pepperknit

I totally get all the cynicism around Valentine’s Day. I get it. Believe me, I hate Hallmark with a firey passion (in fact, I’ve not stepped foot in a Hallmark store since I worked on a book with them 10 years ago), and I don’t even like much chocolate or candy.

Mostly I think Valentine’s Day is funny. Its primary colors are pink and red—and I don’t even like the color pink. But because it’s so singular in its focus, and so completely absurd, I adore it. I always use it as a time to remind my friends and family that I love them—sure, I tell them a lot on a regular basis, but it’s more special today.

So with that, I wish you all lots of love from the bottom of my heart.

And because I’m no scrooge for sweets on Valentine’s day, I made strawberry ice cream for my sweetie, whose favorite ice cream is strawberry. I made this last year and it was so phenomenal, I’ve declared it a tradition that must not be broken.

Ben & Jerry’s Strawberry Ice Cream

1 pint fresh strawberries, hulled and sliced
1/3 cup plus 3/4 cup sugar
juice of 1/2 lemon
2 large eggs
2 cups heavy cream
1 cup milk

Combine strawberries, 1/3 cup sugar, and lemon juice in a mixing bowl. Cover and refrigerate for 1 hour. Meanwhile, whisk the eggs in a separate bowl until light and fluffy, 1 to 2 minutes. Whisk in the 3/4 cup sugar a little at a time, then whisk one minute more until completely blended. Pour in the cream and milk and whisk to blend.

Puree the strawberries and add to the cream mixture. Transfer to ice cream maker and freeze according to manufacturer’s directions (generally about 20 minutes in the machine, then transfer to a container and freeze thoroughly).

Enjoy!

Some eat to live; I’ve always lived to eat. I cook a lot, and I take photos of the majority of what I make—I take photos of the majority of what I eat, whether I cooked it or not. Looking back at the pictures, I can relive every bite.

Like these pickles, that I made sort of on the spur of the moment because of a book I was editing. I am a freelancer, and I was giving Alton Brown’s latest cookbook a proofread. Which meant I was scheming to make nearly everything in it. But refrigerator pickles just hit me as the thing I had to have—and one night, probably between page 213 and 214, I set the book aside to make a batch. I’d never done something like this before, and though I realize that refrigerator pickling is not nearly as impressive as actual pickling, I was thrilled with the results. The onions are my favorite part, actually.

This year I finally mastered the art of poaching an egg, after years of perfectly edible but completely ugly attempts. It’s all thanks to Lauren, who shared a video of how she does it, and now I just channel her on Sunday mornings. I even got myself an electric kettle, which is what she uses to get her water hot but still, and now the process is even easier.

To enhance my sandwich obsession, I finally made mayonnaise from scratch for the first time. I’m not sure if I’d been intimidated by it or just lazy, but I found that it is neither scary nor time consuming. I think the worst part is cleaning the food processor, and I can handle that. (Or, um, if Jason’s around he’ll do it for me.) It makes BLTs with avocado just that much better, let me tell you.

This year I also became a master deep-fryer. I’d always been terrified of embarking on deep-fried endeavors, but this year I just filled pans with oil and let loose. In 2010 I’ll make donuts for the first time.

For instance, I deep-fried poached eggs (with Lindsay):

And Jason and I made tempura veggies and deep-fried spring rolls (twice!):

It wasn’t all savory, either. Reid, my chocoholic friend, turned 30, so I made him these chocolate cookies, which received rave reviews at the party. (I still happily remember when Reid, tipsy with birthday drinks, came over to me and said “someone asked if you are a GOURMET CHEF. and I SAID YES.”)

And I also was in Norway with my parents for Christmas this year, where we got snowed in for days, and mom and I baked Christmas cookies together for the first time in years!

I could go on and on. The year, as with past years, sure was tasty. I’m eager to try more new techniques and recipes—Steph recently loaned me her slow cooker slow cooker, so I’m looking for great recipes for that this winter. And if the year to come is even half as flavorful and perfectly cooked as our New Year’s Eve dinner, I’ll be doing okay.

I’ve been an unabashed meat eater for years now, after a brief faux-vegetarian stint in high school. Sometimes this aspect of my personality is more pronounced than others—I certainly am not someone who demands meat at every meal. But it was especially evident yesterday, when Jason, my friend Barri, and I traveled to North Jersey to attend my aunt and uncle’s annual Ribfest!

Three years ago is the last time I went—and if I’m correct, maybe the last time it occurred. That year, I only made a pie, to enter in the friendly competition. Sadly, only three people made and brought ribs, so the contest for the meat wasn’t all that exciting.

This year, though, the rules were clear: bring something to eat or you can’t come. The wording was strong, and I suspect many of us feared we’d actually be turned away at the door if we didn’t come bearing pork. As a result, despite the pouring rain, there were more than 20 entries in the rib competition. That’s a whole lot of ribs.

I’d always been intimidated at the thought of making ribs—not only am I limited to oven cooking, I for some reason had it in my head that they were a tricky beast. I was wrong. They are super easy—put spices on, stick ‘em in the oven, and you’re basically done. My recipe involved a spice rub and a sauce, and both were damn tasty.

Only problem once we got to the competition, though, was that I forgot to put my extra sauce on, and the ribs weren’t especially warm. The winners were all heavily sauced, and some were even served in a slow cooker. (I’m making notes for next year.)

The pie competition this year was also fierce; 19 pies vied for the title. Mine should have won on looks alone.

But my peaches were too tart, and a sentimental favorite stole the win. (But my cream cheese crust was flaky and perfect—try it with your favorite filling!) Next year, I’m making classic apple and not fussing around with fancy flavors or elaborate spices. Give the people what they want, that’s my new mantra!

I’m definitely already thinking about next year . . .

My Japanese knowledge is, to be honest, rather limited. I’ve seen Lost in Translation, I love to shop at Daiso (the Japanese $2 store; there are chains in Singapore), I do sushi with some regularity. On a date about 2 years ago we went to a “home-style” Japanese restaurant and both confessed to each other that we had no idea what that was going to mean. (It meant quite a bit of fried food, and rice dishes.)

Oh, and ramen. Right? Those packets? I grew up making “Oodles of Noodles” (which later became Top Ramen, I guess—the packaging is the same) regularly on summer breaks. I have a stash of chicken flavor in the pantry all the time, and since my parents moved to Singapore I’ve discovered the joys of kim chi ramen as well as laksa. Mom even recently sent me a mysterious package of purple noodle ramen. (When I try it that will be another blog post!) That’s ramen, right?

Okay, okay. I know it’s not. Which is why I’ve been itching to try one of the ramen spots in New York. Tonight I finally did!

My friend Sonia and I waited (for 20 minutes! at 6:30! on a Wednesday!) for a table at Ippudo, on 4th Ave near 10th Street. A long while back, some friends and I tried to go here and at 7:30 on a Tuesday the wait was predicted to be more than an hour, so we didn’t bother. I’m glad Sonia and I stuck it out. We were seated at the counter, overlooking the cooks, which let us see all the yummy-looking things we didn’t order go past us!

I’d read online that the Hirata buns were really good, and not knowing anything else about the offerings, all of which sounded great, we got them as an appetizer.

And were rewarded greatly. The bun is similar to the bun of xao long bao—a rice flour–based dough—but this was cloudlike in a way that I did not expect. It was a wee bit sticky, gave nicely to the touch, and was smooth and soft and wonderfully doughy. The blandness offset the richness of the pork, whose layers of fat literally melted in your mouth. All of this would have been nice, but it was rendered perfect with the spicy mayo-like sauce that was on top (along with lettuce). The heat (which we hadn’t known was coming) gently filled your mouth but didn’t overpower any of the ingredients. Swoon.

For the ramen, we each stuck with one of the “classics.” Unfortunately, my picture of Sonia’s is a bit blurry, so I’m not posting it here. I got the Shiromaru Hakata Classic (above), which is described as “‘the original tonkotsu’ soup noodles with slices of simmered berkshire pork, kikurage, red pickled ginger, menma, 1/2 hard boiled egg, sesame & scallions.” She got Akamaru Modern, “‘the original tonkotsu’ soup noodles with ippudo’s special sauce, miso paste and fragrant garlic oil, slices of simmered berkshire pork, cabbage, onions, kikurage & scallions.” They were totally different, and yet very similar. Both were salty and full of umami flavor, but mine was more earthy, while hers was more spiced. I couldn’t decide which I liked more, though after half of mine I was happy to switch bowls with her and finish up with something different.

The ramen was warming and comforting and really nice—especially as the weather has taken a turn toward the fall in the last few days. I look forward to comparing this with other ramen houses as winter comes on!

A friend of mine has started writing a little food column, where she takes a recipe and gives it a try, as a novice cook. She asked me for ideas of what to make—my list included two things that I had actually never made from scratch before: angel food cake and mayonnaise.

Today I crossed one of those off my own personal list.

No, it’s not a specimen in a jar, that is homemade mayonnaise! it’s in one of the Desert Pepper salsa jars that I use as drinking glasses—I keep a handful of the lids around, which makes my glasses available for mixing up salad dressings or storing things that need storing.

Conversation with other food-minded friends today sparked a craving for mayonnaise like I have never had before in my life. I know the mayonnaise debate can get quite heated—just ask my Aunt Kathy and her daughter Meaghan, who stand staunchly on opposite sides of that egg-oil line. Meaghan thinks the stuff is vile; Kathy feels it is “UNAMERICAN” to dislike mayo (nevermind that the foodstuff is French, named for the duke of Mahon). I swear, every single lunchtime conversation at beach week veers into the Great Mayo Debate.

But I’ve never been able to get my hackles up on the subject. I like mayo, sure, but I don’t love it. I like a little moisture on my sandwiches, and I’ve recently decided that a burger with mayo is better than a burger with ketchup (though give a hearty stir and I’m pretty happy, too). When I worked in a restaurant, I loathed the people who requested sides of mayo, because it meant sticking my whole arm up to my elbow into the almost-empty-but-not-quite economy size jar of the gloppy white stuff. But now I’m that person—okay, I guess I’m a mayo fan.

But I was never a fan like I am now. I used Berlin’s Whimsy’s recipe for garlic mayo, because I figured why just do something basic when you can do something sublime? I had all the ingredients on hand and my food processor was out and ready to go anyway. And the results—after all of 3 minutes’ effort!—were well worth it. I even stopped off at Five Guys to buy fries just for the occasion.

Of course, 2 cups’ worth of oil means I now have a LOT of mayonnaise. Looks like I’ll be eating a lot of BLTs!

I’m in the midst of my first-ever self-imposed knitting break. It’s weird to not be picking up the needles during down time, but I’ve been dealing with neck pain since I moved to New York two and a half years ago, and I just needed a break to let things relax. But one benefit of not knitting is the additional time I spend on other pursuits—notably tonight, cooking.

Last week I bought some pesto at Fairway, a fabulous local New York grocery store. I used it in a different dish (pesto-crusted salmon) for Valentine’s Day with the boy, and I discovered it had a consistency less emulsified and more oily than when I make pesto from scratch—a quality that just begged to be slathered on potato gnocchi. The last time I made gnocchi was, if I am remembering correctly, about seven years ago, and I don’t remember it being particularly successful (after all, I never did it again), but this rich, seductive pesto needed to be dripping off homemade gnocchi. Immediately. The craving was palpable.

My poor neglected food mill was out of practice; it only gets put to use when making mashed potatoes. Which is a perfectly good use for a food mill, of course, but it’s always fun to find a new use for it. (I am aware, of course, that the use is still for milling potatoes, but the result it what matters here.) Tonight those potatoes had only a small bit of egg and about half a cup of flour added to them to make a light, fluffy potato dough.

I followed the recipe exactly but it turned out I didn’t need nearly the whole 3/4 cup of flour to get the dough to hold—it was soft and supple and not at all sticky. It made perfect plump pillows of gnocchi, all ready to be stroked across the tines of the fork. . . . Whew, I’m getting a little carried away.

Finding a rhythm for drawing the gnocchi across the fork was the only slightly tricky part; by the last few bits I felt confident with my technique. I used the back of the fork and rolled the nugget with my thumb ever so gently; it responded quite satisfactorily to my touch.

Threw them into the re-boiled potato water and they were happily bobbing at the top within a minute; drained into a bowl and slathered with the pesto and it was a meal to die for. All it needed (not in the picture) was a shaving of some fresh, salty parmesan cheese to round out the flavors and make this the best meal I’ve made in a long while. Mmmmmmm. I got the happy ending.

The new apartment is slowly taking shape, little by little and bit by bit, and I’m knitting like a fiend on a sweater I started a week ago Sunday when I needed some relatively mindless knitting to get me through the election. I am determined to have it finished and ready to wear by Saturday, so wish me luck.

But if you’re a fellow foodie, check it out! One of my pictures is the Photo of the Day on SeriousEats.com. I’m tickled that it caught Adam Kuban’s eye.

I’m one of those people who gets sick after a stressful event. In college, I got sick on every visit home; for a while in Philly I was getting sick each weekend. I moved to New York, and the constant stress was such that I didn’t actually catch a cold until the week after I stopped working at my job. So after these past few weeks, in which I had a lot of fun but did a LOT, I’m now sick! And home on a Friday night, so I’m talking to you guys for the first time in ages.

First, I started the apartment hunt. Anyone who’s lived in New York knows that finding an apartment in this city is one of the most painful experiences you’ll ever have. In truth, my search was relatively easy . . . and I found the most gigantic apartment ever, at a supremely affordable price, and near to some new friends!

Then, while packing up my life, Jocelyn_ came for a visit. She’s been a Flickr/email friend for two years, and she was my inspiration for starting the 365 self-portrait project. We played in the big city, of course.

The same day Joce left New York, I flew to Boston to visit with my closest bloggy friends. We email daily, but there’s just no match for hanging out for reals. And did you see the mittens Maritza made for me? Gorgeous. I’m carrying them around with me whenever I go out, but honestly it’s not cold enough. So I pet them on the subway.

And THEN, because I’m not greedy enough for knitterly goodness, I went to Rhinebeck! Anne-Marie chartered a bus for the Sit ‘n’ Knit New York group, so we all went for the day on Saturday. I got to see some bloggers I hadn’t seen since last Stitches, and, um, I bought more yarn. But you wouldn’t know it from the photos, because I only had eyes for the changing leaves. Just believe me, I was there.

The end to all this fun was the actual move. I packed up my postage-stamp-sized apartment on the Upper East Side and the movers carted it all down to Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. I am loving it down here—it makes me think of South Philly, actually, and in so many ways it feels like home. Unpacking is . . . going slowly. And like I said, I’m now battling a gross head cold. But the apartment is cozy and big and just totally, totally awesome.

To make myself feel better, and also to christen the new kitchen (gas finally got turned on today), I made my favorite black bean soup. The original recipe is just a jumping off point for a lot of tasty variation—today I used 2 chipotle chiles in adobo instead of fresh jalapeno, and I didn’t have a tomato so I just left it out. It’s easily made vegetarian (in which case, I highly recommend a chipotle, so you get some smokiness, which I get a double-punch of with the bacon), but please, please don’t make it vegan: the cilantro-lime sour cream is the condiment that makes this soup.

Here’s how I make it.

4-6 bacon slices, chopped (substitute some vegetable oil if making vegetarian)
3/4 cup finely chopped celery (a few ribs)
3/4 cup finely chopped onion (half an onion)
3/4 cup finely chopped carrots (2-3 carrots)
3/4 cup finely chopped leeks (one large leek)
2 or 3 cans of black beans, rinsed and drained (3 is preferable but I only had 2 tonight)
4-5 cups low-salt chicken broth (or veggie stock, of course, but both preferably homemade)
1 large tomato, chopped
1 cup (packed) fresh cilantro
1/3 cup (packed) chopped fresh parsley
1 1/2 tablespoons minced garlic
1 jalapeño chili, minced or 2 chipotle chiles in adobo or heck, both!
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground coriander

3/4 cup sour cream
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
2 teaspoons fresh lime juice
Additional chopped tomato

Cook bacon in heavy large pot over medium heat until brown but still soft, about 4 minutes. Add celery, onion, carrots, and leeks and sauté until vegetables begin to soften, about 10 minutes. Add beans, chicken broth, tomato, 1/2 cup cilantro, parsley, garlic, jalapeño, vinegar, cumin and coriander. Bring to boil. Reduce heat to medium-low, cover, and simmer soup until beans are very tender, stirring occasionally, about 1 hour.

Puree with immersion blender. Season to taste with salt and pepper. (Can be prepared 1 day ahead. Cover and refrigerate. Bring to simmer before continuing.)

Mix sour cream, lemon juice, lime juice and 1/2 cup cilantro in small bowl. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Ladle soup into bowls. Place dollop of sour cream mixture atop soup. Garnish with additional chopped cilantro and chopped tomato.

Eat! And eat at hole-in-the-wall joints, no less. So of course that’s what we did when we took a short overnight trip to Melaka, Malaysia.

Melaka (Malacca) is a state of Malaysia on the western coast, and it’s been occupied by nearly everyone (now it’s just part of Malaysia)—the Portuguese, the Dutch, the Japanese, and the British. The Portuguese came in the 1500s, so the historical sites go back really far.

And others just feel like anachronisms, like this windmill in honor of the Dutch occupation, which is opposite an old Dutch church (still extant) and the former home of the Dutch Governors (now a museum full of creepy human figurines).

The area is dominated by Peranakan people, the Chinese Malay, with their own particular cuisine. Laksa has been top of my list ever since that episode of Top Chef when Anthony Bourdain was the guest judge and Lisa made a too-smoky laksa hated by everyone. If Tony Bourdain says real laksa is one of his favorites, well, I had to give it a go.

I was not disappointed. This tiny Peranakan restaurant, Restoran Nancy’s Kitchen, with its unflattering fluorescent lights and dated Christmas decorations on the walls, seemed the perfect place to try laksa. It’s essentially a curry soup—great coconut flavor but a smoky spicy kick that had my nose running (I love spicy food). It has noodles, small shimp, some cucumber, and other vegetables. It also had a mystery substance (thin, kinda spongy sheets), which I hope is a vegetable (it’s always weird to me when I can’t identify a food, as I am pretty knowledgeable), and rice balls, which are like pounded rice formed into a rubbery little ball. They don’t absorb the flavor so they serve to put out the fire in your mouth a bit. I plan on trying more laksa—I hear it’s one of those local foods where there are a zillion variations—and there are plenty of places to get it in Singapore, too.

The Portuguese influence has created a “local Portuguese cuisine,” but it seemed to be the same as the food everywhere else. In the Portuguese Square (nothing more than a structure with restaurants), Restoran Lisbon, essentially a kitchen with some tables and plastic chairs outside, was advertised as, you know, Portuguese food, but it really seemed just like other Peranakan spots.

This fish dish, ikan bakar, was noted as a traditional food, and it was amazing. Those two green things on top are limes—the tiny kinds are common here. The red sauce was spicy and smoky—”warm” was the first word that came to mind when I took a bite—and it mushed up nicely with the perfectly cooked fish. In the lower left-hand corner are lightly pickled onions, which contrasted with the warmth of the fish. This was my favorite entree of our meal.

Chicken curry debal and ginger squid were our other two meat dishes from Restoran Lisbon (we also got greens). The chicken was a bit dry, but the sauce was tasty over rice. The squid was tender and flavorful—I didn’t think the ginger flavor was strong enough, though.

Another curry soup I got, at the Geographer Cafe (not as fancy as the name might imply), featured lontong, compressed rice cut into small pieces.

Not as spicy as laksa, but gosh-darn tasty.

The rest of Melaka was okay—there’s some pretty temples, which I’ll show some pictures of soon. There was shopping, but there’s only so much plastic crap I need, and the antiques aren’t my style. The night market was pretty good—with food and shopping and karaoke and line dancing!–but jet lag hit me so hard before we headed out that I was in a total fog and didn’t take a single picture; I actually hit a point where I just stopped and stood to the side while my parents are our family friend walked the rest of it. I’m sure my mom will blog about that, so I’ll link to her post.

The Singapore Food Festival is going on all month (yay!) so we have plans to check it out this afternoon.

When my parents lived in Columbia, the Chicken #1 sandwich at Clyde’s was one of those things I just had to have upon returning for a visit. Now that they live in Singapore, my tastes are a bit different—Din Tai Fung, for soup dumplings, is requirement #1.

Din Tai Fung is actually a chain, with several restaurants in Singapore and others around the world (Australia, and even LA!). I first had it in Taipei about 4 years ago. The dumplings are hand-made behind a glass wall, so you can see the guys hard at work (I was waved off from taking photos the last time I was there, so I didn’t try this time. I have shots of the guys in Taipei, but those are on my external hard drive, back in NYC). There the wait is always so long, they give you a tiny clipboard with the menu printed on it, and you indicate how many of each item you want. When you’re eventually led to a table, you hand over your order on the walk over. Here, if there’s a wait, they employ the same system, but I have had it be empty enough that we were seated before asked to order (I think you always fill it out yourself).

Soup dumplings exist in the States—Joe’s Shanghai is the place to go in NYC. But there’s something much better about them here. Joe’s Shanghai’s dumplings have a really strong pork flavor—the soup is almost gamey, it’s so porky. Here, the liquid housed in each dumpling, along with the meatball, are impeccably subtle. The wrappers are supple but don’t break open and spill soup everywhere when you lift them out of the steamer, like they do at Joe’s. In other words, they’re perfect.

Shao loong bao, what these are called, actually means “little steamer dumpling,” but the “soup” quality is what makes them unique. I’ve read that the stock is frozen and placed in the dumpling along with the meatball, so that when steamed the ice melts and you end up with soup encased in a wrapper. It means that eating them requires some careful work—and definitely needs a spoon. You set it down in the spoon and tear it open slightly, either with your teeth or a chopstick, and let the bowl of the spoon fill up. I slurp it out separately, because the next step is dunking the dumpling into the bowl of soy sauce, black vinegar, and shreds of fresh ginger that you’ve mixed up. The fresh ginger is key—we always ask for extra.

Other dumplings, such as these, aren’t shao loong bao, they’re just dumplings (bao), but they’re so pretty I can’t resist them. I love the way the little shrimp is poised atop the wrapper like that!

My favorite greens are these, dou miao. They’re pea shoots (shoots of the snowpea plant), and they’re consistently tender and tasty. Sauteed with plenty of garlic and oil, they are only beat by kung xin cai (water spinach), a hollow-stalked green that isn’t super common but is super tender and tasty.

The other dish we got surprised me. My mom asked me if I remembered the shiao tsai we used to get before meals when we lived in Taiwan—little plates of snacky things, like a seaweed salad or a tofu “noodle” salad. It turns out they combine it all into one dish here! There was also some cellophane noodle in there, too.

Day 1’s main meal was a success. Not sure what’s on tap for tomorrow!