Coconut-Braised Greens

Several weeks ago, I was walking with our Friday group just past the great blue heron rookery near the bay. We stopped and like the others, I tilted my head, listening to the loud, prehistoric-sounding caws. Standing still, I pictured winged teradactyls and quetzoquoatluses hidden in the dark leaves. I peered up at the trees, binocular-less, searching for the enormous nests which I soon discovered were a good four feet across.

Then, we watched, mouths agape as one or two of the herons started with barely a rustle, and soared swiftly away, easily reaching the full six-feet of their wingspans, the great creatures gliding and circling with little apparent effort. 

I straggled behind a bit with Christine, who walked alongside her own human hatchling. Meira, wearing an adorable bonnet, was just over a year and was now walking with what seemed a lot of confidence for such a tiny person.

I said to Christine, "She's becoming who she is." 

Christine smiled and answered, "I feel like I'm still becoming who I am."

I held onto this as I continued on. I realized that Christine was right: we can always keep changing and becoming who we are no matter how old we are or where we are in our lives. It doesn't matter whether we are moving through life's swift currents or standing with heels dug in, watching the herons.

I suppose that's the crux of it then, the reason why I haven't been around here in a while. I've been busy exploring, discovering, protecting the little hatchling inside myself that's trying to grow into something different from what, or who, already existed. I'm becoming who I am.

It hasn't been an easy process, and I suspect it's not over yet. That's a good thing, I think. Maybe at some point, without even realizing it, I'll be ready to fly.

Well. Here are some of the things in the past few months that I've worked on (and am still working on!):

1. Came back from the Josey Baker workshop in March and proceeded to tweak the same bread formula (Josey's Country Loaf) using locally grown and milled wheat. Felt like I should be wearing a white lab coat with all the detailed notes I was taking. Some days resulted in disastrously dense loaves, but I soldiered on. Told myself over and over again to go back and start from what did work. Did this every, single day for eight weeks straight until one day, my bread snob friend, Sabine, took a bite and told me I had "hit the nail on the head." (Yes!)

2. Volunteered to help my race-director husband make post-race food for the Lake Whatcom Triathlon, somehow using the bread I had mastered.

This resulted in me baking thirty loaves of hearth bread (in my home oven) and then turning it all into enough grilled cheese sandwiches to feed every athlete, volunteer, timing person, police and sheriff officer, as well as random people coming through. So basically, almost 300 people within a two-and-a-half hour time frame.

And guess what? The race was awesome, no one got injured, and everyone seemed perfectly happy to devour the crisp-crunchy, toasty-gooey sandwiches I'd made. Thankfully, I had some lovely volunteers -- Joanne, Marrielle and Alexandria. 

3. All of which brings me to "Grilled Cheese For My Friends," which is what I called the whole experimental grilled cheese extravaganza that day. I even made a banner for it. Maybe it was because of the banner, but people started coming up and asking me if I had a food truck. Nope, but if you want me to come to your house and make 300 grilled cheese sandwiches, I'd be happy to do it for ya. 

3. Started selling selling loaves to friends, families and neighbors who seemed to feel guilty (I think?) for constantly getting free bread because I was baking so much. This lead me to start calling my "neighborhood micro-bakery" Bread Skool. If you're in the area and want to buy bread, shoot me an email. The Bread Skool website is coming soon too and you'll be able to order bread from there.

4. Speaking of Bread Skool, I also started working toward making my goal of teaching baking and cooking classes (especially to young kids) a reality. At first, this involved my creating a little curriculum and teaching the sourdough process to friends. Then, I got connected with the Play Lab here in town and will be teaching some parent-child classes for kids three to five years. Yes! Starts next month with Flatbread classes and a stand-along Hand-Rolled Couscous class. They're called "Little Hands" classes and you can register by clicking here!

And well, there's more, but you get the gist. It's been on the busy side. There hasn't been a lot of time to test and put together many recipes or shoot photos. In fact, meals around here have been a bit on the unorganized side of things. 

Which brings me to this very flexible dish of coconut-braised greens. If you've got some greens around, a little bit of mild curry powder and some coconut milk or cream, you can make this very quickly -- even if you've got a ton of things going on. It's full of flavor and is so comforting. To me, it feels like a hug, especially when you're drivin' through Busy Town.

Coconut-Braised Greens

Serves 1-2. Great with a couple of pieces of good bread, toasted and well-buttered.

Ingredients
1 bunch of greens (collard, kale, etc.)
1 tablespoon coconut oil
1-inch peeled, fresh ginger
1 garlic clove, minced
1 1/2 teaspoon mild curry powder (plus more, if you want a stronger curry flavor)
1/3 to 1/2 cup coconut milk or cream, plus more as needed
Salt, to taste
A couple of squeezes of fresh lime juice

Instructions
Remove tough ribs from leaves. Roll up leaves and chop thinly. With side of a large knife, smash the ginger then mince. 

Heat oil in large, heavy-bottomed skillet over medium-high heat. When pan is hot, add ginger and saute for 1-2 minutes, until fragrant. Add garlic, give a stir, add curry powder and a generous pinch of salt. Stir in greens. Saute until greens begin to turn a bright green.

Add coconut milk/cream. Stir, then cover. Reduce heat to low and cook for about 12 minutes. Uncover and check. If the mixture seems dry, add more coconut milk/cream. You don't want it at all soupy, just moist enough so that the greens are not sticking to the pan and can move around easily. Cover again and cook for an addition 10-12 minutes (depends how soft you like it). When cooked to your liking, add lime juice and adjust salt to taste. Stand at the stove and eat it straight from the pan or if you are sharing, divide it into two small bowls. Devour immediately.

Japanese Curry: My Ultimate Comfort Food

This month five years ago, Marc and I pulled into my brother's driveway here in Bellingham, our truck packed tightly with everything we thought necessary plus the poor dog who was allotted about one square foot of space for the 2,000-mile journey. All along the way, boxes kept falling down on his hairy head and not once did he complain.  

We had, after some deliberation, decided that this was the place where we were going to put down roots. Marc and I didn't know where we would exactly live in our new town, but a month later, after I'd started to settle into my private practice, we found a house next to the woods. We have been here since. 

Two or even three years in, there were moments where I would suddenly forget where I was. I would open my eyes in the morning, feeling disoriented at seeing the walls of a room other than those of our old bedroom in California. Or, I'd be driving along by the lake and take a turn, expecting to arrive somewhere in L.A. 

Somewhere in the middle of living my life, though, that unsettled feeling drifted away. It took a while. My former life in Southern California feels like a dream and now my roots reach down, firmly anchoring me to this place of clouds, rain and wetland woods. 

I don't miss the heat, the perpetual summer. What I miss most about my hometown is people -- friends I haven't seen in so long, family I no longer get to spend time with on a regular basis.

There are a few other things, like food, for instance. I know L.A. has changed so much since we left, and the food with it. Just today, I was listening to Evan Kleiman's Good Food on KCRW. She was talking about the rise of Latino coffee houses all over Southern California, including Tierra Mia a few blocks from my old high school. I hadn't heard anything about that before turning on the podcast.

When it comes to food and my hometown, I miss Little Tokyo, or J-Town most and the yummy stuff we'd regularly eat there. Like mochi and mochi ice cream from Mikawaya and warm red bean cakes from Mitsuru Cafe called imagawayaki (see video below) that are cooked in rows of copper pans.

Most of all, I miss our weekly, sometimes twice-weekly visits to the Curry House.

Have you ever had Japanese curry? It seems not that many people up here in our town, at least the ones I've talked to, know about it. In many American minds, Japanese food equals sushi and not curry. But in Japan, it's a comfort food cooked at home, one of those well-loved dishes where each family makes it their own way. Everyone loves it, kids included.

It's my ultimate comfort food.

Kare raisu, as it is known, falls into the category of yoshoku. This style of cooking takes Western ingredients and transforms them into something to suit Japanese tastes. Though most of us think of curry as an Indian spice, rather than something from the West, it's thought to have been introduced to Japan by the British. Hence, kare raisu's yoshoku status. At its most basic, kare raisu is a curry-flavored gravy with onions and may also contain beef, pork, chicken or veggies. As the raisu part of the name points out, it's typically served over rice. 

At Curry House, you can order your dish in many different ways. You can get a deep-fried meat cutlet over it, or a ground beef patty. You can have it topped with tofu or boiled egg. It's completely customizable.

Here's the version we cook in our house. It's the one we like and now eat at least once a week as we hold onto memories of friends, family and visiting our favorite place in Little Tokyo. 

Japanese Curry (Kare Raisu)

Adapted from Serious Eats.

Ingredients
For the roux:
2 tablespoons vegetable oil (such as sunflower), OR unsalted butter
1/4 cup rice flour (or all-purpose)
1 tablespoon hot curry
1 1/2 teaspoons mild curry
1 3/4 teaspoons garam masala
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1/4 teaspoon cayenne (use more if your prefer your curry more spicy)
1/2 teaspoon mild honey OR half a finely grated apple

For the curry
2 teaspoons vegetable oil
2 medium onions, halved then thinly sliced
4 carrots, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch chunks
4 cups vegetable broth
1 1/2 pound firm-fleshed potatoes (such as Yukon Gold), peeled and cut into 1/2-inch chunks
2 teaspoons salt
3/4 cup peas

Instructions
In a large, heavy-bottomed pot heat oil over medium heat. Add onions and saute until they turn golden and are just beginning to caramelize, 10-12 minutes. Add carrots, then vegetable broth. Bring to a boil then add potatoes and salt. Cover and simmer for about 30 minutes, until potatoes are tender.

In the meantime, make the roux. In a large saucepan or a wide skillet, heat oil. Add flour, both curry powders and garam masala. Stir for a minute or two, incorporating the ingredients together. Add Worcestershire sauce, tomato paste, cayenne and honey, stirring and pressing mixture together. You will have a dry paste. Turn off heat. Set aside.

Once your vegetables are done, ladle out about 2 cups of the liquid. Turn heat back to low for the roux. Add a small amount of liquid to the roux at a time, stirring after each addition, until all of the broth has been added.  You will have a very thick gravy. Add all of this back to the pot with the vegetables and stir gently, until a rich gravy develops. Add peas and allow to warm through. 

Serve over rice. I like my curry garnished with red pickled ginger (beni shoga). And here! Come watch how they make goza soroh (another name for imagawayaki). They are delicious!

Beef Short Rib and Kimchi Soup

Recently, a bronchial bug took hold of our household. We stayed in for days, glancing occasionally out the window as the cherry plum tree in our back yard slowly blossomed. At the beginning of the week, buds were visibly emerging from bare stems. Just four days later, the tree was filled in with blooms like a girl wearing hundreds of poofy pink bows in her hair, ready for a party.

Maybe it was the sight of the blossoms, or the appearance of blue skies two (two!) days in a row. Either way, we definitely started to feel more energetic. After lunch on the second day, we happened to look out the window to see a flash of bright yellow. Kingston immediately recognized it.

"Wood chipper!" He yelled running toward the door.

"Put on some shoes!" I shouted, "And a jacket!"

He stumbled over the piles of sneakers, boots and slippers in the front hallway and managed to shove his bare feet into a pair of snow boots. I hurled a jacket at him, and threw one on myself. Oh! And shoes. 

When we reach the cul-de-sac a minute later, we could see the city parks department guys already working, cutting off branches from a slightly tilted alder tree. One guy clutched a pole saw while the other worked from the high reaches of a cherry picker bucket. 

We watched from a safe distance and ended up staying for at least two hours, perched together on the edge of the curb. Kingston hardly took his eyes away from the whole operation while asking me question after question:

Q: "What that black thing on top of that part over there?" (Asked while pointing to the bright yellow woodchipping machine with the name "The Bandit" stenciled on its side.)
A: "Maybe that is part of the engine?" (Answered with a hopeful shrug.) 

I did my best, keeping in mind what I had once read in the Penelope Leach book, Your Baby and Child. There, Ms. Leach advises that if you don't know the answer to question, try to give one anyway. According to her, it isn't at all reassuring for a young child to hear an adult say, "I don't know." I don't doubt her one bit, as this definitely holds true for myself, an adult. When I have a question, I need answers!

While Kingston and I were still spectating though, one of the tree guys came over to tell us he was going to leave split firewood, cherry and alder, for anyone to take. Kingston declared that we should bring some home. By dinnertime, we had managed to move three Radio Flyer wagon loads up the hill. Then, with our hands, we reached into the wagon and plunked the wood down until we had a helter-skelter pile next to the house.

Hauling wood is tiring. It makes your arms and shoulders ache. It makes your belly rumble. So I was very glad that there was a pot of soup in the house, one I'd made over a couple of days. It is by no means an "authentic" or "traditional" Korean recipe, though the dish it might most be like is kimchi jigae. Rich and umani, this soup is neither too salty nor spicy, and is filled with fall-apart tender beef. It's fortifying and just right for the changing seasons, the return of health and hands on, spirit-lifting work. 

Beef Short Rib and Kimchi Soup
I like what Andy Ricker has to say about "authentic" and "traditional" foods in his Thai-centric cookbook, Pokpok: "The words imply an absolute cuisine...Both terms are nonsensical designations -- as if traditions are the same everywhere, as if they don't change, as if culinary ones don't evolve with particular speed." I wasn't trying for authenticity here. I just wanted to make some that's warming, soothing and super flavorful.

This is a weekend project type of recipe for most people, so do it a bit at a time. For example, cook the onions in the days prior, then the short ribs the day before, maybe squeezed in between other things you happen to be doing around the house. For me, this soup is easiest and most relaxing to make when I do it over a couple of days.

Adapted from thekitchn.com and Momofuku.

Serves 6.

Ingredients
3 large yellow onions, halved and thinly sliced
4 teaspoons neutral oil, divided
2 lbs. beef short ribs, bone in, English cut
8 cups beef broth, divided
6 cups kimchi, preferably napa cabbage or a mix of napa and daikon, roughly chopped
Couple handfuls of dried bonito flakes (katsuobushi)
3 tablespoons mirin, plus more to taste
3/4 cup sliced rice cakes
kosher salt, if needed
fresh black pepper, to taste

scallions, sliced on the diagonal, for garnish
julienned carrots, a couple of handfuls, for garnish

Instructions
For the short ribs:
Sprinkle short ribs with salt. Set aside. 

Heat a dutch oven or other large, lidded pot over a medium-high flame. Add 2 teaspoons oil then the sliced onions. Saute until they begin to soften then lower heat to medium-low, stirring every few minutes so that the onions don't burn. Continue cooking onions in this manner, lowering heat as needed, until they begin to caramelize, about 30 minutes. Remove onions from pot and set aside.

Turn heat to medium-high. Add another teaspoon of oil to pot. Sear the short ribs, allowing each side to brown before turning them using tongs. Once they are well-browned, about 15 minutes, return onions to pan and add 3 cups beef broth. Bring to boil then turn heat to very low, cover tightly and allow to simmer on stovetop for 2-3 hours, checking intermittently to make sure there is enough liquid so that it won't burn. Add broth as needed. You may alternatively cook this in a slow cooker for 8 hours on low. The meat on the ribs will be tender and gelatinous. Remove from bone and cut meat into bite-sized pieces. 

For the soup:
Heat a dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add the last teaspoon of oil. Add kimchi, black pepper and bonito flakes and saute until warmed through. Stir in mirin, remaining broth and any remaining juices from the kimchi. Add short ribs, along with the onions and any juices and broth left from cooking the meat. Heat until meat and broth are warmed through. At this point, taste and adjust seasonings. If the soup is overly spicy, you can add a bit more mirin to temper it. Adjust salt and pepper to taste. Once you've adjusted the seasoning to your liking, add the rice cakes to the soup. Cook until the rice cakes are warmed through. 

Ladle into soup bowls and garnish with scallions and carrots. Serve with cooked rice on the side. 

Everyday Kimchi & Lou Reed

“Looking for another chance
For someone else to be
Looking for another chance
To ride into the sun.”

— Lou Reed

I was stirring a cup of roughly chopped kimchi into a pan of sauteeing onions the other night when Lou Reed's "Ride Into the Sun" came blasting through the kitchen speakers. I couldn't remember the last time I had heard that song, but just as I was thinking this, a feeling of joy surged through me. I paused, holding my wooden spoon in mid-air.

It's always surprising when a strong emotion shows up unexpectedly during an otherwise mundane moment. You're just doing what you do, minding your own business. In my case, I was making dinner by myself while everyone else in the house was happily engaged in other activities.

The song itself reminded me of being young, discovering Lou Reed's music for the first time in the form of The Velvet Underground. I remembered listening to it at the age of fourteen and feeling then that somehow the world was suddenly different, I was different, and that my life would never be the same again. The things he wrote about! Drug use, addicts, Holly from Miami F-L-A who "plucked her eyebrows on the way/shaved her legs and then he was a she" -- people who lived on the margins of the margins of society. I was a Chinatown- and Chinese Baptist Church-raised girl, but somehow he spoke to me. 

Fourteen. It feels so profound and real, whatever you're feeling at that age. You're alive in a way that no one else is. You're convinced of this undeniable fact, certain that you are connected to the deepest, truest parts of yourself. You hear your favorite song, or one that has those lyrics that mean something, and you are rapt as you suddenly feel altered yet again...and forever. I made such feelings known to the world by way of the canvas bookbag I carried everywhere; I'd painted Lou Reed's face on it so that it covered the entire front flap. Stomped around in my Doc Martens.  

Perhaps that's what it was, the feeling that had appeared when I was tossing some kimchi into a frying pan that particular night: a deep sense of aliveness. It was as if a gap had opened up in the everyday which allowed the slender glimmer of another time to slide back into my momentary existence, just like that, before disappearing again. Such moments, nearly forgotten gifts of the past. 

But I started off talking about kimchi and cooking, didn't I? Well, let's talk about it then, shall we? I've posted about kimchi mac n' cheese and my family's kimchi pasta, but I've never posted an actual kimchi recipe. Well, that's being remedied here today. 

If you're not very familiar with kimchi, it is a staple of the Korean diet, which Lauryn Chun of Mother-In-Law Kimchi describes as "more than one type of recipe; it is one of the most versatile pickling techniques." Kimchi can be made using a wide range of vegetables, from napa cabbage and chives to bok choy and even butternut squash. Here in the West, the type we most often see is napa cabbage or daikon mixed with a seasoning paste containing salted shrimp or fish and red chili flakes.

This version makes a smallish amount, which is a good place to begin, is very easy and adds just the right bit of joy and aliveness to my life these days. Here it is, along with a bit of Lou Reed. 

Everyday Kimchi (Napa Cabbage and Daikon Radish)

Makes 3 pints

Adapted from The Kimchi Cookbook.

Tips: Use glass or ceramic bowls and containers for mixing and storing. Pack your vegetables very tightly. Keep out of sunlight. Resist the temptation to open the jar when you are initially fermenting this at room temperature. Opening it up will introduce oxygen which can promote the growth of mold. You'll be able to see some bubbling up, which means that things are happening. Also, note that the ambient temperature will affect the fermentation rate. Somewhere in the 65°F to 70°F range is ideal. If it's cooler than that, it will take slightly longer and if it is warmer it will ferment faster. At Momofuku, they put their kimchi straight into the refrigerator to ferment rather than leaving it at room temperature, so that's an option too. Just know that the fermentation process will take longer.

Ingredients
For the initial vegetable brine:
1 medium head napa cabbage (about 2-3 pounds), cut into 1 1/2" squares
1 medium daikon radish, cut in half lengthwise then sliced into pieces 1/8" thick
1/4 cup kosher salt

For the seasoning paste:
1/4 cup thinly sliced yellow onion
2 teaspoons minced garlic
1 teaspoon peeled, finely grated ginger
2 tablespoons anchovy sauce, such as Red Boat
1/2 small apple, peeled and grated
1/4 cup Korean chili pepper flakes (gochugaru)

2 green onions, green parts only, cut into 2-inch pieces
2 tablespoons water

Instructions
Set aside three clean glass pint jars. Mason jars work well.

Combine the cabbage and daikon with the salt in a large bowl. Set aside aside for about an hour. Drain the liquid. Rinse the vegetables to remove any residual salt. Drain in a colander for about 20 minutes. Alternatively, place the veggies in a salad spinner to remove extra water.

In a mini-chopper or blender pulse together yellow onion, garlic, ginger, anchovy sauce and apple. A paste will form. Transfer it to a bowl and add the chili pepper flakes, combining well. Allow mixture to sit for at least 15 minutes so that the flavors can come together.

In a large bowl, mix together seasoning paste, vegetables and green onions. Combine thoroughly, flipping the vegetables and seasoning paste around so that the paste is evenly distributed throughout. Pack as tightly as you can into the clean jars. Add the water to the bowl and swirl it around to collect any remaining seasoning paste. Pour this into the packed jars, dividing evenly. Cover the jars tightly. Place a tray or plates under the jars. The vegetables will expand as they ferment, which may cause an overflow of liquid.

From here, you can let the jars sit at room temperature for about three days before placing into the refrigerator. Or, place them directly into the refrigerator for a slower and longer fermentation process. Your kimchi can be eaten beginning in about 7 days if initially left at room temperature. I like it best at about 14 days. It's alive and will continue to age and ferment, changing in taste and texture. This is best eaten within 6 months.

From his 1972 album Lou Reed.

Asian Collard Wrap with Garlicky Pork

The sun came out today, but only briefly, shining bright and hard before the clouds raced to pull their gray curtain, heavy and damp, down to the ground. By lunchtime, perpetual twilight again prevailed. 

Yes, it's the January doldrums.

This is the time of year when I need inspiration and color from anywhere I can get it, especially in my food. A quick pickle of carrots and parsnips, though still wintry, reminds me of brighter days ahead. Freshness, spice and a bit of richness -- this wrap offers flavors we need to get through the gray days. So go make it.

While you're in the kitchen, you might want to consider cooking up some Doro Wat or Japanese curry from scratch (throw out those old MSG-laden cubes you got three years ago at the Asian market, please). I've been making plenty of both dishes, each of which are warming and thoroughly satisfying. They're relatively simple to make as well.  

I know many of you are working on your resolutions to eat better and be healthier right about now. Up here next to the woods, I've been focusing on my goal of learning how to bake bread using levain, basically a sourdough starter made with just flour, water and any wild yeast drawn from my kitchen, or even my hands as I mix together my ingredients.

It's been fascinating and exciting to learn the basic principles, with help from bread bakers like Josey Baker, Ken Forkish and Chad Robertson. This week I've been reading through the Tartine books and getting inspired. These books! They contain way more than just recipes. They embody the thinking behind ancient and healthful ways of creating bread that are completely relevant today. 

Whatever your resolutions and goals may be, don't let the January doldrums hold you back. Stay inspired by everything and keep moving ahead.

Asian Collard Wrap with Garlicky Pork
Adapted from Hot, Sour, Salty Sweet

Serves 3-4

Ingredients
For the meatballs:
1 pound ground pork
1/4 cup minced shallots
1/4 cup minced garlic
2 tablespoons fish sauce
1 teaspoon honey
1 teaspoon sriracha
2 teaspoons potato starch
Generous grinding of black pepper
neutral oil, such as sunflower

For the quick pickle:
2 carrots, peeled and shredded
1 parsnip, peeled and shredded
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
3 teaspoons coconut sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt

For the spicy mayo:
1/4 cup mayonaise
2 teaspoons hot sauce, such as sriracha

1 bunch collard greens

Instructions
Preheat oven to 350°F. 

In a small bowl, whisk together rice vinegar, sugar and salt. Add carrots and parsnips and toss to combine. Set aside.

In a large bowl, gently combine pork, shallots, garlic, fish sauce, honey, sriracha, potato starch and black pepper. Form into 1" balls or small patties. Arrange on baking sheet and place in refrigerator for at least 30 minutes. 

Meanwhile, using a paring knife, remove tough stems from the collard leaves, making sure to keep the leaves otherwise as intact as possible. Set aside prepared leaves.

Add enough oil to a skillet to cover the bottom and set over medium-high heat. Add meatballs, flipping and turning as needed until they start to brown, about five minutes. Cook in batches if necessary to prevent crowding. When browned, transfer meatballs onto a rimmed baking sheet and place in oven for ten more minutes to finish cooking through.

For the spicy mayo, in a small bowl, whisk together mayonaise and hot sauce. 

To assemble the wrap, drain pickled vegetables. Lay a collard leaf down on a work surface, tucking together the parts where the stem was removed. Place a portion of the pickled vegetables on the leaf. Drizzle with spicy mayo and lay a row of meatballs on top. Roll, tucking in ends of leaf. Serve alone as an appetizer or with steamed rice, for a light meal.