Category Archives: Homemade

Granola vs. muesli vs. Bircher muesli

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Many many moons ago, or about 13 years ago, Chris was trying to get me up to speed on differences in food and speech between Australian and American culture. One of the things he taught me at the time, which I have since realized is factually incorrect, is that what Americans call “granola,” Australians and British people call “muesli.” Initially, given I had no reason to think he was wrong, I believed him. But then when going down the grocery aisle at a Cole’s or Woolworth’s in Australia, I thought it was odd that all the things labeled “muesli” just looked like a bunch of raw oats with some nuts and dried fruit mixed in. There’s no way that Australians actually ate raw oats on the regular, right? The body doesn’t digest raw oats as easily as cooked oats, so this just seemed odd to me.

My suspicions were later confirmed. As ChatGPT sums it up, these are the key differences between granola and muesli: At a high level, granola is baked, crunchy, and sweet. Muesli is raw, softer, and less sweet. They are not the same thing.

In more detail: granola is baked and made crunchy with oil and sweeteners like maple syrup or honey. People like me who enjoy (homemade) granola love the large crunchy chunks or clusters. There’s pretty much always some combination of oats, nuts and seeds in it. And it’s usually eaten with yogurt or milk in cereal. Sometimes, you can even just snack on it by hand as you would chips. Muesli, on the other hand, is always raw, soft/chewy when soaked with a loose texture, with little to no added sugar. The base is usually a combination of oats, nuts, seeds, and dried fruit. Muesli usually soaked overnight in milk/yogurt and eaten cold.

The concept of muesli comes from Bircher muesli, which was first created in Switzerland by Dr. Bircher-Benner. Bircher muesli has a lot in common with overnight oats, but tends to be heavier the emphasis on adding nuts, seeds, dried fruit, and also including yogurt (and sometimes even sweetened condensed milk!) for added creaminess and mouthfeel. During the pandemic, I ate a lot of overnight oats, but I eventually got bored of it. When I thought about eating a little breakfast on weekdays again in the last month (I normally don’t eat breakfast on weekdays), I thought about a Bircher muesli recipe I found on the Wall Street Journal (never thought I’d get a recipe recommendation from there!) that sounded good. I changed it up a bit and made a big batch for breakfast this week. And it was really satisfying and definitely kept me quite full and satisfied. This is what the base looks like (for 6-8 servings). The base is soaked overnight to allow the oats to “cook”:

1 C rolled oats
1/4 C unsweetened coconut flakes
1/2 C raw cashews, chopped, toasted
1/2 C raw almonds, chopped, toasted

1/4 C pumpkin seeds, toasted
1/4 C ground flaxseeds
1/4 C chia seeds
6 Medjool dates, pitted and diced
1/4 C raisins or dried cranberries/cherries
1 Tbsp honey
3.5 C cow, almond, or oat milk
1 C whole milk yogurt
1 tsp vanilla extract
 
To add right before serving:
2 firm pears, cored and shredded with skin on
Fresh fruit, such as blueberries, blackberries, raspberries, or sliced plums

The ingredient I remember I’ve neglected for a while has been chia seeds. I’ve had a weird relationship with chia seeds. Lots of people love to add them to smoothies, but I absolutely hate them in smoothies. They stick to and expand in liquid, and they get physically stuck in everything: blender jar, blades, the sides of the kitchen sink, MY MOUTH. But I realize that in Bircher muesli, they are perfect because they create a pudding-like consistency when mixed with yogurt and milk. I’m definitely going to keep making this. Though I’ll be honest and reveal that I do something a bit sacrilege with my Bircher muesli: I do not eat it cold the way you are supposed to, as I hate cold oats. I always warm my bowl up a little.

The magic of tomato onion masala is re-discovered once again! And the lesson of not ignoring the tried-and-true classics

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Years ago when I started getting into Indian cooking, I kept reading about “onion masala” or “tomato onion masala” on Indian cooking blogs and was wondering what it was. It was a “hack” to expedite Indian cooking, which is notoriously complex given the number of spices and ingredients the average dish uses. With some upfront work, as in, stewing down tomatoes, onions, garlic, ginger, and various spices, you can easily portion out 1/4-1/2 cup sized pucks, store in your freezer, and take a few pucks out every time you want to whip up an Indian dish that used tomato and onion in its base. I was obsessed with this idea, and I always kept frozen portions of tomato onion masala in our freezer. It allowed us to have relatively quick, home cooked, from-scratch meals just the day after coming back from many long-haul, international trips, when there was barely anything fresh in our fridge. I felt pretty proud of myself for embracing this. It was healthy, economical, and delicious eating.

After years of having the tomato onion masala easily on hand in the freezer, though, I started getting bored of it. I wanted to experiment with other spices and flavors. Eventually, my pre-portioned tomato onion masala went neglected in the bottom of my freezer bin. But then after filling our freezer to the brim a bit too much recently, I re-discovered my frozen masala and decided I didn’t want to let it get freezer burn and had to use it up. During our Connecticut long weekend, we stopped at Apna Bazaar and picked up a number of fresh Indian ingredients and beans, and I figured this would be a good opportunity to use up my tomato onion masala.

I took out five pucks of 1/4-cup portions of the tomato onion masala from the freezer today after dinner and thawed it a bit (in a memorable moment when I had the frozen pucks in a bowl on the kitchen counter, Chris was confused as to what they were. So he asked, “What are these balls?”). I set it over the stove with some butter, a few spices, salt, and blended some “cashew cream” (cashews plus water) into it. Then, I tossed in cubed paneer from Apna Bazaar and added another random small puck of frozen heavy cream I still had (who knows from when…). After simmering it for a few minutes, I tasted it. And… it was delicious. It tasted perfect! Not to brag, but it really tasted restaurant quality and had a really sumptuous mouth feel. I felt a bit guilty that I neglected this tomato onion masala that I’d previously spent so much time making in advance for future quick-cook meals. But in that moment, I vowed to myself that I would never take for granted the magic of pre-made tomato onion masala ever again. It always has a place in my heart and freezer.

Japanese milk bread, take two

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During the height of the pandemic, I saw so many recipes that either were for Japanese milk bread or included Japanese milk bread that I decided to try to make it. Unfortunately, lines at the grocery stores were long, and almost all milk bread recipes require bread flour for increased protein and gluten formation. I had only all-purpose flour and didn’t really want to line up just to get bread flour, so I tried my hand at making this with just all-purpose flour. Well, it didn’t turn out great: the dough got over proofed, it looked lopsided, and finally, the texture, while good, was nothing like the feathery, airy-light poofiness that makes Japanese (or Hokkaido) milk bread so famous. I had made a bread loaf, but it certainly was not anything that resembled a real Japanese milk bread loaf. I felt sad and decided I’d revisit it later when I got my hands on bread flour.

Then fast forward about five years (long wait, but a lot happened since then, including IVF and Kaia Pookie!). Earlier this year, I was able to get King Arthur bread flour on sale at Whole Foods, which I originally used to make two batches of hot cross buns. I knew another recipe I wanted to try out again was Hokkaido milk bread. And this time, I was properly equipped: I had the bread flour, the instant yeast (versus the dry active yeast, which would require an annoying extra step of scalding the milk), plus milk powder (which I originally bought and used to make gulab jamun nut bread). On Sunday night, I made the dough with the tangzhong, which is an Asian (people argue whether it was Japanese or Taiwanese first) bread making technique where a small portion of the flour and liquid (usually milk and water) is cooked into a paste before being added to the main dough. This pre-gelantinizes the flour’s startches, which then allows them to absorb more water. This ultimately results in a softer, more tender dough and bread that stays fresh, light, and fluffy for a longer time compared to bread without the tangzhong method. I proofed it overnight in the fridge. Then in the morning, I rolled it out and into my bread pan. I wasn’t sure if it rose enough or why it didn’t seem to rise at all in the fridge, but the recipe did note that this dough would not double (like most yeast doughs) when rising. When I checked the dough in the pan after an hour, I did see that it filled out the pan, so that was good news that my yeast was doing its job. I brushed it with milk, then baked it for about 32 minutes, and out came this gorgeous, poofy, lightly golden brown milk bread loaf. It already looked and smelled so much better than the one I attempted five years ago.

I sliced a couple pieces off my milk bread loaf for lunch for Chris and me, and I had mine with guava jam. To be totally honest, I felt so self satisfied when cutting into the loaf and seeing the crumb, and even more so when I took my first bite. It was like the perfect milk bread: feathery, airy, light, a tiny bit sweet, and pillowy. And even better: it was 100 percent homemade with no artificial ingredients or preservatives. And when I think about it, it really wasn’t that tedious to make at all, especially when you factor in doing the first proof (rise) overnight in the fridge. Making bread always gives me a high level of satisfaction, and even more so when it’s a bread that has been a challenge in the past. I will definitely be making this again soon!

The mystical spice that is mace: a surprising source of floral and citrus fragrance

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Back in June 2023 while we were in Kerala, we went on spice tour that included looking at real spices being grown on a farm, including ones that are native to India or surrounding countries, such as cardamom, cinnamon, nutmeg, and mace. I had seen the spice called mace noted in a number of Indian recipes before, particularly in garam masala blends, but it was usually marked as “optional” and not required. It piqued my interest, though, because I had actually not known what the spice mace was or what it looked like. I had heard of mace spray (NOT related, by the way), but the mace spice was not used in that defense spray (ha). Mace is native to the Banda Islands (also known as the Spice Islands) in Indonesia. It is, interestingly, the husk (or more correctly, the “aril”) of the spice nutmeg. Nutmeg is considered the seed of the tree, and mace is the aril, or a delicate, lace-like coating that envelops the seed. On the plant, it’s quite beautiful to look at (if you think plants are beautiful things, that is). During that trip, I decided to get a packet of mace arils. Since then, I’ve stored them in a dark cupboard away from heat, only removing a couple at a time to toast and grind immediately into my homemade garam masala blend.

For whatever reason, I never thought to grind it and smell it alone. Today, I finally did in preparation for my pumpkin spice blend that I was making. I knew I wanted this version to have mace in it. And wow, I was in for a real treat and surprise! The scent was not that surprising after I toasted the whole arils. But once I ground them in my spice grinder, I was completely blown away after I removed the lid and inhaled. The scent of the freshly toasted, ground mace was warm, sweet, floral, citrusy, almost with a minty undertone. I couldn’t get over how citrusy this ground mace smelled. It smelled absolutely nothing like nutmeg, which is far more woody, spicy, and earthy. I also loved the hue of the ground mace: it is this very pretty deep tan/pale orange. After I ground the mace and placed it into a small glass jar for storage, I couldn’t help but keep sniffing it. I just love this scent! I did buy this at a spice farm directly in India, so even though the mace arils are over two years old, you would never guess they were this old!

And to think it only took me almost 40 years to find out how unique and interesting this peculiar spice is!

Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) ingredients; appreciation for culture

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I’ve never been a pro medicine person. I avoid pain medications for as long as I can possibly stand, which is a bit odd to say because luckily, I rarely have a need for them unless I’m having a god-awful period, or suddenly a headache is coming on. I would much rather do whatever “natural” remedy out there exists. For period pain, if possible, I would use a heat pack on my abdomen. For headaches at night, I would rather just sleep it off or drink more water. But sometimes, the medication is absolutely vital, like when you get pertussis (good ol’ whooping cough!) or a peri-tonsillar abscess (the miserable joy from last November that I would much rather forget ever happened to me). Then, you have to take the damn pills and give in.

I never thought much about Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) even though I was given endless tonics, herbal teas, and soups lovingly made by my grandma, mom, and aunt growing up. They always said that at a given time of year (depending on the season), your body needs these herbs or these berries or special ingredients. I generally just smiled and nodded, obediently drinking or consuming whatever they gave me and assuming that it really was all good for my health. It’s not that I ever doubted it; it’s more that I wasn’t sure how much “better off” I was now that I had consumed said soup or tonic. I didn’t start actively thinking about TCM until I got pregnant in 2021 and was carrying my Kaia Pookie. Then suddenly, I was reading about all the benefits of all these Eastern ingredients and assuming that of course, they all must be nourishing and making my baby and me stronger! I wanted whatever natural remedies and herbs were out there to help me recovery more quickly and to potentially help give me a good milk supply!

One of my best friends is about to give birth any hour now. And I told her that I would make some of these TCM herbal teas and soups for her after she came home. So now, I’m once again immersed in all the ingredients. I had to restock a bunch of things I ran out of from my postpartum period, and I went to a herbal shop in Chinatown today with English/Chinese/pinyin notes ready in case I couldn’t find what I wanted and needed help. This was my list:

Red dates (hong zao): High in antioxidants; “heaty,” so good for postpartum recovery and “warming the body”

Dang shen root: Good for restoring “qi” or vital energy; helps combat fatigue and exhaustion; nourishes blood, supports digestion by strengthening spleen and stomach; boosts immunity; like “poor man’s ginseng” because it’s milder but still beneficial

Goji berries (gou qi): Combats fatigue, boosts immune system, high antioxidants

Dried wild yam slices (huai shan): Restores energy and vitality; good for kidney health, can increase milk production, cleanses system after giving birth, helps with hormone balance

Dried longan (gui yuan gan or long yan gan): Improves blood circulation, increases energy and vitality; can increase milk production

Astralagus root (huang qi): Immunity boosting, high in antioxidants, good for kidney function and sleep quality

Dried hawthorn berries (shan zha): Rich in antioxidants, boosts digestion, improves skin health

I suppose it’s true that with age, we start believing more of what our elders taught us when we were young. I guess that may be the reason, along with my general anti-medicine approach, that I’ve started reading more about TCM. In the last two years, I’ve gotten more into making nourishing, homey Chinese soups; it’s made me realize that many times, less actually can be more. And I’ve also read more about what traditional Chinese herbs and ingredients I could incorporate into everyday cooking. It’s not only been fascinating and fun to learn about, but the other way I look at this is that I’m delving into yet another aspect of my (Chinese) culture that I hadn’t previously paid much attention to. No, I won’t be using or suggesting any of these herbs to cure anyone’s cancer or HIV, but I do believe that a lot of these herbs can play a role in everyday health maintenance and wellness, so why not incorporate them? Plus, it’s another way to diversify one’s diet and ensure you’re eating more plants, which is a win for anyone!

Handmade with love – ceramic mugs flown in from Seattle

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As someone who spends a lot of time thinking of what food to make and then making the majority of foods she eats at home from scratch (or near scratch), I have always deeply appreciated homemade, handmade things. Aside from food, I used to scrapbook a lot before Kaia was born. I also regularly handmade cards for holidays like Christmas and Valentine’s Day. The rare times I have been given handmade things, whether it was jewelry, cards, and Kaia’s hand-knit and crocheted clothes from Chris’s mom and cousin, I have always marveled that someone would actually want to spend their time and energy hand making something for me (or my child). We live in a fast-paced, fast-everything world, where people seem to value cheapness and mass production over unique, hand-crafted things now. Even the platform Etsy, which historically was founded as a marketplace for unique, one of a kind handmade items made by artisans, has now been overtaken by mass producers in China, Korea, and other parts of the world, touting the facade of uniqueness and artsiness.

Today, I received a package of goodies from a friend in Seattle. It included a few things she got Kaia and me on her recent Japan trip, as well as Rooted Fare black sesame butter (which I’d been wanting to try for ages), and something I was not expecting at all: two unique, handmade ceramic mugs her husband had made at their pottery studio to which they have a membership. While I love and appreciate all the gifts, I couldn’t help but stare at and move the ceramic mugs in my hands multiple times. As soon as I saw them, I was about 90 percent sure they’d made these at their pottery studio, so I texted her to ask. She confirmed that she actually did not make them, that her husband made them, since she was taking a break from pottery. I knew she had been going to a pottery studio, and I was floored that they’d actually share things they handmade with me. I just felt really touched.

I guess it’s my old-fashioned side, but I really don’t think people appreciate handmade items much anymore. It’s easy to look at these mugs and not be impressed; you can get aesthetically pleasing, reasonably priced (or exorbitantly expensive) mugs anywhere and everywhere now. But the special thing here is: I know these were handmade by friends of mine, and they chose to give these to me. And for that, I am grateful. They’re giving me a gift that they actually made with their own hands, and with their precious time. Their time that they put into these mugs is a gift.

And as an added bonus, they’re dishwasher safe! So I am definitely planning to use these regularly now.

Vegan lemon olive oil cake

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Vegan baking is not something I ever imagined really getting into while I was in high school or college. I did bake a few vegan brownie recipes while in college because someone I worked with one summer inspired me with her own veganism. But I always thought of vegan baking as annoying because of all the substitutions that have to be made, and how not intuitive it all is. Eggs are typically used as a binder for cakes, cookies, and pancakes, so what do you use in place of them? The two major options in the realm of vegan baking seem to be a) flax egg (1 Tbsp ground flaxseed to 3 Tbsp water), and 2) aquafaba, which is a term for the bean liquid left in a can of garbanzo beans (chickpeas). How do you get buttery or creamy richness without butter or cream? You can use a rich oil like coconut oil or olive oil, or you can make cashew cream with soaked cashews blended with some water.

Once I started reading about all the alternatives, I realized it actually wasn’t that hard after all. But you can’t really just tweak a recipe and make 1:1 substitutes to make it vegan. You really have to start from scratch. And so I had this vegan lemon olive oil cake bookmarked for ages, but I never made it until today. I got inspired to make it after the non-vegan orange olive oil cake was such a hit at Chris’s mom’s cousin’s place a couple months ago, and I wanted to see how I could make a version of that cake but a) not use as much olive oil and b) not use as many eggs, or any eggs at all, as that recipe I originally used calls for a LOT!). All these ingredients can get really expensive. Plus, we’re living in high inflation times. And for baking, I rarely have heavy cream or cream cheese on hand, so it would be nice to get substitutes that are more pantry-based. This recipe had no egg substitute. I wondered if it would really bind together well or if it would totally fall apart. But I had been following this vegan baking blogger for ages, and she had over 68 5-star reviews, so I figured it had to be a pretty good recipe. I also thought it would turn out well when I saw metric measurements noted on her site. Ever since I got my cheap $10 digital kitchen scale, I don’t think I can go back to regular measuring cups for baking anymore. It’s so exact, and it’s just fun!

So I mixed the batter, added it to my greased, parchment-lined loaf pan, and baked it in the oven for 60 minutes. I let it cool and then unmolded it. Then I took it out and had a small slice, and wow – the edge piece was really crunchy, and the lemon and olive oil flavor really came out beautifully. The crumb was very moist and tight — not even a remote sign of falling apart. I used 10 grams less sugar because it just seemed like a lot of sugar, and the cake was just sweet enough to be called dessert.

I’m planning to share this cake with some neighbors, one of whom just had her second baby. I can’t wait to tell them that this cake is vegan!

Cabbage

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I took a walk this afternoon to enjoy the warmer temperatures and decided to stop by Whole Foods to see what was on sale. Among sunchokes, mangoes, and buckwheat flour, I also picked up a whole heavy head of cabbage. I realize that since I’ve moved to New York, I’ve probably only purchased cabbage once, and it was to make a dumpling filling, not to eat it on its own. I brought it home, chopped it up, and stir fried it with garlic, Sichuanese peppercorns, Thai chilies, and a little soy sauce and Chinese black vinegar. It was a modified version of my mom’s stir-fried cabbage growing up. Sometimes, she’d stir-fry it with a little pork or dried shrimp, while other times, she’d simply add garlic, salt, and pepper to it. Regardless, when I took a bite tonight despite my minor additions, it was a familiar flavor, one that reminded me of eating dinners at our dinner table in that house atop a San Francisco hill. It’s a simple and humble dish — nothing fancy and nothing to jump up and down about, but the familiarity is comforting to me (and the added benefit is that after reading How Not to Die, I realized exactly how good cabbage is for you, especially the red kind!).

Today’s generation of parents complain and say they have no time to cook for their kids, which is how they justify giving their kids fast food, buying takeout many days of the week, among other junk food that isn’t particularly varied or nutritious. The thought stresses me out, too; when I come home from a long day at work, the last thing I really want to do is cook a full meal. That’s why most of the cooking I do is on the weekends, but the downside of that is that we end up eating most of the same food repetitively during the week, which also isn’t really what I want my future kids to do (and I’m sure they would whine). I wonder how I will balance all that in my own life. But because I associate stir-fried cabbage with my mom, I wonder if she ever really thought of the concept of “balance,” or if for her, it was just a given that she’d have to deal with two jobs — her paid work as well as raising two kids and running a household. My dad made his meatloaves and five-spiced chicken and baked “fried” chicken more as hobbies rather than to put food on the table; my mom’s goal was more practical: dinner on the table ASAP. I wonder if she ever resented my dad for never doing more around the house or cooking meals, or expecting her to prepare the majority of what we ate. I have a feeling if I ever asked this, she would not respond well.

A fond repeated memory I have is of the days when I’d see my mom eating something different than Ed and me, and I’d look over at her dish and ask what she’s eating.

“Leftovers,” she’d respond, mid-mouthful.

“Leftovers? You mean yesterday’s salmon?”

She’d nod.

“It smells different, though,” I’d say.

“I added nuoc mam (Vietnamese fish sauce) to it,” she’d say.

“Can I have some?” I’d ask.

“Yvonne, you eat your food I cooked. This food is old, and I don’t want you to eat old leftovers.” She’s getting annoyed at this point and just wants me to eat my food and shut up.

“But you’re eating the leftovers. Why can’t I eat them, too?” I’d ask.

“Because your mommy doesn’t want to waste food, and someone needs to eat it. Just eat your food.”

“Can I have some of yours? Please? It looks good.” Somehow, she always made her “old” food look good. And in my eyes and nose, it always seemed to smell and taste better than what was on my plate.

She’d stop eating and smile, like her heart was melting that I wanted to eat the “old” food when she wanted me to eat the “new” food. “Well, the nuoc mam does make everything taste better,” she’d say. And she’d proceed to add a few spoonfuls of her food into my dish.

Everyone has happy memories of their childhood. This is one of mine.

 

 

Chopped up turkey

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I went to the Whole Foods in the Upper East Side after work tonight to pick up an 11.15-pound free-range whole turkey in preparation for my early Thanksgiving feast this weekend. My oven is a sad, small Manhattan oven, so there’s no way I’d be able to roast the bird whole. So the last few years, I’ve asked the butcher at the meat counter to cut it up for me. This year, I came to request it to be chopped up, and the meat guys behind the counter said the butcher had already left, but they’d cut it up as best as they could. But they warned me that they’d never cut up a turkey before, so to not be too disappointed if the pieces didn’t turn out too pretty.

“Isn’t a turkey really just an over-sized chicken?” I asked the meat guys quizzically. “You guys cut up chickens all day, right?” Yes, they do.

It came out fine. I also made sure they cut up the back bone and put it back in the bag. “You want the back bone, too?” Damn right, I do. I’m not paying for a whole turkey to then have them take away the freaking back bone. That’s for my future stock.

Then, I lugged my big bird all the way home along with a pint of eggnog ice cream on sale. I only walked about ten blocks back to my apartment, but I already felt strained carrying this bird, along with a five-pound bag of flour and a two-pound bag of sugar. As I walked down to my street, I remembered all those years when I prepared Thanksgiving feasts at my Elmhurst apartment, and I went all over Manhattan to multiple stores (because of my food quality anality) and brought all my foodstuff supplies back to my Queens apartment. I never thought much about the inconvenience of buying things in one borough and carrying them back to another. I just did it because it had to be done. Now, I’m spoiled for convenience and dislike carrying weight in general.

It’s interesting how times have changed in my life. And in the next stage of my life, I may have a car and drive groceries instead of carrying a grocery bag even one block.

Dead yeast

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I love making bread. There are few things more amazing to me than the smell of fresh bread being baked in my oven at home, especially when that bread is either eggy, buttery, or a delicious combination of both. Unfortunately, since I’ve moved into this apartment over three years ago, I haven’t made a real yeast bread. The closest I’ve come to using yeast in this apartment was using it for appam earlier this year, and that, while edible, was a disaster in terms of how long it took to cook.

So for whatever reason, I bought instant yeast years ago, and I had no idea whether it was still alive or even how to test it. I know how to test dry active yeast, but I had no clue on how to test instant. So I did what anyone might do and just proceeded to use it in the challah recipe I wanted to use for my early Thanksgiving celebration this weekend, and I convinced myself it would work.

And then after two “risings,” I took photos and compared the before and after. I wasn’t sure if the dough had really risen, or if it was just my eyes trying to make me believe it did. It seemed too stiff and not airy at all… And the final verdict? The dough baked into a hard long brick. And I had a big mess to clean up after and no edible bread to eat.

I’m never buying instant yeast ever again. And the remaining instant yeast packet, which I bought around the same time a few years ago, also went into the trash with my sad dead yeast dough.