Sick PHOod

I'm sick today.  So. GD. sick.  Like, head about to explode, blow your nose all night, so congested you're pukey and coughing up green boogers sick.

So.

GD.

sick.

Let me tell you, when it comes to eating, I am a trooper.  Few things make me so sick that I can't eat anything and everything, but today is one of those days when only 1 thing will make me feel better: a big, brothy, steaming bowl of PHO.

Cure for whatever ails you.

Pho (ffuh) is a Vietnamese rice noodle soup with a rich fragrant broth made typically of

• beef stock (knuckle bones are particularly good), but you can also use chicken or veggie stock
• roasted onion, garlic and ginger
• toasted cinnamon and star anise, which give it that signature aroma
• nuoc mam (noohk MAHM), which is Vietnamese fish sauce
• sugar (just a bit to round out the flavors)

Though my mother is Vietnamese, I didn't have my first bowl of pho until I was 10 years old on a visit to Orange County from Podunk Sierra Vista, Arizona.  My mom left Vietnam for Korea, and my dad of course, 2 years before I was born - luckily well before the fall of Saigon - and proceeded to assimilate herself for the next 7 years to all things Korean, language and food included... except for how to be an obedient daugher-in-law maybe.

To age 5, I didn't eat anything but Korean food, and from 5 to 10, living in small (and I do mean small) American town, and it being the late 70's/early 80's, I wasn't exposed to much else than American food and the Korean and Chinese dishes my parents served in their restaurant.  

Suffice it to say, that first bowl of pho in that hole in the wall in Westminster (home to probably the biggest Little Saigon in the US) was palate shock.  Cinnamon and star anise in anything savory was definitely foreign, and as much as I love it today, cilantro was the most alien tasting thing I'd ever put in my mouth.  Never having had anything remotely resembling it, my closest sensory approximation for cilantro was, believe it or not, Clorox.  

In hindsight, my mother must have been hugely excited to be eating, and sharing with her family, her first bowl of pho in almost a decade.  But for me and my brother, though we finished our food like we were raised to do, on that day, PHO was BUST.  

I wish I'd been more enthusiastic for my mom then, but over time and acquired taste, I've more than made up for my apprehension over that first bowl.  And whenever it's cold and/or rainy, or I'm sick as a dog, a big, hot bowl of pho is the first thing I crave.

When you order pho at a restaurant, you usually have a choice of different cuts of beef, steamed chicken or even seafood and tofu these days.  Me?  I'm a rare beef (tai) and tendon (gan) gal, and since I like my beef medium rare, I always order it on the side so I can give the broth a chance to cool before I swish the beef in it to cook.

With your pho comes the ubiquitous plate of rabbit food, which usually contains fresh mung bean sprouts (you can ask for them steamed, but I like them raw), sprigs of Thai basil, wedges of lime, and thinly sliced fresh jalapenos.  If you're in an area with lots of Vietnamese folk, you might even get leaves of sawtooth herb which is a long-leafed herb with jagged edges that tastes a lot like  overgrown cilantro when the flavor is super concentrated and the leaves begin to get somewhat dry and chewy.  I personally love the stuff, and they usually don't give me enough of it.  If you're feeling particularly adventurous, you can also ask your server for a plate of thinly sliced onions in vinegar.  The tartness and the crunch are a nice foil for the richness of the broth.

The Korean in me likes big, in your face flavors, so I am a shameless pho doctor. I like a lot of added tang to my broth, so I use 4 or 5 lime wedges, then squeeze a little dollop of hoisin sauce and a BIGFATHUGE dollop of sriracha (aka Rooster Sauce aka Cock Sauce).  (I think it's the combination of the onion and garlic in the broth, citrus from the lime and capsaicin and Vitamin C from the sriracha that fixes me right up when I'm sick.)  

On the side, I prepare a little side dish  (this is what they're for, if you've ever wondered) of sriracha, hoisin and a squeeze of lime in which to dip those lovely medium rare slices of beef and the fresh jalapenos.  Most people seem to like to put their basil in the bowl, but I personally don't care for it (or my sprouts) wilted, so I just pick up a leaf with a couple of sprouts and  throw them in my mouth with a composed bite of noodles, meat and broth.  

A big bowl of this plus a full pot of hot jasmine tea is the quickest cure I know of for the kinds of maladies that stuff your sinuses and make you cough and blow nasty boogers.

For 23 years I had the convenience of being within a 10 minute drive of a good to great bowl of pho, but while I'm in temporary exile in the Land of Trucks, Horses & Republicans (where I could probably find a questionable rendition), looks like a long drive or a long day in the kitchen...

Yours in snot,

shinae

Happy Accident - Buttering Toast...

I like real butter on my toast.  Not that I haven't used margarine or I Can't Believe It's Not Butter before in a pinch - I can certainly appreciate the spreadability factor, and once in a blue moon, oddly enough, I even find myself liking that fake movie popcorn butter flavor the same way I like a McDonald's hamburger...

But most days, real butter is where it's at.  

Salted butter.  We don't like that stuff up in this house,
but shopping accidents happen.  :/

Now if I'm having a fresh baguette, I don't mind a little pat of cold, unsweetened butter, one per bite. But I like to butter my toast whole and used to find it somewhat vexing to shave the ends of butter to proper thickness for toast.  So one day, I unwittingly plopped a freshly toasted slice of sourdough onto a brand new stick of butter, walked away for about a minute to grab some sugar and half and half for my coffee and !Voila! - spreadable butter.

Oh so spreadable...

Just enough for one slice of toast, actually...

I think it's somewhere between 2/3 - 3/4 of a tablespoon's worth.

You can also cut a couple or three slabs off the end of a cold stick and then let the heat from the toast do its magic, but we're talking entertainment for the easily pleased.

Groovy, right?

Word to the wise: Too much longer than a minute and you get *melt*.

Lazy weekend morning breakfast.

I get my thrills cheap.

shinae

You say bruSHetta, I say...

... you're WRONG.

I know it's persnickety, and I can't even tell you why this particular mispronunciation gets my panties in a twist, but despite what Webster tells you, bruschetta is an Italian word, and in Italian, 'ch' followed by a vowel is pronounced as a 'k', so it is in fact pronounced broosKETtah.  I credit my Asian heritage for my uselessly nitpicky nature, superiority complex, and a lot of other huge character defects.

While I'm at it, I have nearly come to back alley throwdowns over this one, but eSpresso is not eXpresso, and not even Webster says it's ok to mispronounce that.

Imperiously yours,

shinae

p.s.  I hate the word "panty".

Recipes: Bane of My Existence

People ask me for recipes, and I go...

You mean you want me to measure crap?!?!

I started helping my Korean grandmother (who didn't like me very much, by the way) in the kitchen when I was, like, FIVE.  I'm fixin' to turn 38 this month.  Somewhere between 5 and the time I got sucked into a corporate vortex to support my family's bourgeois existence in a masterplanned hell I lovingly call Stepford, I cooked alongside my grandmother, mother and father, ate a hell of a lot of good food and some really bad food from all kinds of cuisines, worked in my parent's restaurants, worked in other people's restaurants, taught cooking classes and catered dinner parties for people with really posh kitchens and money to burn on culinary hacks like me.

That makes 33 years of watching, doing, learning, burning, scorching, cutting, mistaking salt for sugar and vice versa, perfecting, ruining and generally osmosising all things kitchen. If you look at it from a scientific standpoint, that's Idon'tknowhowmanythousands of experiments and hopefully as many useful observations that have enabled me to to recreate most of the food I taste with a quick glance at an ingredient list to fill in the blanks where my palate might fail me.  

With the exception of chi chi foo foo fancy food, baking, and sushi (which, imo, takes much more skill and experience to properly prepare than some other cooks seem to think), I'm pretty happy with my ability to turn out a good dish regardless of cuisine - sometimes using recipes as a guideline, but never really having to worry that I missed a crucial step because, well, I've got the basics WAY down pat by now.

I guess that's why the idea of coming up with recipes of my own is so daunting.  I haven't had to *THINK* about cooking in a very long time, and I'm really kind of working off muscle memory.  But I do think that even in a sea of really GREAT resources like epicurious and allrecipes, I might be able to offer something of unique value that will help my friends speed up the learning curve to the kind of consistently good cooking that results from a tight grasp on the basics.

So as I put fingers to keyboard to come up with recipes, I'm going to try my best to impart not just instruction, but some rationale and cause and effect explanations that should make your time in the kitchen an increasingly predictable (in a good way) and fun process.

Here goes nothin'...

shinae

ridiculous hungry

At any given time, I can be counted on to be one, the other, or both.

Thus begins my return to the marriage of food and language - two things that have given me comfort and solace all my life, even more so in the madness of the past five years during which I traveled to Hell and back on the wings of a hugebig breakdown followed by a crap divorce.

Sushi makes happy. ^^

Thank Goddess there was good stuff to eat both ways. :)

shinae