The world of chicken soup

Every culture on earth likely has their version of the restorative, soothing, and homey chicken soup. In the U.S., it’s oftentimes made with a mirepoix (carrots, celery, and onion), lots of shredded chicken, and egg noodles; this is what you picture when you think of a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. A Jewish version may basically be this, but instead of egg noodles, it would have large, fat, airy, fluffy matzo balls (which I love and even craved while pregnant with Kaia). In China, chicken soup has endless variations, but the most basic ones just simply have some ginger or garlic added; the version made for postpartum confinement is made with rice wine, Chinese red dates, lots of ginger, and plenty of chicken and collagen from the bones. In Vietnam, pho ga is extremely popular, flavored with charred onions, ginger, and whole cilantro stems, spiced with delicate fennel seeds.

And then there is Thailand, where, when westerners think of Thai soup, they immediately think of tom yum goong, with its red tinged broth and big prawns. What’s actually more common in Thai home cooking, though, is the favored and beloved tom kha gai, or Thai chicken coconut galangal soup. I’ve been trying to make more soups this year, and this soup naturally seemed to fit on the list of things we’d like to enjoy at home. Other than having a strong chicken stock base and coconut, the soup primarily relies on fresh herb infusions, primarily thinly sliced galangal (of course, given the “kha” in the name), pounded lemongrass, bruised makrut lime leaves, and sliced chilies.

I had all of these items except for the galangal stored in my freezer. So I went down to Chinatown to look for galangal, knowing this would be harder to find. I popped into Hong Kong Supermarket, where very occasionally I had seen galangal before, but it was usually a rare item. When I couldn’t find it, I asked one of the workers in Chinese if they had galangal (in Chinese, it’s pronounced “gao liang jiang”). He responded, “Galangal? We’ve had it before. But I don’t think we have it today. Why don’t you use ginger instead?” and then pointed over to the massive ginger pieces on the shelf.

This guy was clearly Chinese and not southeast Asian at all. No Southeast Asian would ever, ever say that galangal could be replaced by ginger. It’s a totally different world of flavor!! I ended up going to a small Thai shop on Mosco Street to source my galangal instead. And that trek was worth it.

I made the tom kha gai soup today, which came together really quickly, and it was even more delicious than I had envisioned. It tasted soothing, comforting, creamy, and very fresh because of all those fresh herbs. This soup was like the embodiment of everything I love about Thai cooking. As I was sipping it and picking out pieces of woody galangal, I thought about how my Thai cooking journey started, and it was all because of Hot Thai Kitchen. When I first moved to New York and lived in Elmhurst, I was surrounded by endless authentic and delicious Thai restaurants. I marveled at all the different herbs and spices and thought it would be too complicated to make at home. And now 17 years later, with Hot Thai Kitchen’s guidance and expert explanations, I’m making Thai food semi regularly now, and it’s not daunting at all! It’s the evolution of my cooking knowledge and skills thanks to some amazing sources like Hot Thai Kitchen’s Pailin that make their cuisines so approachable and easy to understand.

King Arthur flour on sale at Whole Foods

Before my love of cooking was my love for baking. As a young child, I baked lots of breads, cakes, and cookies with my aunt in her warm upstairs kitchen. When we made bread, it was oftentimes “healthy” quick breads like zucchini bread or carrot bread. At some point during my childhood, my dad got a bread maker, and he’d occasionally make a rounded loaf and have it be part of our dinner. It was always a similar flavor and texture, and while I liked it, I always preferred homemade bread that was a bit more free form. When I got to my teen and college years, I started experimenting with commercial yeast and would make a number of different breads, ranging from sweet Portuguese bread, fougasse and focaccia, challah, brioche a tete, cinnamon rolls, and even sticky buns. I always felt very enthralled and stimulated during this process. There is something very magical that happens when you can see your yeast bloom, and then watch as your bread dough grows and rises and bubbles. It’s almost like your little yeast baby that you made from a bunch of flour, water, and yeast. It feels as though you are giving “life” to something.

Although my pandemic era fascination with sourdough starters was very short lived, as I didn’t have the patience to nurse a starter (and had even less patience to deal with the starter discard, as I didn’t want to throw food away, nor did I want to eat as many bread products as using up starter discard would warrant), I realized that for me, homemade bread would always require commercial yeast. I love the freshness and flavor of naturally leavened bread, but I’d have to leave that to the pros. After making my last two loaves of challah in the last couple weeks, I realized my all purpose flour supplies were dwindling, and they needed to be restocked. And then this week, Whole Foods had a King Arthur flour sale; I hadn’t bought King Arthur flour since the pandemic! They are known for having some of the highest quality, unbleached flour in the country, and for having consistent and higher protein levels, which produce greater gluten development, which results in higher quality bakes. I picked up their organic bread flour and organic all-purpose flour today — five pounds of each. As I walked home, I felt excited and alive knowing that more delicious bread and baked goods would come as a result of this ten-pound haul.

The “right” way to make stock/bone broth

If you do a quick search online for how to make chicken stock/broth/bone broth, you”ll see that there are endless tips and tricks, recipes, and recipes that claim to be the “best.” What very few of them will do is share that, well, there’s really no “best” bone broth recipe. Is it really necessary to add vinegar to your bone broth process to further “pull” out the nutrients from the bone marrow into your stock? Do you need to do a mirepoix (combination of chopped carrots, onions, and celery) to make the most flavorful stock base? Are onions a “must” in any chicken stock? The answer to all the above is “no,” and “it depends.” All global cultures have their version of bone broth/stock, and every version brings a different type of “delicious” to their culture’s food. When I was recently reading about the popular Thai soup tom kha gai or Thai chicken galangal coconut soup, Hot Thai Kitchen warned to absolutely NOT use chicken stock from a can/carton from your average Western grocery store because it would not have the right flavors for a Thai soup. Instead, she suggests making your own very simply with a few ingredients. A lot of people would be confused by what she means. What she’s saying is that the mirepoix mentioned above, which is usually considered key in ideal western chicken stocks, would not work here, nor would flavorings like oregano, thyme, rosemary, or the related that are oftentimes added to western stocks. Typical Asian-based stocks would be nothing more than the chicken itself, occasionally garlic and ginger, sometimes some onion, daikon, cilantro and scallion stems, and that’s it!

I made my Asian-based stock just like this today, with chicken bones, some chicken drumsticks, slices of ginger, a few smashed cloves of garlic, some frozen cilantro and scallion stems, daikon, onion, and peppercorns. And it turned out the way it always turns out: rich, golden, full of collagen, and fragrant. I’m planning to use it for tom kha gai, maybe some future tom yum goong, and likely a third Chinese or Thai soup. Stock is the basis of all good cooking, and in this house, we definitely lean Asian with our flavors.

Persian Adasi (lentil) stew

While still on my Persian cooking kick, I decided to also make some Persian style lentils, also known as adasi (lentils) stew. I soaked some brown lentils overnight, chopped up onions and garlic, and then simply used turmeric, cumin, and cinnamon to spice the lentils and simmered them for about 45 minutes. And when I seasoned and did a taste test, I just thought… wow. This is so warm and hearty tasting, and there’s no animal product in it at all. And though turmeric, cumin, and cinnamon are all spices that cross both Persian and Indian cultures, the resulting flavor is so, so different than any Indian dal you would ever eat, home cooked or at a restaurant. I was texting this with my Persian friend, who also agreed how interesting it was, while also nothing that at one time, they are all one empire. Then, they broke off and developed their own techniques and ways of cooking that are slightly the same, yet different.

I occasionally still meet people who are anti beans, who think beans are gross, give you gas, and should be avoided. I really think that if they had a lentil stew like this Persian version that they would be hard pressed to say it was revolting.

Persian cooking

Given that we are now officially in spring, the Persian New Year, aka, Nowruz, has also come. At my last company, I made a Persian friend who was on my team, who also loved food. We spent a lot of time talking about food, different cultural traditions, and the first time we met, the two of us were actually charged with preparing food for two days for my team’s offsite at a semi-remote house in Northern California. The more she talked about Persian food, the more I started reading about it and got into it. And so I started experimenting more with Persian dishes like Persian lentils, rice, chicken and fish. I was amazed at how much saffron can be used in Persian cooking, as I’d never really known what to do with saffron before Persian or Indian cooking. I’d bought a number of small bottles of it from Costco, during travels in India, and had been gifted them by Chris’s mom. But given that saffron is actually more expensive by weight than diamonds, I always used it sparingly.

This week, in light of Nowruz, I made Persian sabzi polo, or Persian herbed rice with tahdig, or crispy bottomed rice, as well as slow-cooked salmon with herbs and spices. I had bought a massive amount of cilantro, parsley, dill, and scallions just for these two dishes. And as Chris watched me chop up a bunch of herbs, he looks at all the greens across the kitchen counter and goes, “We can’t eat herbs!” He meant we couldn’t *just* eat herbs for dinner, but because he said that sentence so slowly and didn’t say much after that, he made it sound like herbs were inedible. I reminded him how lucky he is to have such a varied diet with all my creative cooking even when he randomly forgets that yes, herbs actually are edible, to which he responded, “I give you a varied diet by taking you all over the freaking world!” Talk about men who don’t seem to take feedback well…

Gaeng Jued (“bland curry” soup in Thai) today

Last year, I wanted to get more into making soups more frequently. They’re nourishing and always satisfying, but I don’t think I got into a decent groove with it until this year. I sourced a place for pork ribs under my nose at the Chinese supermarket I usually go to, and since then, I’ve been looking at more recipes and tinkering with them. The latest soup I made today is Hot Thai Kitchen’s gaeng jued woon sen. In Thai, that literally means “bland curry with glass noodles,” but the only reason it’s called bland is that it’s not spicy at all. It’s meant to be a “wet” component of a Thai meal next to rice and other more spiced / hot dishes. It has a lot in common with Chinese soups I’ve grown up with: it uses pork bones, daikon for sweetness, and has really simple seasonings, such as fish sauce, soy sauce, and white pepper. It’s given more heft with rustic spoon-flicked pork meatballs that are quickly tossed together, different vegetables (I used napa cabbage and “seafood” mushrooms, almost like thicker enoki mushrooms), and even egg (I used egg tofu today). Then, it’s topped with garnishes like cilantro, scallions, and the true flavor bombs: fried crispy garlic chips with its residual garlic oil.

If anyone had this soup and actually thought it was bland, I probably wouldn’t want to associate with them. This is the epitome of Thai home cooking, and in many ways, very similar to comforting, homely Chinese soups I grew up eating, just with a garlicky twist. Variations of this soup will definitely be kept on rotation for us.

Opo squash soup – canh bau – a delicious home-style Vietnamese soup

Lately, I’ve been thinking more about traditional Chinese, Vietnamese, and Thai (because I love Thai 🙂 ) meals at home. I think about all the dishes I probably took for granted that my mom, aunt, and grandma would make when I was little, and I’ve gotten some nostalgia for them. A lot of not so glamorous dishes that are considered home-style or home cooking are really what make up the bulk of a traditional Chinese, Vietnamese, or Thai family’s meals, and so I’ve been thinking about how to incorporate those elements into my week to week cooking. Since Kaia was born, I will be honest and say that our at-home meals, unless I’m expecting guests, tend to be a bit disjointed. I will make one Vietnamese dish, then have some Chinese-style dishes made, and then randomly throw in some Instant Pot dal or other quick lentil soup. I haven’t had a lot of time to think through what I want to make, how I will make it, and then how they will all form a semi-cohesively themed meal.

Since I discovered that I can get decently priced and good quality meat at Hong Kong Supermarket in Manhattan Chinatown, I’ve been thinking about all the home-style soups I could make. And one of them was opo squash soup. Opo squash is a common green-colored squash that is used in East/Southeast Asian cooking, and it’s commonly used to flavor soups. When it’s paired with chicken, pork, or shrimp, it takes on a really nice savory, subtly sweet flavor in the broth it’s in. It is hard to describe it accurately, but it’s a very savory, warming, and nourishing flavor that in my mind, sums up Asian style home cooking. I hadn’t had a soup prepared with it for ages, as I know my mom used to make it for us when we were growing up. So when I prepared it on Saturday evening and tasted the finished broth, it took me back to the flavors of my mom’s home cooking back in the day.

So it made me really happy when I showed Kaia the soup, and she immediately loved it. She ended up having three servings of it. I picked out more chicken pieces for her to eat, and she totally devoured them. And surprisingly, she did not hesitate to eat the squash; she probably had just as much squash as she did chicken! Every time she embraces a dish I cook, especially if it’s something that’s more home-style like what I grew up with, I feel like my heart just sings. I’m so happy to give her flavors from her cultures to love and cherish.

Cooking with Kaia… while also feeding her

Kaia as a three-year-old exhibits a lot of personality traits of both Chris and me. She is very cheeky, stubborn, and opinionated. She loves food, and she especially loves all the attention, all the time, every time. When she was a 6+ month old baby, I loved all the moments I would introduce new solids to her. I got so excited every time I saw her mushing something in her hand, each time she put new foods in her mouth and reacted. It is likely (and very predictably) one of my all-time favorite experiences in early motherhood: introducing new foods to my child and watching her react and embrace most of the foods. Some people said that I might get sad that Kaia embraced baby-led weaning so readily because it meant that I would be able to directly feed her less, as in I wasn’t spoon-feeding her each bite. But I honestly didn’t mind it at all because I was so engrossed in watching her experience new foods for the first time, while also simultaneously taking endless photos and videos to document the entire experience so I could eventually relive it all (and share with very curious grandparents). Now, the funny thing is: now as a three-year-old, she actually wants to be fed all the time. She demands that Chris and I feed her food, so oftentimes to get her to finish her dinner, Chris will stand above her, feeding her each bite; I will also spoon or fork feed her, bite by bite, while sitting in front of her. I sit in front of her the same way I sat in front of her as a baby feeding herself. Except now, she’s technically no longer a baby, but I am actually feeding her a LOT!

I’ve also found that the tip to cook with your child to get young toddlers into food that they normally don’t like or care for really does work. Since becoming a wee toddler, Kaia hasn’t loved string beans much. She liked them as a baby, but once she got to about 1.5 years old, she decided she didn’t like them. I made a Vietnamese-style stir fry of king oyster mushrooms and string beans today while having her watch me cut up the mushrooms and stir fry the whole dish, and she watched eagerly and intensively as she asked to try the blazing hot food. Before the food was even out of the wok, I took single pieces of it by hand, blew them to cool them down, and handed them to her. And crunch, crunch, crunch! She ate more than an adult-sized serving of string beans along with her favorite mushrooms just like that. Every time she asked for a mushroom, I said she could have it as long as she also had at least another string bean. And so, she went for it!

I’m happy that she enjoys watching me cook because it not only means she’s more likely to embrace even more new foods, but it also means I can keep her occupied and entertained while simultaneously cooking for the whole family to eat. I hope she embraces cooking and that we can do it more as she develops more fine motor skills. I’ve envisioned us in the future baking lots of different treats, and also making dumplings and spring rolls together.

Manhattan Chinatown in the morning: when everything comes alive, and you tiao (油条) can be discovered made fresh

I dropped Kaia off at school this morning since I had a 5pm work call that I couldn’t get out of, so Chris picked her up today. Since it’s technically mid-winter recess in New York City this week, kids who are opted in (and paying for) after-school hours can still attend school this week, just that the hours are slightly shorter. Drop-off this week is at 9am (instead of 8:30), and pickup can be no later than 5pm (it’s usually 6pm, but I usually try to pick up between 5-5:10).

Chris has said he prefers doing morning drop off and has gotten into a routine of it. When I have suggested in the past that he make use of that morning drop off time by buying some groceries and baked goods, he’s brushed it off, insisting he doesn’t have time and has a pseudo morning work schedule he has to adhere to. To be fair, he doesn’t really care to explore different shops in Chinatown the way I do, so it’s better that I do these things during the occasional times I do morning drop off. Like any decent sized Chinatown, the real life and energy of Manhattan Chinatown starts early in the morning, when all the produce and meats are getting delivered, when all the bakeries are churning out all their buns and breads and sweets fresh. The really good bakeries open as early as 8am; the shops tend to open around 9. This is the best time to come down here and buy all the freshly made staples for cooking Chinese food at home, such as freshly churned out and steaming hot rice noodles, fresh pressed tofu in endless forms, seitan, and soy milk. By the time I come between 4:30-5pm for school pickup, most of the best stuff has already sold out completely, or they’ve been sitting there, waiting to be purchased all day.

This morning, we arrived in Chinatown a bit early, so I decided to take Kaia into one of my favorite fresh food shops to pick up some things for cooking in the next week. This brought us to Kong Kee Food Corp, which is just a block over from her school. I discovered this spot maybe 10-ish years ago: they make fresh tofu and seitan in endless forms, as well as fresh rice noodles, herbal tea, and soy milk. They distribute to a lot of local supermarkets and restaurants. If you come early in the morning, they have stir fried noodles and rice noodle soup for breakfast that you can carry out. When we arrived, there were already some older ladies who were coming in to purchase breakfast noodles to go. A worker in the back was sitting at a table hand cutting noodles in bulk. Kaia curiously wandered around, looking at all the items in the glass cases and peering up at the female workers. She started giggling when one of them gave her attention; the woman behind the counter was so besotted by her that she took a package of fruit snacks and dangled them out as a gift for her. “So cute!” the woman kept exclaiming.

When I come in to Kong Kee, the items I get the most often are the pressed and five-spiced pressed tofu. I have also previously purchased and enjoyed their fresh rice noodles, which are cut thinly almost like pho noodles, thicker like ho fun/he fun (chow fun noodles), and also in huge sheets for large rice noodle rolls. I’ve also gotten their seitan and enjoyed it. This time, I purchased some seitan (kao fu), five spice pressed tofu as repeat buys. For new items to try, I finally got two sticks of you tiao (the Chinese donut crullers I wanted for jook at home), as morning is the best time to buy these sticks. I also chose a large container of their soy milk. They added some sugar at my request.

Well, according to the Shanghai saying, I already purchased two of the four warriors for Shanghainese breakfast – “四大金刚” Sìdà Jīngāng. The classic Shanghainese brekkie, heavy on the carbs of course, would be these four items: you tiao / Chinese donut stick, ci fan (pressed rice roll), shao bing (Shanghainese flat flaky sesame pancake), and fresh hot soy milk. I can’t wait to have my you tiao later! It’s the first time I’ve ever purchased these sticks whole anywhere in New York City!

When I look at whole long you tiao sticks in Chinese bakeries and food shops, I am reminded of the time shortly after my grandma passed when my mom made a big pot of jook. It was always a treat when we’d have jook at home and also have you tiao to dip into it. The textural contrast between the crisp chewiness of the you tiao against the soft creaminess of the jook was always so comforting and satisfying. My grandma would occasionally buy a bag of these freshly fried sticks from a local bakery, and when we’d have jook at the table, it would be a happy surprise when she’d lay out a plate of the you tiao, already neatly cut into bite sized pieces for us to dunk into our jook bowls. But it was always my grandma who bought them; we never knew what they were even called in Chinese then, and we didn’t know which bakeries to buy them from.

So one day, my mom was determined to resolve this issue. She said we would go out together searching and would find those donut sticks! My mom and I wandered around Clement Street (like San Francisco Richmond District’s mini Chinatown) and went bakery to bakery, peering in to see if anyone sold them. We used our broken Toisan to ask around, but we kept getting negative responses; none of these places made this donut stick. Finally, we got to a bakery off of 6th avenue that had them way in the back, in a big metal bin, all standing upright and tall, waiting to be purchased. We pointed passed the cashier guy and motioned towards the you tiao, and they got excited to have helped us solve our mystery of what it was that we were looking for. In Mandarin, you tiao are literally called “oil sticks/strips,” while in Cantonese, they are known as “oil fried ghosts” or yàuhjagwái. Since then, I’ve never forgotten the name of them. And since then, I’ve also learned that these delicious fried Chinese donut sticks are eaten not just with jook/congee, but also wrapped in fresh rice noodle rolls (a dim sum delight), tucked into Shanghainese shao bing pancakes, and simply ducked into hot soy milk and eaten.

Memories with food are usually the happiest memories from my childhood, but I don’t think that’s unique to me based on all the childhood stories I’ve heard over the years.

The worst cooking class I’ve ever been to

For Christmas, Chris gifted me a South African cooking class at a cooking school in the Lower East Side. I attended the class on Saturday night, and unexpectedly didn’t arrive home until midnight. When he asked me how the class was the next morning, I told him that while I love him, to please never, ever get me another cooking class at this school ever again.

The class was over capacity, lacked a proper kitchen setup, was cramped and borderline claustrophobic (22 students, two teachers, a bartender, two photographers, and an assistant in a tiny basement room), completely lacked instruction or teaching of any technique or background of any recipe, was disorganized in that the ingredients were not laid out well or explained; the class started over 35 min late. 

For some details on what happened in this class: 

1. The class was over capacity in a cramped, tight space that is certainly not meant for a cooking class: The class was in a small room in Abigail’s Kitchen’s (a restaurant) basement. It had a bar setting, so I’d imagine the room is usually used for small private parties. The class was basically in this small room with several long tables set up where class participants were meant to gather, eight at each table. They somehow managed to cram 22 people (there were 24 people who originally signed up, and 2 didn’t show) into this tiny space. Abby and Lorna (the guest chef/teacher who is from South Africa) kept emphasizing over and over that the class would be “cozy.” “Cozy” is simply real-estate code-speak for a crammed and extremely tight space. 

2. No instruction or technique was taught. We were told the names of dishes, but not their cultural significance or any special techniques on how to make them. We were simply told to follow the recipe, and the chefs would walk around, observe, and give feedback. Copies of recipes were not distributed. Instead, each table got the equivalent of 2-3 parts of the different recipes. We all had to look over each other’s shoulders just to see how much of a single ingredient to measure out. In my pair (I randomly paired up with someone standing next to me), we worked on the yeasted dough for the South African donuts. Lorna kept telling us that the dough was too dry, while Abby told us it was just right. We had no direction on the recipe card and conflicting messages from both of them about what the dough should be like. 

3. There’s no kitchen setup here, and ingredients/materials were disorganized. The space had some makeshift stove setups and random kitchen items laid out. You aren’t able to see the items go into the oven and be taken out as a result. You aren’t able to do a part of every recipe, either. Because I worked on the yeasted donut dough, I had a LOT of time where I was simply observing other students try to figure out their recipes and how to execute on them. When I needed something basic like black pepper, I had to hunt for it. When I asked Abby, she simply responded that it was where “all the other spices” were laid out, but this actually wasn’t the case. 

4. The class does not start on time AT ALL, and it ends LATE. The official start time is 7pm. Most cooking schools are prompt and start on the dot. This cooking class started at 7:35pm. We didn’t get served dinner until 10:15, and dessert did not come out until past 11. We were all starving. 

The one highlight of this class: unlike every other cooking class I’ve ever done, alcohol (beer and wine) were included and unlimited. This is pretty unheard of. So, it was no wonder that people were getting sloshed in this class. My donut yeast dough partner was already on his fourth beer before we started mixing our dough. People were visibly tipsy. I’m pretty certain repeat students of Abigail’s Kitchen come simply for the wine overflowing. 

There are a number of great cooking schools with proper cooking school setups throughout Manhattan, along with real instruction and background on recipe given. This is not one of them. Here, you won’t learn technique or any new skills. But, you will leave with lots of alcohol in your belly. That may be a fun night out with some food and lots of booze, but that doesn’t really make for a proper “cooking class” where you actually leave and can say you really learned something.