gansie - - Page 43

by gansie

Should You Let Slimy Greens Slither Away

I wasn’t kidding when I said I was stalling on my way back to the kitchen. I’ve been home more than a week and have been in the kitchen maybe three times. I’m starting slowly.

I was away at Maids’ wedding the first weekend we were back and I refused to go real food shopping until I could make it to the farmers market on the next Saturday. I was freaking craving eggs, but I wanted to wait to buy them there. So I had to figure out how to create something to eat with almost nothing.

Gazpacho a la Leftovers

Luckily, my work catered (actually Couscous Cafe catered) a lunch meeting and there were leftovers. A co-worker let me steal a bag with a dressed-salad mix (romaine, feta, olives, carrot shreds, onion, tomato), another bag with a veggie salad (chunks of tomato, cucumbers, onion and parsley dressed in vinegar and oil) and another bag of pita triangles.

80 and I tore through part of the salad as a side for leftover pizza, but I just wasn’t sure how to make the rest into a meal the next day. Ah! I’ll buzz it!

in Veggie 2 comments

by gansie

Stalling On the Way to the Kitchen

In case you haven’t noticed, 80 and I took a two week vacation to Japan and Korea. In those glorious days of no work I didn’t cook a damn thing. In fact, it shocked me how much I didn’t miss the kitchen.

But now we’re back. I spend my days tapping on slate colored keys, knowing exactly what I’m doing and where I’ll be. I no longer need Lonely Planet guiding my days. Outlook dominates my hours once again.

Because I must get back into, well, being back, I bought something that would force me into the kitchen, but also force me to experiment with the flavors I found so delicious. I bought a big tub of miso paste. (Actually, it’s the only thing in my fridge at the moment.)

I’ve never played with miso paste before, but I have a feeling I’ll be able to find a billion uses for it. At this point, though, I’m very unclear on what those uses are.

Before we left for vacation, 80’s mom sent me Japanese Food and Cooking by Emi Kazuko and Yasuko Fukuoka, to prepare me for the craziness ahead. I’ve spied a few recipes I’m excited to mess around with—Fried Aubergine with Miso Sauce, Pot-Cooked Udon in Miso Soup (with a broth-poached egg!), Broccoli (stem only) and Cucumber Pickled in Miso—but I also want to try a clean miso soup. If anyone knows where I can find: dried wakame, second dashi stock, shichimi togarashi or sansho – let me know!

And if you have other, less terrifying miso included recipes, comment here please.

in Food Travel 11 comments

by gansie

There Are Eyes in My Miso

There are fucking fish everywhere. At my last meal in Japan at the Narita airport I knew that I had to ask if the vegetable udon soup was vegetarian, because there’d be a good chance it wasn’t. It could easily contain slices of pork, but this soup instead was based in a fish stock. That just wouldn’t happen in the United States. A menu reads vegetable soup, it’s made with vegetable stock.

I still was shocked, however, to see these dark, circular eyes peering out from my miso soup. It’s not that I overlook miso in the US, I just don’t think much of it.

Broth is always rewarding, so warm and comforting. But when I’m on a sushi bender, I’m concentrating on the raw fish, not the accompaniment (although sometimes tempura battered vegetables steal some of my attention0n.) In Japan, though, broth is the first thought. So even while I’m letting tuna melt on my tongue, the salty liquid is on my mind. Not because I don’t want to choke on prawn’s head, but because of the dimensions of this not so simple side soup.

by gansie

Patrons Shouldn’t Have This Much Power

Tiring of kimchi, the fiery fermented cabbage side dish that is served at every single meal in Korea, we decided to try another cuisine on one of our last nights in Seoul. We thought Thai would be a good choice: how does one Asian country create another Asian country’s food?

Dilemma ensued. When trying something familiar in a new setting, does one (a) choose something they’ve never had before, something one cannot get in her country of dwelling or (b) choose a favorite dish to see how it differs? I choose (a) and 80 choose (b).

At Pattaya I didn’t love my super spicy (did they sneak kimchi in there!) vegetable-packed noodle dish (the fettuccine looking noodles were flavorless, which is an uncommon occurrence compared to the rest of my meals in Japan and Korea), but 80’s red curry was creamy with an appropriate amount of heat. I should have went with my fav, Pad See Ew!

Because we took such a long time deciding, the waitress dropped off our drinks (Soju!) and then never came back for the rest of the order. It was late and all of the other tables had eaten, which we found to be the case most nights. We didn’t find a place for dinner until after 8:30 or later and I think every night we were the last to order. Guess they haven’t been to Barcelona.

Anyway, we were waiting and waiting and then I see this granite looking block on our table. It’s not a salt shaker. It has Korean writing on it and then says the word “Mic” over a button.

Are we mic-ed? Can they hear our conversation about the slow service? Should we push the button?

in Food Travel / Restaurants / Trends 1 comments

by gansie

Real Convenience at a Convenience Store

Before our train ride from Tokyo to Osaka, 80 and I went to am pm (convenience store) to stock up on some snacks. I bought this, thinking it was a hard boiled egg, but also slightly hoping it was gushy in the middle, a la the picture.

So after I ate my little rice triangle thing (also bought at am pm), which is sticky rice, formed into a triangle, topped with a cooked piece of salmon and tied together with seaweed, I pulled out my egg. It was rock hard and I was scared. I didn’t want raw egg to get everywhere so I placed it back into its package, waiting to explore it in a safer environment.

It made sense that it was a raw egg. Lots of places in Japan serve hot rice dishes with a raw egg on the side. The customer cracks it into the rice and the heat from the grains melts the egg, leaving a moist coating over the egg and its toppings (usually thinly sliced beef.)

I was pisted I didn’t buy the accompanying rice bowl to properly use the egg.

The egg stayed in our mini-fridge until our train ride back to Tokyo station, to connect to the train to the airport, to connect to the flight to Seoul. Right before we left I brought the egg to the bathroom sink.

in Eggs / Food Travel 2 comments

by gansie

The Louder the Better

“Put down your plate,” my Aunt Lorrie whispers through laughter. She had taken me—and me alone, not my brother and my sister—to IHOP. I forget why I was singled out, but I felt special.

This was during the early years of my decade-long pancake obsession (from about age 6-16) and after the last of the pancake was in me, I slanted the plate toward my face and started to lick the remaining syrup.

This was clearly not appropriate in a Southern Jersey restaurant. Okay, no jokes. In any US restaurant. We just don’t show that sort of oneness with our food.

It’s probably from our stuffy British ancestors. But in America we have certain stoic standards of eating. Plates and bowls are kept on the table. No noises should utter from our mouths, except maybe a soft mmmm.

Being a dramatic type, I will show my appreciation through an extended closing of the eyes so that I may tune out the rest of the table to fully concentrate on the bite within me. I may utter a slightly-louder-than-normal mmmm. But that’s all. That’s all we do to communicate deliciousness. Well, and tip. But that’s another story.

Meanwhile, in Japan they’ve realized eating is a full-body sport. Chopsticks become an extension of the hand in a way that sharp metal objects cannot. It is fully expected that when eating one will bring a bowl of rice or noodles up to her face. Shoveling in rice. Slurping up noodle soup.

in Eggs / Food Travel / Veggie 3 comments

by gansie

A Second Round of Heart

So Im in Osaka and I cant find the apostrophe on the keyboard so just go with it. I will tell you a quick story before we start our day here.

It was our first night in Japan. Tokyo. Fourteen fucking hour plane ride. We find the hotel, which is of course a story itself, quickly pull ourselves together and walk around our tiny section of Shinjuko. Its a maze of restaurants and bars with very little English signage.

We circle the area about six times, too scared to walk in anywhere. There are no other tourists in this area. We have not heard a lick of English. But we smell deliciousness all around and are ready to wash away the processed plane food.

We walk into a long narrow place with about 15 tables. The 20-something-year-old cooks greet us with wide smiles and something in Japanese. We smile. Show two fingers (as in there are two of us) and we are brought to a high-top.

When the waitress arrives the best we can do is bring our hands, in a cup shape to our mouth, and pretend we are drinking. We say beer. It works. We are brought out two drafts and are given menus. Everything is in Japanese. I look and laugh. 80 laughs.

We try to order and Im not even sure what we say. We just kinda giggle and our 20-something waitress with thick fake eyelashes and a scrounge in her hair giggles back. She walks away and 80 and I are like – what the fuck do we do. Fuck.

in Food Travel / Pig 9 comments

« Previous