Going through my bookmarks list of recipes, I found arroz caldo, which literally means “rice soup,” also considered a type of lugaw, or a Filipino-style congee that is rich with bone broth, aromatic with ginger, garlic, and onion, and oftentimes accompanied by toppings such as fried shallots and garlic, soy-cured egg yolks, scallion, and cilantro. The main difference, initially, between Filipino and Chinese style congee, is that the Filipino version has a lot more aromatics that are added in the beginning, whereas the canvas of the rice porridge is much plainer in the Chinese version. Either way, I love it all since I love, love congee/jook/rice porridge. It’s an ultimate comfort food regardless of what spin you take on it.

I made it in my Instant Pot yesterday and we had it for breakfast this morning, and I really loved the richness that the soy-cured egg yolk added to the porridge. It was even creamier and richer than it was before. The egg yolk served the same role that the whole raw cracked egg serves in soondubu jigae, or Korean soft tofu stew. Definitely want to perfect my soy-cured egg yolk method and continue using this method to make future versions of congee even richer and more tasty.

Thanks to quarantine and the last four months of working from home, I’ve had more flexibility and more time to finally get to a lot of recipes I’ve been wanting to try out and have been digging into my recipe bookmarks and Evernotes to see what has been on my list. One of the dishes was spaghetti aglio e olio with shrimp (pasta with garlic, olive oil, and shrimp). It’s a simple, less-than-30-minute meal, and it uses the shrimp shells and infuses their delicious glutamates into the olive oil to reveal an even shrimper, more sea-like flavor in the overall pasta dish. I’m trying to be all about creating less waste, and before this recipe, I’ve been using my shrimp shells as part of making stock in my Instant Pot. But this gave me yet another use for my shrimp shells rather than discarding.

The result was simple, quick, fast, and delicious, and the ingredient list was so, so short. With an extra sprinkling of red pepper flakes and grated parmigianno reggiano, this could easily become a staple in our household.

Last year while in Bay Ridge, I picked up a bottle of pomegranate molasses to use in Middle Eastern and Persian dishes. Pomegranate molasses is essentially pomegranate juice that has been cooked and reduced down into a thick, sugary syrup. Admittedly, I’ve only used it twice outside of salad dressings I’ve whisked up. In an effort to find more things to use it for, I decided to apply it to the Arctic char fillets I purchased a couple days ago. So many broiled/grilled fish recipes use maple syrup or honey as the sweetener, but pomegranate molasses, with its own unique, distinct sweet-and-tart flavor, could easily shine on its own.

I decided to mix it up with olive oil, white miso, salt, pepper, and a touch of sugar, marinated the fish for a few hours in the fridge, and then broiled the fillets for 10 minutes. Fillets are always tricky to cook perfectly unless every part of the fillet is exactly the same thickness, which is oftentimes why center-cuts of fillets are in such high demand and sell out quickly, so I probably should have removed it after eight minutes, but even after 10, the center parts of the Arctic char were moist, juicy, with just the right level of sweet, tart, and savory.

This was a delicious use for pomegranate molasses and definitely one I’d keep on rotation for the future. I cannot say the same of all fish recipes/marinades I’ve previously used.

Over the weekend, I was looking over our pantry items and realizing what a glut we have of so many things: dried pasta, dried beans, frozen vegetables, dried chilies. Oh, and when I say “pantry,” I mean that in the sense of a small New York City apartment, which means that I store my “pantry” items literally everywhere: in the actual cupboards, under my sink, on top of the dryer, in my oven (yes, I’m Asian, and in Asian households, it’s normal to use your oven as storage. This is also the reason I never EVER turn on the oven without opening it up to empty out all the contents, which include several baking sheets, a roasting pan, a lasagna pan, a brownie pan, two cake pans, and different containers of seeds, nuts, spices, and dried chilies). We have so many dried chilies, and the most obvious thing I could think to make with a good handful of them would be mole. So I made a mole, using about 22 different ingredients, and waited for it to be ready. I thought to myself, is it actually going to be worth all this effort again? What if it ends up not tasting as good as it did the first time?

I tasted it after the mole finished simmering, and it seemed… Okay, but not great. Something seemed like it was missing. I added some additional salt, sugar, and pepper, and decided to let it cool and taste it a couple days later. I reheated it today with some chicken and served it with multigrain tortillas, queso fresco, cilantro, avocado, and pickled jalapeño, and it tasted so much better than it did over the weekend. I think it just needed more time to let all the flavors meld. But when I put all the ingredients together and assembled the final dish, I remembered exactly why mole is worth the extra time and effort: it’s like love in the form of a sauce, love from all the toasting, roasting, soaking, straining, blending, charring, simmering. It’s definitely a keeper recipe for when you have some extra time and want to prepare a complex and satisfying dish.

So, I’m a little embarrassed to say that I’ve officially given up on my sourdough starter. It actually ripened after about eight days in April of consistent feedings, but because I didn’t have whole wheat flour at the time, I put the ripened starter in the fridge to “slow down” and become dormant until I got my hands on a bag of whole wheat flour. When I finally did a week later, I took the starter out of the fridge and fed it with whole wheat flour, and for whatever reason, it was NOT pleased. It did not grow or bubble much, and I was at a loss for what to do. But I kept on feeding it anyway, hoping it would miraculously revive itself. It didn’t. It still bubbled and was alive, but it just lacked the activity it used to. Then, it did what I had no idea how to respond to: it started getting watery!

Finally, I asked my colleague, who is an experienced bread head, and he suggested I try to source rye flour, as the increase in protein may be what my starter was lacking. Well, this seemed to do the trick… it grew three times every single day for a week! At this point, the starter was over a month old, but it kept failing the much needed “float” test to prove that it would be strong enough to leaven a real bread loaf. And after eating a lot of discard starter through endless crumpets, pikelets, and pancakes week after week and actually getting a bit bored of eating these, not to mention having used at least 6-8 pounds of flour, I finally decided to throw in the towel and give up. So, I’ve used the discard starter since I am anti-waste, but I have stopped trying to grow my sourdough starter baby anymore.

I realized that I still had one dry-active yeast packet left, so I tested it on Wednesday to see if it was still alive, as the expiration date was last autumn. To my surprise, it WAS alive, as it grew three times in the measuring cup with some warm water and sugar. So I used this along with about a cup of my discard sourdough starter to make a focaccia bread. My starter was likely about 50/50 all-purpose: rye. And I decided to make the dough about 80 percent all-purpose to 20 percent whole wheat (we all need more whole grains, right?). After two nights of proofing in the fridge, I baked it today with the best results ever: it was airy with a beautiful, moist crumb, crunchy on the outside and edges, and had a delicious and addictive sour taste. Topped with olive oil, rosemary, sel de guerande, and eaten with dollops of orange blossom honeyed ricotta, I probably ate way more bread today than I realized, but it was truly that good. I nearly inhaled my first three bites.

I totally get why bread making can be so satisfying, so gratifying, so heart-warming to one’s core. There’s something about making something seemingly so basic and pure that just brings so much joy. I always get excited making bread from dry active yeast, but that’s just basic bread making. Actually making one’s one starter — that is truly back to the basic of the basics…. and for me, most daunting.

So, now the question that still lingers is: if I got this excited and was this proud of my sourdough focaccia, which had a dry active yeast to help it along, what would happen to me and my psyche if I actually succeeded in getting my sourdough starter to fully ripen to the point of being able to get a real sourdough loaf to work…..?!!

Ego boost: you make something for the very first time that is known to be particularly finicky or difficult, like dosa or sourdough bread, and the very first time, it comes out… perfectly.

Ego deflation: you make something the second time knowing that the first time, you totally nailed it, and the second time… it comes out like total garbage.

The latter is what happened when I made Banh Cuon yesterday. I reflected on the first time when I made these delicious ripe crepes in 2017, and being very ambitious, I made it for a dinner party on the day of. I didn’t think they could be that hard, and after the first crepe was a failure, every subsequent one came out perfectly. I was like a Banh Cuon whiz. I still have pictures from that day, and I was so proud of myself. Now, I just feel like a bit of a failure. Was it the pan (yes)? Was it the unevenness of the heat – maybe? Was it the original proportions of the cornstarch to rice flour to tapioca starch – yes. Was it all the above? A little.

These are the trials and errors of shelter-in-place.

I was pretty ambitious today and tried to film two videos for the channel, one on Banh Cuon and one on coffee brewing using a drip coffee maker, a French press, and an Aeropress. The Banh Cuon video did not go as smoothly as I hoped it would… because not only did I mess up the proportions of rice flour/tapioca flour/cornstarch to use, but my nonstick Scanpan suddenly decided to fail, and fail quite miserably. It was so bad that the rice batter started disintegrating into the pan, and there was not even mush left; it just vanished into thin air! It was food filming gone completely awry.

I bought two Scanpans ages ago, one 8-inch and one 10-inch, thinking that maybe if I invested in pans that were more expensive and supposedly healthier (no teflon coating), that these might actually last longer. My 10-inch Scanpan failed a while ago, resulting in my shipping in it to evaluate the damages, and they sent me a new one. I had to pay for the shipping, though, which cost over $20. Nowadays, you can get a new ceramic, non-toxic, nonstick pan for about $25, so the idea of paying that again to replace another faulty product just seems a bit senseless. But the sad thing this shows is that…no, you do not always get what you pay for. Paying more for something doesn’t always mean it will be better or last longer, sadly. And paying for a fancy brand name will definitely not mean you will be in the clear.

Once upon a time, when a specific ingredient that I like to include as an “always there” pantry, freezer, or fridge item would be near running out, I’d make a note on my phone to refresh it the next time I went to whatever market I’d typically get it from, whether it was one of the Chinese, Vietnamese, or Thai markets in Chinatown, the Indian/Pakistani markets in Jackson Heights, and so on. I never really thought much about the inability of attaining these items when I wanted them because I knew they were always available. But now, in a time of shelter-in-place when I cannot just hop on the train to Queens or downtown Manhattan, I find myself feeling some of the more minor pains of the current COVID-19 pandemic.

It’s obviously not detrimental. We have a full fridge, freezer, and pantry. We have fresh fruit and vegetables every single day, and if we didn’t, they’d be easy to access with the markets that are walking distance from us. We have food — that’s what’s important, and a good variety at that. It’s more that now, I realize what a luxury it was to be able to readily get my hands on red-fermented cubed tofu, gai lan vegetables, or frozen grated coconut. I had those choices and could act on those choices extremely easily. And now, I don’t. If I want to order some of these things via Mirchi Market or FreshGoGo, the wait time could be anywhere from a week to over a month. This is one of those times when it’s important to use what you have, improvise, and get creative. Or, really, just put off making a particular dish until… whenever this all ends.

In the last few years, the popularity of turmeric has surged in the western world. What was once a common spice in Asian and Middle Eastern households across the world has now been touted as a “health food” by people in the West. It is considered an anti-inflammatory, a spice capable of keeping colds and viruses at bay, potentially even able to help prevent diseases from heart disease, cancer, breathing problems, and even Alzheimer’s. People are adding it to literally everything: their smoothies, oatmeal, lattes, and even as a TOPPING on their dishes the way most people add scallions or cilantro to top Asian dishes, or the way Westerners might add salt and pepper to taste at the end. It has become a borderline insane obsession which absolutely need to stop.

Turmeric is primarily added to Asian and Middle Eastern foods for its bright yellow/orange color. It is always added in small quantities because the flavor of the dried form on its own is, to be frank, just like sawdust — woody, earthy, musty, like dirt (the actual fresh, raw turmeric is a different story, with a flavor that is more earthy and pungent). It is always, always paired with a pepper, whether it’s cayenne or black pepper, because the heat of the pepper “activates” the health benefits of the turmeric spice itself. It’s NOT a spice that you take a pinch of and throw in your mouth because it tastes delicious. This is not cinnamon. It’s NOT cardamom. It is turmeric. Have some respect for this spice and use it properly.

So I was a little disturbed, no, EXTREMELY disturbed, when I saw that #thestew was trending on social media. Apparently, some out-of-this-world coconut milk turmeric chickpea stew that the New York Times food writer Alison Roman had published was becoming a sensation in kitchens across America. It was like she had created this stew that just knocked everyone’s socks off. I didn’t understand it: it sounded like some basic, plainer iteration of the intensely flavorful chickpea curries I’d eaten in Indian cuisine. What the heck made this different, other than the fact that she dumbed down the Indian versions and used canned chickpeas?

Granted, I like a lot of Alison Roman’s recipes, particularly her American/European-influenced dishes. They’re flavorful, hearty, and seem well balanced. But this recipe, after reviewing it, just seemed so incredibly boring and like a knock-off of Indian recipes that Indian households and people have been making for hundreds of years. And the worst part: when I actually watched her video on YouTube where she’s making it, she actually had the gall to use turmeric powder as a garnish, as in… SHE SPRINKLED THE EQUIVALENT OF A TABLESPOON OF TURMERIC ON TOP OF THE CURRY STEW.

NO ONE DOES THAT, EVER. PLEASE, NEVER, EVER DO THAT WITH TURMERIC. It felt insulting to South Asian cuisine and to South Asians to me, and I am not even South Asian. A number of Indian views who commented on the video had the exact same sentiments that I have noted here. I have no problem with and encourage people to eat and make food from cultures that are not their own because eating another person’s food is the easiest and best way to learn about another’s culture and perspective. I make Mexican Indian, Middle Eastern, etc., food, all the time; I do not identify as having roots in those countries. However, taking that culture’s food, butchering it, and then claiming it as your own is a completely different story, one that borderlines being the food equivalent of white colonialism in the epicurean world. She’s a white woman recipe creator, so of course, other white people are going to find that version of that stew far more approachable and will be more likely to make and eat it. And this just sits oddly on my shoulders.

The turmeric being sprinkled on the top was really the last straw, and I had to exit out of that video immediately.

I grew up in a humble household in the Richmond District of San Francisco. My brother and I had zero extracurricular activities growing up. Our family rarely went on vacation, and when we did, it was just to places locally around California, as far as Orange County. But one thing that we were never lacking in was food. Our fridge, freezer, and pantry were always extremely well stocked, full of ready-to-eat food like frozen dumplings or burritos, canned vegetables and fruit, as well as fresh food such as fresh vegetables, meat, and noodles. Because I grew up like this, I just thought this was normal. If my mom wanted to make something quickly for dinner with the raw ingredients on hand, she always had plenty of garlic, onions, tomatoes, or carrots already in the fridge, ready to go. If she wanted to make us a quick pasta sauce, she’d just thaw out ground turkey or beef from the freezer and make it. Chicken cutlets? No problem – she always had chicken breasts on hand that she’d quickly pound, along with bread crumbs to coat the chicken pieces in. There were never too many eggs at home. We had all the usual condiments like mustard, ketchup, maple syrup, soy sauce, fish sauce, oyster sauce, etc., to make dishes from Western cuisines or different Asian cuisines. In many ways when I look back, our kitchen was like the land of plenty.

That’s why it was strange to me when I started making friends, and I’d go to their houses and see them open the fridge, and there would barely be a bottle of ketchup or water in there. Their freezers would be empty, except for maybe a box of popsicles or a bag of Hot Pockets. When the question of “what are we going to eat for dinner?” came up, the parents would scramble and get takeout, or just have everyone eat something like Kraft macaroni and cheese. I wasn’t sure if it was a money problem or a “preparedness” issue, but either way, it seemed depressing to me even back then.

I suppose I took that with me as an adult living on my own. When I started building out my pantry and kitchen staples, I’d buy more than what I’d need immediately and get more things for future uses. If I was at a Chinese grocery store, I’d buy the fresh noodles I’d make that night and also add a few more packs to my shopping basket to store in my freezer for future noodle dishes. For spice staples like cumin or turmeric, I’d get enough so that it would last me indefinitely. For frozen vegetables, well, you can never have enough of these, so I’d always get several pounds. For canned goods like tomatoes and coconut milk, these are forever on my shelf, and I get a bit uncomfortable when there’s only one more can left. This way, on the fly, I could make what I wanted to make and not worry about having to rush out to the store just to pick up one or two things for dinner. I could have a ready made meal on the table out of “pantry staples” in just 30-60 minutes.

I realize not everyone has the ability to buy enough to have a fully stocked pantry at any one time because not everyone is as lucky as I am to have the money to do this. Some people live paycheck to paycheck and cannot afford to “stock up.” But for those of us who can, it definitely pays off in the long run, in terms of sanity, preparation, and your stomach, to do this. Most of my friends, as I’m learning during this pandemic, have very little “staples” at home, and instead use their freezers completely as storage for ready-to-eat things like dumplings, enchiladas, etc., that they may not want to eat every single day during the shelter-in-place orders. They get bored. They want variety. And there’s nothing wrong with that — we should be eating varied diets regardless of whether we’re in a pandemic or not. Their pantries are mostly snacks like chips, pretzels, cookies. There’s not enough raw ingredients to do any real cooking with.

We’re well stocked because that’s all I’ve ever been fortunate enough to know and experience. I’d like to think that this pandemic would force people to be smarter and more prepared in terms of ensuring household and kitchen staples are plentiful if they can afford it and have the space. It’s annoying to have to run out to the store just for one or two ingredients, and it’s especially annoying during this time when we should be limiting our time outside our homes to keep ourselves and others safe. But wouldn’t that be annoying, too, even not in a pandemic?