Vietnamese food coma

I’ve always had an endless number of dishes on my to-make list, but I think it’s only gotten longer since we’ve come back from Vietnam. I’ve also joined an Instant Pot for Vietnamese food group, which is reminding me of all these delicious things I enjoyed growing up that my mom would buy and feed me from Vietnamese delis and bakeries in San Jose and Westminster.

One dish that was already on my list was a Vietnamese-inspired chicken and lemongrass meatloaf from an Asian-British chef I follow on Instagram. She loves many flavors and cuisines, and her food is both colorful and tasty looking. She said she was inspired to make this meatloaf because of her love for banh mi, one of the most glorious sandwiches that ever existed. So I pulled out my frozen organic minced turkey from the freezer, bought more lemongrass from Chinatown, and made this extremely fragrant and delicious meatloaf tonight. It pretty much puts American meatloaf to shame with how multidimensional the flavor is — it’s salty, sweet, savory, and sour at the same time from the lime. The Asian spin always makes everyday American or western food taste magical.

 

Early Thanksgiving aftermath

As I cut up the second half of the turkey this morning after our early Thanksgiving meal last night, I thought about all the Thanksgiving meals I had growing up and how satisfying they always were. We didn’t have the most gourmet or homemade items on the table, but regardless of that, every year, it was always a meal that everyone looked forward to. Ed’s favorite was always the Stovestop stuffing out of a box; the texture was always perfect, and I suppose it was designed that way. As a kid, I enjoyed mushing up the canned cranberry jelly sauce on my plate every year and smashing it against my roasted turkey pieces. Sometimes, I get nostalgic about it and wonder if I’d ever actually buy it again myself, but then I remember my Chris, who doesn’t understand the purpose of any cranberry sauce at any Christmas or Thanksgiving table, homemade like I’ve always done with him, or from a can. He only eats it out of obligation because I make it and insist that it be there. My uncle would roast and carve the turkey and make a thick gravy. We’d have a generic lettuce and tomato salad with Thousand Island dressing. My dad would make homemade cut buttery, flaky biscuits. It was his thing every year, along with his signature German-style cheesecake made from cottage cheese, not cream cheese, meaning it was alway lighter and fluffier.

But what I also looked forward to, sometimes even more than the actual Thanksgiving meal, was all the food made from the Thanksgiving leftovers: the turkey club sandwiches my dad would make the day after, adding bacon, lettuce, tomato, turkey, in between thick cut slices of good quality toasted bread with mayonnaise. Then, there was the very Chinese American turkey rice porridge or jook. It was like a “cleanse” of sorts after having all that heavy celebratory Thanksgiving food. I remember these food memories fondly every year.

I’m sure this is the case with many people when they reflect on their families, but many of my happiest childhood memories are around food. Food is what brings families together, regardless of how happy or dysfunctional they are. It brings at least the appearance of togetherness around one table.

Alfajores

The first time I ever tried an alfajor, a South American flaky, shortbread cookie-sandwich with dulce de leche filled in between, I was hooked. The buttery, rich texture of the cookies sandwiching the thick, gooey milk-based caramel in between was addictive. The cookies are usually covered in powdered sugar, so they also leave quite the mess behind, making you think about what you just consumed and how delicious it is. I had bookmarked a recipe that Serious Eats published for alfajores a while ago, but I finally got around to making them this weekend for the first time. I made my own cajeta, or a goat milk-based dulce de leche, and also used my last Tahitian vanilla bean, the pod and the seeds and all, for both the biscuit dough and the caramel. And even though it took nearly two hours to fully reduce the caramel to the right consistency, it was definitely worth it. It was the most complex caramel I’d ever tasted; given how good and grassy goat milk tastes, it’s so sad that we haven’t embraced it much as a culture here. It also doesn’t help that it’s quite expensive.

Our handyman friend, who grew up in the Dominican Republic, tried the cajeta alone and the alfajores, and he had a look of bliss on his face. “These taste like childhood,” he declared. “You know I only eat desserts you and my wife make, right?”

That’s how powerful food is. Taste is memory. Memory can be taste.

Banana leaf presentation in cooking

Last weekend when I slow roasted lamb barbacoa wrapped in banana leaves, I did a video of the process and posted it to Instagram Story, where it received quite a number of views and surprisingly, a lot more direct private messages than I’d ever received for any video I’ve uploaded. People commented on how impressive and professional the cooking looked. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it had less to do with how “professional” the process looked, and more to do with the fact that cooking with big banana leaves just appears to be laborious and fancy, especially to people who don’t cook much. A pound of banana leaves at the Vietnamese market costs about $1.30, and all I had to do to prep them was to dip them in hot water to wash off any potential dirt or grime. All I did was wrap the big lamb leg in it. That was really it.

Because I had so many leftover banana leaves, I wanted to find another use for them soon so that the novelty wouldn’t wear off, so I not only used my remaining ancho and guajillo chili marinade to flavor chicken, but I also wrapped these up into banana leaves and steamed them. I even tied and knotted them with slivers of banana leaf. These videos today also received a lot of comments; it really was very little work to get this done, but it’s obvious that banana leaves add a “wow” factor to my audience who enjoys my cooking. I also noticed that the flavor of the banana leaf came through more in the chicken tonight than it did in the lamb last week, so I think I will reserve my remaining banana leaves for steaming smaller pieces of meat or other fillings.

Lamb barbacoa

When the circumstances of our country are out of my control… which is pretty much every day that I am not able to vote, I just have to throw my energy at the things that I love, like food and cooking. I spent the last couple of days shopping and prepping for our lamb barbacoa meal tonight. I made the ancho and guajillo-chile-based marinade on Friday, purchased the tomatillos for the salsa verde yesterday, and then wrapped up the Australian lamb leg in banana leaves today and roasted it for just over two hours. I wasn’t sure how long to roast it for given the original recipe had an eight-pound leg and said to roast it for eight hours, and I had a five-pound leg. So I started researching roasting a lamb leg and decided that just over two hours would be enough… but it really wasn’t. It was certainly done. It tasted good and certainly tasted like lamb and barbacoa, but the pull-apart tenderness was not there likely because I didn’t roast it for long enough. Then, I went back to the harissa lamb leg recipe I used last time I made lamb at home that was very tender, and that was a four-pound leg that I left in the oven for five hours. The roasting also wasn’t long enough for the banana leaf flavor to really penetrate the meat. I cut up the meat feeling disappointed.

This is one of the reasons I hear when people say that even if they are meat eaters, they don’t like or just completely avoid preparing meat at home. It can be hit or miss with the timing, doneness, and tenderness. Then, there’s also the factor of messiness because meat fat tends to get everywhere, even when you don’t expect it.

Team cooking outing

This afternoon, we had an office team building event at My Cooking Party, a cooking space that allows for classes and team events for schools and workplaces. We were split into two teams and each team got paired up with a professional chef, who would help “guide” us in the direction we’d want. Each team got one protein, one starch, and one vegetable, and had to come up with the most creative way to use each. At the end, two secret judges would evaluate each team’s dishes and decide upon a winner.

To be frank, there really wasn’t much creativity by the actual team members involved, as the chefs clearly had ideas in mind for what to do. I get why they set it up this way: the vast majority of people who take these classes have little to no experience cooking (New York City is the land of delivery, after all, and here, speed and convenience are king), so it would not be good to have a cooking competition where blind people are leading other blind people on a team. My team had shrimp, Israeli couscous, and string beans. The other team had skirt steak, potatoes, and spinach.

Our chef pretty much said, let’s make a pesto for the shrimp! And let’s also do a roasted tomato and vegetable stock based couscous! And who were we to object? I suggested using the ground coconut for a Kerala string bean sauté; he was not on board with this, and lightly suggested ginger-soy string beans. This excited everyone on the team except me. That just screamed “boring and predictable” to me. The other team ended up making a marinated skirt steak, French fries with rosemary oil, and buttered spinach. And somehow, they won despite how predictable their menu was, that their skirt steak was mostly well done, and at best, medium well in the center. The judges said that the fries were “creative,” but when did French fries become unique?

It was all fun in the end, and it was nice to be able to get out of the office and do something that wasn’t work related. But I didn’t really like that they made it sound like we had free reign to do whatever we wanted with the food and to be rated on our “creativity” when it was clear that we were at the whims of our assigned chefs and not our own minds. In that case, I would have preferred to just have assigned dishes with recipes per team and to eat everything together in the end. It’s either a real competition or not. It’s either with recipes or it isn’t. You shouldn’t have it somewhere in between.

 

Air-chilled vs. not-air-chilled chicken

Although I am open about my love for Costco, one thing I am not a huge fan of is their whole organic chickens. Although they are sizable, well-priced, and organic, the one failing they have is that they are not air-chilled. What does that mean? It means that instead of being hung and air-dried, they are instead packed in water and then sealed. What this ultimately results in is a massive amount of excess water (and thus wetness) when you defrost the chicken and get it ready for roasting. This causes problems if you are concerned with having extremely crispy skin. The only way to get crispy chicken skin is to separate the skin from the chicken flesh, and then make sure it’s as dry as possible by sopping out any excess wetness on the external surface (and in the cavity). Getting an air-chilled chicken is the faster and easier route to the holy land of crispy chicken skin. Having a regular chicken will result in spots that will never fully dry out, even if you leave the chicken uncovered in your fridge overnight (which I always do before roasting a whole chicken). Neither of the whole Costco chickens that were packed in water ever achieved the ultimate Crispy Chicken Skin status that I wanted. But tonight’s air-chilled Whole Foods whole chicken did.

And it was delectable and glorious. Though Chris complained when I served the breast first (when you roast chicken, the breast will always be the most succulent on the day of; and every day after that, it just gets worser and drier. That’s just white meat for you). “Why do we have to eat breast? Why can’t we just have all dark meat? F— breast.”

That’s not really how a whole chicken works…

 

Dreamy cream scones

With a short trip coming up that will have us leaving on Wednesday, I’ve been taking a quick inventory of all the things we need to finish in our fridge. One of those perishable items included a cup of heavy cream. One cup of heavy cream is perfect for one batch of scones, for which I already had all the ingredients for. I can’t even remember the last time I made scones, but I really love them — not the hard, heavy American-style ones, but the light, airy British ones that are a bit crisp on the outside and soft and fluffy on the inside. America’s Test Kitchen recipes are always keepers for me, so I went back to my tried and true recipe for their cream scones and added mixed dried berries to it. I kneaded the dough a bit, laid it out, and poked out the scones with my fluted biscuit cutter. They came out just as pretty and tasty as I remember from the last time I made them… which was years ago — much too long ago. They’re so easy and fast to make that it’s a shame I don’t make them at least once or twice a year. I’m definitely changing this now.

Instant Pot commentary after three uses

The latest version of the 6-quart Instant Pot is definitely finicky to say the least. It needs enough water in it so that the bottom doesn’t burn and give you the very common and much dreaded “burn” message, but “enough” water is very subjective depending on what you are cooking. I already ruined vegetable biryani on Saturday, but after two more tries in making black-eyed pea curry and an Indian-style eggplant called baingan bharta, I’ve realized that there are certainly glories in having this “instant” pot. Beans and eggplant cook incredibly quickly. All my cooking for yesterday’s dinner was done by 3:45pm, and I cannot remember the last time I made a full meal on a Sunday when I was ready that much in advance of dinner time. I barely even knew what to do with myself. Do I clean more? Can I read? Write another entry on this blog? Who knew that laborious and time-intensive cooking could be shortened so much?!

I’m still wary of cooking rice in it, though, unless I try the “pot in pot” method, which of course would require yet another accessory, which I’m not sure I want to invest in quite yet. I will likely be keeping the rice cooker we have for now until I figure out how not to burn rice in the Instant pot main pot.

Instant Pot craze

Even though I enjoy cooking a lot and have since I was a teen, I realize that I tend to overlook a lot of terms and definitions that I shouldn’t. For example, I didn’t realize until three years ago that there was a difference between a slow cooker and a pressure cooker; I thought those terms were just interchangeable. So when I finally invested in a slow cooker early in 2015, I was disappointed when I realized that a pressure cooker was what I really wanted, and I made a mistake purchase; quicker cooking, quicker results, quicker broths, faster extraction of flavor from bones. But I made do with my mistake purchase… I got a lot of use out of it cooking beans, making stock, stews, mashed potatoes, even butter chicken and Hyderabadi biryani. It was a good 3.5 years that we were active together.

But then lo and behold, shortly after I bought my slow cooker in 2015, I was late to join the band wagon and learn about the Instant Pot, this crazy cooker that could do seven different things: pressure cook, slow cook, steam, saute/sear, make yogurt, make rice, and warm food. And then I realized that I made a huge, huge mistake: I just bought an appliance that would have zero resale value given the millions and millions of people who either want or have an Instant Pot.

So Amazon Prime day came this week, and the Instant Pot is the cheapest I’ve ever seen it at $58.99. So we obviously got it, plus a couple accessories. I’m planning to test it out by making egg and vegetable biryani this weekend. But now my dilemma is: who is going to buy my slow cooker? Is it even able to be sold?