as possible. When crepe has almost fully cooked (the edges should appear slightly drier and more cooked, while only the very center still looks a little raw and batter-y), spread half of the bean sprout and mushroom filling on one side of crepe, then gently fold other side of crepe over this as though making an omelet. Slide onto plate and listen for the sizzle! Make second crepe just the same as the first, using everything you have left.

To assemble, I recommend picking up each bite wrapped in a leaf of lettuce and a few mint, then dipping in sauce of your choice (fish sauce, nuoc mam, is great here).

Chao Tom - Sugar Cane Shrimpcakes (makes about 12 skewers)

2/3 lb. shrimp
1 tsp. cornstarch or rice flour
1 beaten egg
1/4 tsp. five spice powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. sugar
1 scallion, finely chopped

one fresh sugar cane stalk, cut into 12 equal, skewer-sized pieces

Heat charcoal in a grill (or improvised grilling device of your choice!). Peel and devein shrimp, place in bowl of food processor*, pulse until coarsely chopped. Add all other ingredients, process until mixture has become a sticky paste which is not completely smooth (it should hold together as a paste, but there should still be small chunks visible in the mixture, for texture). Form in equal amounts around each sugar cane skewer, refrigerate until coals have reached their optimum temperature.

( *Instead of using a food processor, you can also use a chef's knife to finely mince ingredients, or a traditional mortar and pestle to grind them together into a paste.)

Grill on a well-oiled grate over coals (this is important, or they will stick badly), turning once, until cooked to your desired level of doneness. Enjoy straight off the skewer, or wrapped in mint leaves and dipped in fish sauce. Chewing the cane and squeezing a little sweet juice out with your teeth after each salty bite is a wonderful idea. Enjoy!

Pambiche-style Cuban pork tenderloin with black beans, fried plantains......and FLAN! Did I mention flan??

Once upon a time, back in ol' 2007, the husband and I journeyed to Portland, Oregon and fell in love. Not with each other, that is, we were already madly in love with each other......with the place and its people, its weather, its public transportation system, and its many, many wonderful restaurants. We had only to ask a stranger walking down the street or riding the bus next to us what was their favorite restaurant/artisanal bakery/microbrew pub and not only would we receive an immediate answer, but a handful of runners-up in case the one they had suggested was closed, too far a walk, or simply not our cup of tea (or house-roasted fair trade coffee). These people are opinionated and take their eating and drinking seriously. In the case of the man who first directed us to Pambiche, he didn't merely give us the address of the restaurant, he walked us from the streetcar we had all been riding together to the stop where we'd meet the bus we needed to take, gave us detailed directions as to where to transfer and where to get off, suggested what to try on the menu, and sent us on our merry way--with coupons!

He didn't work there. I think.

Cuban-style Pambiche (it's located at 28th & Glisan, Portland people) won us over immediately with its gloriously vibrant paint job, inside and out, its lively music & atmosphere, and......oh yeah, the food, have I mentioned the food? Amazing. See?? I had a plate of marinated roast pork with black beans and fried yucca slices that I still dream about to this very day.




In honor of our very first Pambiche dinner (which has since been repeated a few times, although sadly not as often as we'd like, since we live in Phoenix), Mike and I recently re-created a Cuban style feast at home. We marinated a pork tenderloin for hours in a bath of lime juice, olive oil, cumin and garlic, then sauteed it lightly and served it with fresh cilantro. There was a sofrito-based side of spicy black beans. And there were.......(happy sigh).....fried plantains.



Fried plantains with Mike's special 'pink sauce.'




Black beans stewed with sauteed onion, garlic and sweet bell peppers from my garden, seasoned with cumin, chili powder, and a splash of lime juice.

The best way to make fried plantains that we've found is Alton Brown's way (isn't that usually the way it goes? Recipe follows at the end of this entry). Alton prefers that you use green plantains, the ones that resemble a very unripe banana. They're quite a bit firmer than the ripe version, which makes absolute sense when you get to the step where he has you soak them in garlic-enhanced salt water, albeit briefly. Trust me, soft, ripe plantains cannot abide this particular step (ask me how I know, go on, ask me how I know!) and will crumble on you, so stick with the green ones. Once they're cooked they are tender, garlic scented perfection, golden and crispy on the outside but soft and yielding to the teeth on the inside.



And the best part is, you can use the leftover bits of pork and black beans to make Cuban tacos the next day! Win!

If you're somehow still hungry after dinner (and I promise I won't tell on you if you are), you can cap things off perfectly with a beautiful little flan, just like we did on our first night at Pambiche. They're made in tiny individual ramekins, so you won't feel like you're devouring a huge dessert portion all by yourself (unless, that is, you eat your partner's as well!). And there's fruit and greenery, see, pineapple, mint? If there's fruit it must be healthy! Cheers.



Flan with Caramelized Pineapple

1 1/3 cup sugar (divided into two 2/3 cup portions)
3 cups whole milk
1 teaspoon vanilla
4 large eggs

1 cup fresh pineapple, sliced into small chunks
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon brown sugar
pinch of salt

fresh mint for garnish

Place 2/3 cup of sugar in a small saucepan and add just enough water to dissolve it, about 1 tablespoon. Heat on medium heat, swirling the syrup in the pan occasionally, but never stirring it. The syrup will boil for a while until it starts to turn brown. The trick to making caramel is to watch it carefully and to remove it from the heat while it's still a shade lighter than you'd like it to be (caramel keeps cooking in a hot pan, even as you're pouring it into the ramekins it's still cooking.......it can also burn in seconds, go on, ask me how I know this!). Once it has turned a very light nut brown, remove it from the heat and immediately pour the caramel into the bottoms of 6 ramekins. Set aside.

In another saucepan, heat the milk with the other 2/3 cup sugar until it reaches a boil. Stir in vanilla. In a mixing bowl, whisk the eggs for about a minute. Whisk in the hot milk, in very small amounts at first to avoid scrambling the eggs (this process is called tempering). Pour the milk mixture into the ramekins on top of the caramel. Place all 6 ramekins in a large oven proof dish. Fill the dish with water to about 2/3 the height of the ramekins.

Carefully place in 300° F oven. Bake for 40 minutes to an hour (bake until custard has set, test with your finger or by gently inserting a knife); make sure the water surrounding the ramekins does not boil during baking. Allow the custard to cool completely, then refrigerate.

To make the caramelized pineapple (you can do this while the flan is cooling), heat butter in a pan over medium high heat. Add pineapple, allow the pieces of fruit to cook until they are just beginning to brown on either side, stirring occasionally. Add brown sugar and pinch of salt (taste for correct amount) and stir for 30 seconds more, then remove from heat and let cool slightly.

To serve, run a knife just along the inside of each ramekin, then turn flan over onto a dessert plate. Surround with caramelized pineapple bits, garnish with fresh mint (this last step is, of course, completely optional. I happen to have an enormous, bushy mint plant that is slowly taking over the backyard--we call it MINTASAURUS--and so we use mint whenever the opportunity presents itself! Plus it makes it look all the more festively Cuban). Enjoy!



Fried Plantains, Alton Brown-style (original recipe from 'Good Eats' shown here)

Ingredients

2 cups water
3 cloves garlic, smashed
2 teaspoons kosher salt, plus extra for seasoning
1 1/2 cups vegetable or canola oil
2 green plantains

Directions

Combine water, garlic and salt in medium size glass bowl and set aside.

In a large (12-inch) saute pan, heat oil to 325 degrees F. Peel plantains and slice crosswise into 1-inch pieces. Carefully add plantains to oil and fry until golden yellow in color, about 1 to 1 1/2 minutes per side (the oil should come halfway up the side of the plantain). With a spatula or slotted spoon, remove the plantains from the pan and place them on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper, standing them on their ends. With the back of the spatula, press each piece of plantain down to half its original size. Then place the plantains in the water and let soak for 1 minute. Remove and pat dry with a tea towel to remove excess water.

Bring oil back up to 325 degrees F and return plantains to pan and cook until golden brown, approximately 2 to 4 minutes per side. Remove to a dish lined with paper towels, and sprinkle lightly with salt. Serve immediately, with pink sauce*.

(*Pink sauce is a creation of my husband's, some version of which I believe he may have originally gotten from Jacques Pepin. It's an easily made condiment and it tastes good on everything--french fries, avocado slices, sandwiches, fried plantains, everything! Take equal parts mayonnaise and ketchup and mix thoroughly with liberal amounts of hot sauce, to taste. The preferred hot sauce around the Orange & Salt kitchen is Arizona Gunslinger, but we understand if you don't, you know, live in Arizona and can't get your hands on some. Chipotle-style Tabasco is also wonderful.)

Chef Laurel's School of Asian Delights........

Being the independent, self-employed person* that I am, I'm used to wacky schedules, fluctuating workloads, and picking up the occasional odd job to make ends meet. It's a far more interesting lifestyle than the typical 9-to-5 grind I left behind, and I honestly wouldn't trade it for the world (if for no other reason than that I'm never going back to wearing pantyhose and heels again--never!). But I've never had quite such an interesting odd job offer as the one my mother laid in front of me a few weeks ago: teach a cooking class at her semi-regular 'Girls' Night' gathering. Would I accept? Of course I would! I think I may have actually done a little happy dance! Chef Laurel was ready to roll.

I love little finger foods, and I love Asian flavors. And what I really, especially love is teaching people to cook something new when they're at their happiest--glass of wine in hand, surrounded by lifelong friends in a warm glowing kitchen, not intimidated, totally relaxed and ready to have fun. This is the mindset I always try to achieve before I start my own cooking, and I've found there's nothing like being in a good mood to enhance the possibility of success when trying something new. A glass of wine or two helps things along, as well.

So keeping all this in mind, plus the time constraints of the evening, I narrowed the curriculum down to two irresistible bite-sized treats that most people have tasted but never made from scratch before: Potstickers (gyoza) and Chinese Almond Cookies.


* at least, that's the way I like to refer to myself on the good days, which truthfully are many. On the bad days, which are few, I can be found wailing on the floor, clutching the job section of the classifieds, beating my breast and tearing my hair. You know. The usual. ;)



Pictured: A warm batch of just cooked potstickers. Yum.

Potstickers (Japanese Gyoza Dumplings)

1 lb. ground pork
½ head Napa cabbage, shredded
1 large carrot, grated
3 green onions, finely chopped
1 tsp. fresh ginger, finely chopped
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
5 Tb. vegetable oil
3 Tb. soy sauce
1 egg
cornstarch
water
wonton wrappers (commercially made ones are great & easy to find; I usually see them in the ‘salad’ area of the produce section)

For dipping sauce:

Soy sauce
Rice wine vinegar
Toasted sesame seed oil
Red chili flakes or Asian hot sauce
Sugar

Heat large skillet (make sure you are using one with a lid, as you will need it later) to medium high and add 2 tablespoons of vegetable oil. Add pork and brown in oil until meat is about halfway cooked. Add cabbage, ginger and garlic, and continue to stir until cabbage is wilted. Add carrot, green onions and soy sauce and stir for a minute longer. Break egg into skillet and stir quickly to combine with all ingredients. Cook 1 minute longer, then remove from heat and let cool. Spreading it on a plate and cooling it in the refrigerator for at least 30 min. is ideal, since this will allow filling to cool completely and the flavors of all the ingredients to combine.

Prepare a small amount of paste of equal parts cornstarch and water in a bowl. Place a small amount of the cooled filling in the middle of each wonton wrapper, dip your finger in the cornstarch paste, and spread a little around the edges to act as ‘glue.’ Pinch wrapper closed to seal, pleating with your fingers as you go. Makes about 45 potstickers.

Heat large skillet to medium high, add enough vegetable oil to cover the bottom generously (roughly 3 Tb., you may need more or less than this). Add dumplings in a single layer, cook about 1-2 minutes on each side (check them frequently, turn when they have a nice brown layer on each side. Add water to skillet until it is ¼” deep (STAND BACK, adding water to hot oil sometimes causes splatters!), place a lid on skillet and let potstickers steam until thoroughly soft, about 3 more minutes. Remove from pan and place on serving plate.

Mix soy sauce, rice wine vinegar (in roughly equal amounts) in a small bowl, add a splash of sesame oil, red chili flakes/hot sauce and sugar to taste, mix thoroughly. Dip potstickers in this sauce & enjoy!

Chef Laurel lays out the lesson plan! It's interesting preparing for something like this, almost the way I imagine crews have to prepare for a cooking show. I laid out all ingredients in pre-measured amounts and had 'starter' batches as well as 'finished' batches to demonstrate with, in order to cut down on time. Lots of work!


Demonstrating proper pleating & folding technique.


This is my best 'TV chef' face, ha ha! I'd like to think I'm channeling Martin Yan more than, say, Rachel Ray here, but either way I suppose it's a little cheesy. 'Look everyone......cabbage!'



After demonstrating a few myself..........



.......I put the ladies to work, assembly-line-style. Many dumplings were folded, and I'm proud to say none were lost. Such good students!



All in all, it was a great success. I'd love to do some more parties just like this! The group (about ten in all) was just the right size and eager to learn, and the dumplings and cookies (warm, almond-scented buttery treats, shiny with glaze and studded with sesame seeds) made perfect party snacks once we were done. They were challenging enough that no one had ever tried to make them before, but simple enough that they were amazed once they'd actually done it. Triumph!

So.

Chef Laurel is officially available for parties, should you need her. ;)


Chinese Almond Cookies


1 cup (8 oz.) butter, at room temperature
1 cup sugar
1 large egg
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 large egg yolk
1 tablespoon milk
1/2 teaspoon toasted sesame seed oil
1/3 cup whole almonds
2 tablespoons sesame seeds

Place whole almonds in a bowl and cover with boiling water until covered, to blanch. After 1 minute has passed, pour off water, rinse with cold water, and drain again. Slip almonds out of their skins and set aside.

Beat butter and sugar together in a bowl until smooth, either with an electric mixer or by hand. Add whole egg, almond extract and vanilla, and beat until well blended. Start beating in flour and baking powder a little at a time until you've added the full amount and dough forms. Wrap tightly in plastic wrap and chill for at least 1 hour, up to overnight.

Preheat oven to 325°. Divide dough into 48 small pieces, flatten each slightly into disks and place about 1 inch apart on lightly oiled or parchment-lined baking sheets.

In a small bowl, beat egg yolk with milk and sesame oil (really, make sure you get the toasted sesame oil, which is a lovely nut brown color and has a wonderful sesame aroma, rather than the pale yellow regular sesame oil, which has almost no taste at all) to blend. Brush the cookies lightly with egg mixture. Press an almond into the center of each cookie and sprinkle each lightly with sesame seeds.

Bake cookies in a 325° oven until lightly browned, 15 to 20 minutes. Let cookies cool on sheets for just a few minutes, then use a spatula to transfer to racks to finish cooling.

What we talk about when we talk about tacos..........

Let's talk about tacos, shall we?

The word conjures up so many distinct meanings and flavor memories that by now we really ought to have broken it up into several different words for the sake of understanding, but let's work with what we've got. For some, a taco is roadside stand food, a greasy, classic staple of my particular corner of the western states and all points further south. For some, it's a homecooked meal, fragrant, slow-cooked juicy meat folded gently into a fresh tortilla by a mother or grandmother's loving hands. For Jeffrey Steingarten, it was an almost Proustian memory of perfectly grilled Tacos el Yaqui that kept him returning to the same Baja taco stand year after year (see his book, It Must Have Been Something I Ate, for this and other hilarious essays). For me it's a warm memory of American suburban childhood memory and Taco Night, the closest one could come to real live 'junk food' at home, of ground beef browned with spices and ladled into a crunchy, bright yellow corn shell, garnished with orange cheddar cheese and shredded lettuce. For still others, it's a limp stack of 3-for-a-dollar convenience food, most likely eaten in advance of an impending hangover late one night or early the next morning (the drive-thru of Shame). Even my husband, raised in Kansas City, has horrified me in the past with remembered descriptions of something called 'In-A-Tub Tacos' (from, most fittingly, an establishment known to KCMO as 'In-A-Tub'), which apparently consisted of boiled, reconstituted meat and powdered cheese deep-fried in a tortilla.

The horror.

But I want to talk about something else. I want to talk about Asian style tacos, apparently invented by a certain chain of hip LA food trucks and shamelessly appropriated by yours truly (living in Kogi-less Phoenix, after all). I've eaten a lot of things folded into tortillas over the years. I remain ever shameless about what I will consider a 'taco'.......this morning's breakfast? A single egg scrambled in olive oil with green onion bits and a dollop of hot sauce, tucked away inside a leftover corn tortilla and eaten standing up in the kitchen. The verdict? Taco. I'm willing to overlook purism. So when I glanced at an article last week about LA's currently trending Korean-Mexican fusion on wheels bonanza, I wanted in. Six hours on I-10 is a long way to drive for a taco, however spectacular, so I opted to make my own.

The verdict? Taco. ;)

The process is as follows: First, obtain and marinate a pork tenderloin in a bath of soy sauce, garlic and ginger for at least 45 minutes. I cut mine in two to accomodate my stovetop grill pan, since it had been raining steadily all day and any hopes I had had of grilling this properly outdoors were looking mighty soggy.


After marinating, remove the meat and pat dry thoroughly with paper towels, reserving the marinade. Heat grill pan (or, if it's not raining that day, your actual grill), brush lightly with oil, and grill your pork until both sides bear beautiful, stripey grill marks. While grilling, reduce marinade by half on the stovetop, then remove from heat and stir in a hearty spoonful of honey. Brush this sticky glaze onto the meat, then finish in a warm oven, about 375 or so, until pork is just cooked thoroughly (how long will depend upon the size/thickness of your cut of meat, so use your best method for judging 'doneness'...I used a meat thermometer). Sprinkle with sesame seeds and let rest at least 5 minutes before slicing.


Meanwhile, chop the following into more or less evenly-sized ribbons: Napa cabbage, red cabbage, cucumber, scallion and carrot. Toss in a bowl with dressing made of rice wine vinegar, red chili flakes, a few healthy squirts of sriracha, and a pinch of sugar to make a sort of fiery 'instant kimchi' salad as garnish.



Sliced grilled pork, ready to be accompanied by spicy 'kimchi' and a drizzle of avocado-cilantro-lime cream. To make the sauce, peel, pit and roughly chop one perfectly ripe avocado. Pulse in food processor, then add sour cream, chopped cilantro and a squeeze of fresh lime juice to taste. Blend until smooth (I added a touch of water at the very end to thin it out into 'drizzle-able' consistency).


Warm corn tortillas briefly in a very lightly oiled skillet. Assemble tacos as shown above, and reconsider moving to LA, at least for the time being. Waits in line at the famed Kogi trucks are reported to be as long as 2 to 3 hours, ridiculous when you consider that you could be enjoying your very own fusion taco taste explosion at home in less than half that time. And no waiting in line, either.

So we got married. I met a man who understands me, who loves really amazing food just as much as I do, who views the world the same way that I do--as simultaneously small and huge; a playground for those who are willing to explore it and an enormous universe it could take more than a lifetime to come to know--and, I married him, dear readers. In a beautiful ceremony last November which deserves a post all to itself (coming soon). And we went out exploring the very large, large world on a honeymoon that was itself nearly a year in the planning......after all, it's kind of a big decision: Where to go? Common wisdom has it that you visit some tropical locale, some beachfront resort where the sand is fine and powdery, the drinks are icy sweet and be-umbrella'ed, and nearly every activity is a 'tourist activity.' Sounded fine to us, I guess, but we yearned for more adventure. Plenty of time, after all, to be tourists! We wanted to be young and unconventional!

Then it happened that Paris beckoned with the usual siren call: 'Come, young lovers, and eat my baguettes! Philosophize! See the great works of art! Wander indolently along the banks of the Seine, drink the red wine and smoke the sexy French cigarettes and be young loveeerrrrssss, come oonnnnn........', and I have to admit, it was tempting. We almost had our tickets booked, we practically had our fingers poised over the 'Submit Order Now' button, and then.......and then.............I happened to ask at that particular moment, 'What about Hong Kong?'

Wait a minute, what about Hong Kong???

We'd had Asia in our sights when we first began planning the wedding and realized we'd actually be able to take a honeymoon. We wanted, after all, to be different! We dismissed it, of course, as too expensive, based mostly on hearsay. I'd heard HK was a luxury haven, nothing more than a business trip stopover for Westerners, a money-sucking pit. We decided to focus on Europe. Until the fateful day we actually began to compare prices--plane tickets, hotels, food, you name it--and realized we'd actually be able to spend more time abroad and have more fun in Hong Kong than just about anywhere else, especially Paris. Sorry, Paris....je t'aime, after all! But it was destined to be Hong Kong all along. For two weeks we wandered its markets and back alleys and shopping malls and suburban streets and racing tracks and temples and monasteries and ferry terminals and hiking trails and restaurants, oh my god, restaurants of all kinds! Following the advice of all sorts of opinionated locals and travelers, we found ourselves eating stupendously well day after day, night after night.

And, to make a long story short...........then we came home.

And I missed Hong Kong.

And so I started cooking.

.......Mike and I ate 90% of our Hong Kong meals during our two-week stay either standing up at street hawker stalls or sitting on plastic chairs at 'temporary markets,' watching steam pour from tiny, makeshift, plastic-tarp draped kitchens, clicking together neon-orange plastic chopsticks and watching hilarious Cantonese period-drama soap operas on wavery old televisions placed in the corner, drinking watery Chinese tea while waiting for steaming bowls of fish ball soup, tender baby bok choy, or stir-fried pork slices with noodles. I developed a taste for all of this that I may never satisfy again until we revisit Hong Kong. I can't re-create the ridiculous soap operas, the peculiar smell of soy, rice and diesel and who knows what, the insane freshness of the seafood (from live crab in a streetside market tank to aromatic curried crab on your plate in less than ten minutes!) or the insistent bustle of Hong Kong streets as you are jostled down the road narrowly avoiding pedestrians and taxicabs in your search for the lunch/dinner/snack/hangover remedy/whatever you so desperately need.........but i can re-create some of the more memorable staple dishes we relied on during our time in Hong Kong.

......Pork spring rolls, or 'Sping Rolls,' as they were referred to at our favorite outdoor street-level dining place in Kowloon district's Temple Street Night Market. Filled by me with ground pork, cabbage, carrot and scallion, just as they were on Temple Street.

A meal that approximates my beloved Hong Kong street food, above. Spring rolls, pork ball soup with noodles, and an Asian-style slaw of shredded cabbage, carrot, red onion, sesame oil and rice vinegar.

I can't cook roasted quail eggs, stuffed duck's foot or deep-fried octopus on a stick (or CAN I??) at home, but the basics are easy enough to cover. Hong Kong, you and your markets and stall and bizarre, tiny street-level shops of all kinds are embedded in my memory. I can't wait to come back.

Homemade Pork Spring Rolls

Saute ground pork over medium heat until meat is about halfway cooked, add shredded cabbage, grated carrot, and finely chopped scallions [I don't measure things like this, your amounts may vary. Add until it looks good, maybe 50% pork and 50% vegetables. You've probably guessed that you can easily make this vegetarian by skipping the ground pork and just using veggies! So easy.].

Continue to saute until pork is completely cooked, add a splash of soy sauce [...or a few splashes. I personally love salt. See the name of this blog for evidence.] and remove from heat. Let cool slightly.

Place a small amount of this mixture onto a wonton wrapper [storebought is great, but they're easy to make as well], tuck sides & roll shut. If you are finding it difficult to seal these all the way shut, dab a little cornstarch-and-water paste on the seam and it will act a bit like glue! Great trick. Refrigerate for about 20 minutes. After they've set up in the fridge, you can throw them into a freezer bag and then--duh--into the freezer. They keep well like this and make a great instant meal down the road! If you're going the freezer route, thaw them ahead of time by placing them in the fridge or putting them BRIEFLY in the microwave, then dry them thoroughly before cooking.

Remove rolls from fridge. Heat at least 1" vegetable oil in a skillet until very hot [around the high end of medium-high or the low end of high, know what I mean?]. Place spring rolls in oil with plenty of space around each [don't crowd the pan!], cook for several minutes on each side until golden brown & bubbly on the outside. Remove and drain on paper towel or brown paper. LET THEM COOL THEY ARE SO SO HOT AND I SWEAR YOU'LL BURN YOUSELF!! Really. Just be cool for a few minutes. I know they look delicious. Just wait. ;)

Dip in sauce of choice. I like sweet & sour type sauces with a hit of sriracha, or straight-up soy or fish sauce. Enjoy!!

(Originally posted 6/9/09)

Mike and I made an amazing discovery last night, Vietnamese pork sandwiches (banh mi)......or as they will henceforth be referred to in this household, 'The Indisputed King of All Sandwiches, Period.' Want one? I do, too.

Grate 1 large carrot into a bowl. Add a large handful of shredded cabbage and some thinly sliced red onion to make Asian slaw. Toss with rice wine vinegar and a splash of sesame oil, add salt and pepper to taste. Wash & chop the following herbs: cilantro, basil, mint. Peel & slice cucumber, set this & herb mixture aside to garnish sandwiches. Slice pork thinly (we used regular pork chops...roughly, 1 chop = 2 sandwiches, or 1 sandwich if you're really hungry, so plan & adjust amounts of everything else accordingly), season with chinese five spice powder. Add vegetable oil to a hot pan and add 1 chopped garlic clove and some chopped shallot. Saute for a minute or two until golden then add pork slices. Make sure pork keeps moving and cooks evenly; add a sprinkle of sugar and soy sauce while cooking. Set pork aside.

On sliced baguette, spread a very thin layer of mayonnaise on one side. Squirt as much sriracha (Asian red chile) sauce as you dare over top of this. Add sliced cucumbers, cooked pork slices, and a few heaping spoonfuls of asian slaw in that order. Place another slice of baguette on top. OMG YOU HAVE JUST MADE THE KING OF ALL SANDWICHES. It is juicy, spicy, salty, crunchy, soft and sweet all at once. Enjoy!