Off the Turkey Path: Panch Phoran Roasted Chicken

I spotted frozen Butterball turkeys at our supermarket and only the fact that my oven is just a glorified toaster kept me from hauling one home for Thanksgiving. Instead, as Mr. Noodle and I give thanks on this holiday for the many blessings in our lives, we'll recall with fond nostalgia the many enormous roasted poultry of bygone feasts.

Remembrances of Turkeys Past

Wild Turkey
Panicked and confused
You ran in front of us on the trail
Distressed by the aura of less fortunate fellow fowl
Thanksgiving meals past
Clinging to us
Like Marley's chains. 

Brined Turkey
Succulent and moist
You were the best of them all
Immersed in salted spiced water per Alice Waters
Thanksgiving in Minnesota
Reminding us
Of family ties. 

Fried Turkey
Crisp and juicy
You were too dangerous to make
Submerged in a gallon of bubbling hot oil
Thanksgiving in the Carolinas
Tempting us
To risk third-degree burns. 

Porky Turkey
Tender and smoky
You were falling off the bone
Blanketed with bacon strips to keep you basted
Thanksgiving in LA
Providing us
With time to bond. 

Outsourced Turkey
Tasty and lazy
You simultaneously cost and saved a lot
Purchased along with fixins' from Whole Foods Market
Thanksgiving in Urban-Suburbia
Releasing us
From kitchen captivity. 

Desiccated Turkey
Dry and stringy
You tasted like cranberry-sauced cottonballs
Disguised as meat but in truth synthetic upholstery
Thanksgiving subpar
Parching us
With your absorbency.

Undercooked Turkey
Merciless and raw
You got revenge from beyond the gravy
Consumed at lunch and reappearing before dinner
Thanksgiving best forgotten
Purging us
Of all appetite for the rest of the day. 

Wild Turkey
Skittish and distressed
You were safe from us on that day
Amused by your antics and enthralled by autumn
Thanksgiving meals yet to come
Freeing us
To explore off the turkey path.

Bacon'd Turkey

A Tale of Two Birds and Five Spices

Thanks to my small oven and the paucity (and exorbitant price) of turkeys here in the Philippines, Mr. Noodle and I are not likely to enjoy a whole roasted turkey anytime soon. While this year is not the first time I've bypassed a big bird in favor of smaller poultry, it's a challenge to find new ways of preparing plain old chicken.

So, when I came across a fabulous-sounding recipe featuring an unfamiliar spice blend called panch phoron*, I ripped it out of my sister's magazine and tucked it away for just such a Thanksgiving Day.

Also known as Bengali five-spice, this whole seed mixture of nigella, fenugreek, cumin, fennel and black mustard is most commonly used in Bangladeshi, Bengali and other Eastern Indian cuisines. Although it is available in ground form, panch phoron is best when the intact seeds are first fried in ghee (clarified butter) or cooking oil until they pop and release their distinct flavors, after which remaining ingredients are added. It is a versatile blend used not only on poultry, meat and fish, but also vegetables, lentils and bread.

Bengali five-spice is readily available in Indian and South Asian markets, but it is also quite easy to make yourself. Simply combine equal parts of the aforementioned spices (be sure they are untoasted and whole) and store in an airtight container in a cool, dry spot.

(*Also spelled phoran or puran)

Bengali Five-Spice Roasted Chicken
from Sunset magazine

This dish had a surprisingly toasty, buttery flavor reminiscent of popcorn. It may be an odd descriptor but it was quite delicious. The yogurt marinade reduces to a nicely thick, mild-flavored sauce for the roasted potatoes and vegetables.

Speaking of flavor, a comment left on the recipe page complained of the marinade's bitter taste, leading the user to abandon the recipe completely! Perhaps she should have had more faith in the instructions, which called for at least two hours (ideally overnight) of marinating. This allows the flavors of the spices and yogurt to blend and be absorbed by the chicken and vegetables. Roasting further gentles the taste, resulting in a mild flavor with a hint of sweet spice.

My own deviation from the recipe came at the oven temperature and cooking time, and it was by fluke rather than deliberation. Mr. Noodle had an important Skype call that evening and I worried about setting off the too-sensitive [ahem] smoke detector. So, I lowered the temperature to 350˚F, even though I would have to cook it longer and forego a crisp, roasted texture.

Even at this lower temperature, however, the chicken browned very quickly, necessitating a tinfoil blanket to keep it from burning entirely. Aside from that and an additional 15 to 20 minutes of cooking time, the dish came out as well as I hoped and received Mr. Noodle's enthusiastic approval.

Click here for the complete recipe.

Ingredients

Vegetable oil
Panch phoron
Bay leaves
Grated fresh ginger
Minced garlic
Ground coriander
Kosher salt
Plain whole-milk yogurt
Bone-in chicken leg quarters
Bell peppers & carrots
Potatoes

Fry panch phoron in a skillet or frying pan until seeds pop, then reduce heat and add bay leaves, ginger, garlic, coriander and salt. Sauté until fragrant, then remove from heat and let cool. Add yogurt and blend well; let marinade cool.

In a large bow or sealable plastic bag, combine chicken, chopped peppers and carrots and cooled marinade, making sure to coat well. Refrigerate at least two hours or overnight.

Layer a baking dish with potato chunks and arrange chicken mixture on top. Bake at 450˚F (see my note above) until chicken is cooked through, potatoes and other veg are tender and all are pleasantly browned.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

The Invalid's Breakfast: Ginger-Scented Brown Rice Porridge

How easy is it to make oatmeal?

If you can boil water, you can make it. Heck, if you can tear open a pouch, pour the contents into a bowl, mix it with water and pop it into a microwave oven, you'll quickly have some creamy cooked oats. The only thing difficult about making oatmeal is imagining how someone could possibly make a hash of it. Until someone does.

Please, Sir, I [Don't] Want Some More

As a recent guest ('patient' inaccurately describes my antsy, get-me-the-hell-outta-here state) in one of the Philippines' most modern hospitals, I wasn't expecting to feast like a princess. But neither did I anticipate being fed like a Dickensian pauper, which is how I felt when the cover was lifted off my first breakfast tray.

There, in a pink plastic bowl, was my oatmeal - or something scurrilously appropriating that name. Desultory oats swam in a slurry as thin as bath water and looking just as appetizing. Needing more than the single packet of sugar provided to add flavor, I was tempted to invoke a nuclear option and dump an entire pouch of 3-in-1 instant coffee into the sullen mess. Surely, this was the bowl that put the 'eww' in gruel.

To blame my breakfast in bleh on bad cooking would imply a one-off event and the promise of later improvement, neither of which applied in these circumstances. This gloop went beyond bad cooking and straight into the dark realm of un-cooking: a deliberate act of cookery that strips food of every molecule of taste, texture and appeal, and renders it a joyless blob of alimentation in the names of efficiency and operational costs. This was the poster dish of Institutional Cooking.

[A Tangled definition]
/in-stee-too-shu-nal koo-keeng/: Daily preparation of limited dishes for large numbers of diners in one location, e.g schools, airplanes. A common denominator is a captive audience - students, travelers, prisoners, patients, etc., - who have few to zero alternative choices. The cost of meals is usually part of room and board, e.g. dormitory meal plans, taxpayer-funded incarceration...

As a relatively easy-going eater, I've found that not all institutional cooking is such a soul-wrenching experience. I can't speak to the offerings at correctional facilities, but I've had some satisfying meals at all levels of school cafeteria and I cheerfully, even enthusiastically, accept my tray of airplane food, especially on those fortunate occasions when Mr. Noodle and I have traveled in Business Class on trans-Pacific flights. The in-flight meals during these voyages were actually quite pleasant:

In Good Health

Judging from my medical center meals, however, it seems that hospitals need to play catch-up to provide food that would enliven, rather than dampen, their customers' patients' appetites. One dubious yet lucrative strategy has been to allow casual and fast food restaurants to operate on the premises. Recognizing the incongruity of such a partnership, other institutions have turned to innovative options to address the nutritional, cultural and morale-boosting importance of serving good, healthy food.

In 2011, The Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, New York introduced a Foodservice Management in Health Care elective - the first such course offered by any culinary program with an aim toward balancing food quality and nutrition with budgetary constraints in healthcare settings. Students spend time at local hospitals' food services as part of the class in hopes of merging culinary creativity with operational efficiency to provide the kind of food that patients should and want to eat.

Healthcare facilities from Ohio to O'ahu are installing rooftop farms, complete with apiaries and chicken coops alongside vegetable plots, to provide fresh, local and organic ingredients for their menus. Among the most notable is the garden atop Hennepin County Medical Center in Minneapolis, which sets aside a section to grow the essential herbs for traditional post-partum meals served to Hmong mothers, in keeping with that community's tightly-held customs.

In addition to providing healthy ingredients for their in-patient meals, these hospital 'green roofs' also offer environmental benefits such as regulating building temperatures and thereby lowering heating and cooling costs, and filtering airborne pollutants. And in a neat twist, hospitals, schools and other large organizations involved with institutional cooking are turning food waste into plant food with specialized pulper systems that grind and dehydrate leftovers into compost for use on their own grounds.

My Two Centavos…

While I hope to avoid any future hospital stays, I'm happy to learn that healthcare institutions are taking these steps to improve the quality of their food. As anyone who has been admitted into hospital care may attest, it is at the very least an anxious and uncomfortable time. The well-being of mind is closely connected to the recuperation of body, especially when it is away from the comforts of home. Food plays an important role in bolstering both physical and emotional strength. Bland offerings, like my watery oatmeal, do little to encourage eating for a return to good health in the very place where healing is paramount.

The medical care and personal interaction I received during my hospitalization were excellent. Now, if only they would take a wee bit of advice about their breakfasts from a food blogger with some time on her hands as she mends at home…

Ginger-Scented Brown Rice Breakfast Porridge

Aside from a surprisingly decent plate of inasal (marinated and grilled) chicken, my recent hospital meals were unremarkable. But I was particularly disappointed by the oatmeal, which is one of my favorite foods. As soon as I felt well enough to stand by the stove, I decided to make the kind of breakfast that I wish had been served - creamy, tasty and easy to make.

Instead of oats, I turned to my rice, my ultimate comfort food; specifically, I chose starchy short-grain rice, which cooks up stickier than long-grain and is therefore ideal for a creamy porridge. For flavor, I used ground ginger, which has always soothed whatever ailed me, and muscovado sugar, which lends a mocha tint and a less sweet but more caramel-like taste than white sugar. Finally, I topped the porridge with grated Asian pear tossed with calamansi juice for a contrasting crisp texture and a hint of bright citrus.

Makes 2-4 servings

Ingredients

1 cup cooked short-grain brown rice (approximately ⅓ cup uncooked)
1 cup whole milk
½ teaspoon ground ginger
3 tablespoons muscovado sugar + extra for sprinkling
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 pear, grated or shredded
1 teaspoon calamansi or lime juice
Crème fraîche, heavy cream or plain yogurt (optional)

In a small saucepan over medium- high heat, combine cooked brown rice, milk, ginger and sugar. Bring to a very low boil and cook, stirring often to avoid burning or sticking to the bottom, for 10 to 15 minutes or until the porridge is creamy. Remove from heat and stir in vanilla, then set aside to cool a bit.

In a separate bowl, toss shredded pear with calamansi juice. Drizzle a tablespoon of crème fraîche, cream or yogurt over the porridge, garnish with citrus-y pear and sprinkle with muscovado sugar.

'Tis the Season: Christmas in September and a Casserole

It was still only a skeleton of metal hoops and poles, but the cone shape was unmistakable. The mall Christmas tree was going up... in September.

This will be our fourth Yuletide in the Philippines, but Mr. Noodle and I are still surprised when festive decorations start popping up so early in the year like mushrooms after a spring rain. It's not far off the mark: Christmas and its attendant decking of halls begin just as the monsoon season, called Hanging [pronounced HA-ngeen] Habagat, winds down and the country starts wringing itself dry in preparation for a four month-long holiday.

This period, known as the -ber months, takes its name from the suffix shared by the last four months of the year, but to my ears, it sounds a lot like a wintry shiver. Brrrr - baby, it's cold out there!

I wish.

Four is Twice as Fun as Two

In this part of the world, 'four seasons' is a hotel.

When the only seasons are 'rainy' and 'not rainy' (also known as Hanging Amihan), fluctuations in temperatures that help signal the progression of time are slight. So, the months tumble into each other, composed of days that vary only by the intensity of the sun or the force of the rain. Missing are the segues between seasons that we experienced living in Minnesota, when other cues beyond a calendar told us it was time to bundle up in sweaters and fleece-lined boots, or strip down to swimsuits and flip-flops.

Most of the time, seasonal signals came from the digital thermometer that hung just outside our kitchen window and whose readout went from blistering three digits to bone-chilling negative numbers in the course of a year. During the winter, I would groggily peer at it in the dim light of dawn, as the coffee maker hissed and gurgled away, promising a bit of warmth to start the frigid day.

Other times, the markers were the foliage and flora surrounding our house, such as the tender green buds that seemingly appeared overnight on our copper chokecherry tree during spring. I would often gaze at the dainty branches through the window of my study, daydreaming when I should have been studying or writing or cleaning. But who could work when the sun beckoned outdoors?

In the summer, it was the grass that needed to be cut every weekend; the weeds that needed pulling every day; and the Pupster who looked forward to an hour-long walk down the bike path every morning, sniffing at spots where deer had stopped to graze, and chasing after squirrels who chittered tauntingly once they reached the sanctuary of some tree.

Autumn was heralded by summer's last hurrah at the Minnesota State Fair, by the start of classes, and by the fiery foliage that exploded along the Twin Cities' avenues and along the trails that edged the shores of the Chain of Lakes.

That Was Then, This Is Now

Now, as I hurry along a Makati sidewalk in a cotton sundress and favorite sandals, wishing I'd also worn a hat against the bright sunlight, I'm stopped in my tracks by the sight of a giant Christmas tree being assembled. I'm taken aback not just because it's only the first week of September; it's also the sudden realization that two-thirds of the year has passed and I hardly noticed.

The palm trees didn't turn red, gold and orange, and shed their fronds to form a carpet of leaves below; raindrops didn't turn into crystalline shapes that fluttered down to cover the ground in pure white. There were no vegetables to be harvested one last time before Mr. Noodle can pull out weeds and old stems to prepare the garden for next spring.

There have been many happy changes for us since moving here, but a part of me wishes the seasons were still one of them.

Zucchini-Tomato Casserole
(reprinted with permission from Cocoon v4.no2)

Mr. Noodle's pride and joy back in Minnesota were the two garden plots he tended in our backyard. He grew sunflowers, cucumbers, peppers, lettuce, onions and cantaloupe, but his biggest successes were tomatoes and zucchini. In fact, I didn't realize how prolific one zuke plant could be. It seemed as if there were full-sized squash that needed to be picked every day; otherwise, they kept growing until some were the length and circumference of my arm! Throughout the summer, I chopped and grated endless zucchini for a meal or to freeze for use over the winter. Of all the combination of vegetables, these two will always remind me of the transition from summer to autumn in Minnesota.

I put together this zucchini and tomato casserole for my first freelance article about cooking for two, published in lifestyle and interior design magazine Cocoon. 

This recipe fits a 4.5”x7” casserole.

Ingredients:

6-8 baguette slices, ½” thick

Olive oil

½ cup shredded mozzarella, divided

¼ cup grated Parmesan cheese, divided

1 small zucchini

3 plum or Roma tomatoes

1 small red onion

2-3 teaspoons dried herbs such as oregano, basil, rosemary, thyme

To make:

Preheat oven to 175°C/350°F.

Place the baguette slices on a small cookie sheet, brush with olive oil and sprinkle with a bit of salt. Toast in the oven until just lightly golden. When done, brush the bottom of a small casserole dish with olive oil then arrange the toasted baguettes in one layer. Sprinkle with ¼ cup mozzarella and half of the Parmesan cheese. Set aside.

Using a mandoline, slice zucchini, tomatoes and onion to 1/8” thickness. If using a knife and cutting board, slice as thinly as manageable. Place zucchini slices in a small bowl, add 1 tablespoon of olive oil and a dash of salt, and toss to coat.

Alternating between the zucchini, tomato and onion, arrange the slices over the baguettes so that the vegetables overlap each other. Brush or drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with coarse salt. Spread remaining mozzarella and Parmesan evenly over the vegetables then sprinkle with dried herbs.

Bake in the oven for approximately 25-30 minutes or until cheese is golden and bubbly. When done, remove from oven and let sit for about 5 minutes before serving.

Off the Shelf: Hometown Appetites

Clementine Paddleford is not a name you'll often hear and that's a crying shame.

The woman to whom this singular moniker belonged did as much for food journalism as M.F.K. Fisher, James Beard, Craig Claiborne and Elizabeth Craig, and yet she remains in relative obscurity compared to her famous contemporaries, despite being declared the 'Best-Known Food Editor' by Time magazine in 1953 and reaching 12 million readers each week. Thankfully, the story of who she was, what she did and what her work means to food writing today has been deftly told in Hometown Appetites by food writer Kelly Alexander and manuscript archivist Cynthia Harris.

In the book's foreword, former Saveur editor-in-chief Colman Andrews recalled how he gave Alexander, then an editor at the magazine, the greenlight for a feature on Paddleford, based solely on his trust of the former's skill and story instincts. About her proposed subject, he frankly admitted he knew next to nothing. That a man as authoritative about food culture as Andrews had only a vague recollection of her is a good indication of how little-known Paddleford is in the current world of food writing on which she had such a profound, albeit forgotten, influence.

Alexander subsequently turned her James Beard award-winning Saveur article into a full-length book, published in 2008, with the help of an amazing collection of articles, manuscripts, correspondence, sundry notes and nearly 2,000 cookbooks bequeathed by Paddleford to her alma mater at Kansas State University and curated by co-author Harris. With such a wealth of primary source material, a complete picture of the woman and writer was formed.

"Good food is good food wherever you find it." -- Clementine Paddleford

Paddleford was born in turn-of-the-20th-century Kansas, the third child of a farmer turned grocer and a former teacher. By the time she was in her mid-teens, she was already a keen reporter for the local newspaper in Manhattan, KS - a neat bit of prescience of the place where her career would ultimately reach its pinnacle. Her life's work ranged from her first writing gigs at The Collegian at KSU and local newspapers, to freelancing for farm and agricultural periodicals, to regular features at Gourmet magazine and, finally, as food editor at The New York Herald Tribune from 1936 until it folded in 1966.

In between, Paddleford was a liberated woman long before the women's liberation movement burned its first bra. She flew around the country and the world for her stories, then learned how to fly herself. She married her college sweetheart, but kept it a secret until they divorced 9 years later; Alexander writes that Clementine considered a wedded status to be a career disadvantage. She never gave birth, but she took in her best friend's orphaned daughter to raise as her own. And she beat horrible medical odds when she was diagnosed with throat cancer at the age of thirty-three years. Paddleford underwent surgery that left her with a hole in her throat, requiring her to breathe and speak through a sterling silver tracheotomy tube for the rest of her life, but she survived.

During her prolific decades, she would write about American regional cookery as no one had done before her.  Instead of simply offering up a list of ingredients and instructions on how to cook them, Paddleford told stories - about who made these recipes, where they came from and why they came to be. She wrote about how local specialties played a role during the 1940 Republican National Convention in Philadelphia, and chronicled the foodways onboard a Navy submarine. Best of all, she told the stories of ordinary women cooking in ordinary kitchens.

"There was no model for [her] type of story - food tied to cultural happenings, history intermingled with recipes... By treating food as an important part of world-influencing events, Paddleford was elevating its cultural significance..."¹

Alexander shares so many interesting tales from her vast cache of papers that it is dizzying. Providing a bit of breathing space are recipes gathered by Paddleford during her travels throughout America. Although she never considered herself a gourmet chef, she had a keen eye for dishes that resonated with readers. By the mid-50s, Clementine was considered such an authority on food that she became the subject of newspaper and magazine articles herself.

In 1960, Paddleford published How America Eats, a compilation of stories and recipes chronicling exactly what the title implies. But as unfair as Fate can be, it was just a year later that both Craig Claiborne, her younger competitor at the New York Times, and Julia Child released their own seminal works: The New York Times Cookbook and Mastering the Art of French Cooking, respectively². Coupled with the decline of the Herald Tribune, which shut down its presses the year before she passed away, Paddleford's fade into the background of American food writing was looming.

My Kind of Writer

Alexander and Harris have done a wonderful turn for those of us who enjoy and aspire to food writing by wrestling Paddleford's prolific written legacy into a cohesive biography - a semi-autobiography, really, that allows her voice to come through clearly. It was that literary voice that resonated with me: Paddleford's flowery prose, which some found to be a bit too rich ("We made fun of her writing... we laughed because a lot of it was overdrawn," Alexander quoted a former colleague³), is one that I favor myself and one that hopefully stems from genuine enthusiasm about the subject rather than a lack of writing sophistication. It was the style, as Alexander puts it, of "...[an] expert writer who understood the magical way in which good food transforms ordinary mealtimes."⁴

Other food writers can only hope to achieve that same understanding.

Footnotes:
1. Alexander, Kelly and Cynthia Harris. Hometown Appetites. Gotham Books: New York, 2008. p106
2. Apple, R.W. "A Life in the Culinary Front Lines" The New York Times online.
3. Alexander, 162
4. Ibid., 208

Souffléd Macaroni and Cheese

According to Kelly Alexander, this is just the kind of "unglamorous" recipe that Clementine Paddleford loved to feature - dishes to which her readers could relate and want to make. At least, that's how I felt when reading the recipe. Making it was as easy as mac'n'cheese should be, but the addition of egg yolks and beaten egg whites gave it an airy richness, just as it's name suggests.

I would have provided the recipe here, except that I received conflicting replies from the publisher to my request for permission (one email gave the go-ahead, followed by another asking me to essentially jump through hoops). Fortunately, you can find the complete recipe posted online at Gourmet here.

Ingredients:

Scalded whole milk
Soft bread crumbs
Grated cheddar cheese
Cooked macaroni
Eggs, separated
Diced pimientos
Chopped parsley
Grated onion
Salt
Butter

To Make:

Pour hot milk over bread crumbs and stir in cheese. Set aside until cheese melts, then add macaroni. Add remaining ingredients except egg whites, which should be beaten until stiff, then folded into the mixture last. Pour into a greased casserole and bake for 35 minutes.

Unstuck: Template and Palate Revived

Bang Bang Chicken

I finally managed to pull myself out of a rut.

Actually, it was two ruts, when the first instance occurred with such force that it created momentum for a second.

It began nearly 5 months ago with a dégustation at Sichuan Cuisine Da Ping Huo, one of the better known of Hong Kong's 'private kitchens' - amorphous limited-seating restaurants in all but name and official license. We were in town on Mr. Noodle's business and the invitation came from his colleague Gary C., a former HK resident who enjoys good food and interesting dining experiences (is there any other kind of HK resident, past or present?)

I readily admit to being less than enthused at the prospect of eating Sichuan. Hot spice and I do not get along very well, ever since early childhood when my parents successfully cured me of a thumbsucking habit by smearing labuyo (chili) on my pudgy little fingers. I stopped using the digits as binkies, but I also developed a decided aversion to anything remotely hot on the tongue, including whole cuisines deemed 'spicy'. What little I knew about Sichuan placed it firmly in this category.

Figuring I could get away with ordering some inoffensive stir-fry, I gamely followed the hubs and his co-workers to a non-descript doorway on Hollywood Road. Inside, the dining room was softly-lit with white-clothed tables of different sizes to accommodate varying numbers of diners, stark black and white artwork on the walls, and bright hued fish swimming within shallow earthenware bowls atop pedestals.

There's a private kitchen here somewhere...

The 10-course meal that followed as soon as we were seated revealed just how much I've missed by avoiding this particular cuisine for so long. The subsequent flavors and attendant sensations ran the gamut from tingly to numbing to scorching, but each was deliciously enjoyable:

Appetizers

*Spicy pickled carrots, Chinese lettuce and bean sprouts were crunchy and flavorful, but the cucumbers in black vinegar were excellent - tangy, salty and just a bit sweet .*

*Soya beans and wide glass noodles in a spicy, sour sauce.*

*Main Courses*

*Braised chicken with Sichuan spices in hot chili oil*

It's name did not bode well for my heat-averse palate, but surprise of surprises: served at room temperature, this dish made my lips tingled with each bite.

*Soup of sautéed assorted mushrooms and white cabbage with minced chicken*

A bowl of this essence of chicken soup  brought my tastebuds back to neutral.

*Stewed beef brisket and tendons in spicy gravy*

The red lantern chilis bobbing in the bowl of thick gravy nearly scared me off, but having worked up the nerve to try a taste, I was hooked: a cascade of heat began at the back of the throat and gradually spread toward my lips with a sharp yet not unbearable burn.

*Steamed pork ribs with jenrofen powder*

This mild-flavored dish once again restored the tongue to normalcy.

*Braised diced bean curd with minced beef in hot chili sauce*

Also known as mapo tofu, this is the kind of dish that likely helped to earn Sichuan cuisine its flaming reputation. It was incinerate-the-tastebuds-and-hope-they-grow-back-someday HOT.

*Vegetable soup with pea sprouts*

Vaguely reminiscent of fresh, grassy flavors, a bowl of this soup provided a tasty coating of fire-retarding relief to the palate after the mapo tofu.

*Sichuan dumplings*

My barely legible scribble on the menu reads "(Chicken?)" I don't know what kind of meat was used as the filling, but the skin was marvelously soft-chewy to the bite and was coated in a sweetish, smoky and mildly spicy sauce.

*Dessert*

*Sweetened bean curd with white fungus*

Capping off our meal, this dessert was pleasant but neither particularly memorable nor my favorite of the evening. Thankfully, the preceding courses were so enjoyable that they overshadowed this minor disappointment as a last impression.

At the end of our dinner, the proprietress Mrs. Wong performed a traditional piece of Chinese opera for her guests - a melodic finish to a thoroughly enjoyable evening.

*Apologies for the lack of images for these last dishes. The photos taken were spectacularly unremarkable.*


Lesson Learned

I'm not one to do restaurant reviews - quite frankly, I'm too focused on eating to jot down tasting notes. Even if I were to do so, said notes would likely read along the unhelpful lines of "This is good", "I like this one" or simply *smiley face*. If you would like to read more detailed assessments of Da Ping Huo, a simple Google search for blog reviews yields a good number of blog reviews.

The lesson I took away from our dégustation at Da Ping Hua was straightforward: Sichuan is indeed spicy, but it isn't strictly synonymous with 'burning', as I had long assumed. I now know that Sichuan cuisine represents an enlivening taste experience that deserves further exploration, not continued aversion.

This realization of how much I've missed by wallowing only in blandness, I looked around to see in which other tarpit of meh I've been thoroughly mired and came face to face with my blog. For nearly four years, Tangled Noodle has played it safe with the same tired look, like an aging dowd clinging to the outdated style of her youthful glory years. It's high time for a makeover.

Inspired by our Sichuan dégustation, I've adopted for my update Da Ping Huo's clean lines and  stark palette of black and white accentuated by splashes of bright colors. The actual content of my blog will largely remain the same (i.e. long expositions on whatever food topic catches my fancy), but I do hope to post more often than once a month (as constantly promised but never quite fulfilled).

I hope you'll enjoy the new look!

Da Ping Huo 

L/G Hilltop Plaza

49 Hollywood Road

Central, Hong Kong

Tel: 2359 1317

Sichuan peppers

Chicky Chicky Bang Bang

In recognition of the inspiration for this blog update, I chose as my first dish a coolly piquant salad called Bang Bang Chicken. Though it sounds like a made-up name for a recipe of dubious Chinese origin served in some kitschy Chinese restaurant that also hashes out chow mein noodles from a can, this dish is honest-to-goodness Sichuan!

According to cookbook author Clifford A. Wright, Bang Bang Chicken (bang ji si) was first prepared in a town just south of Sichuan provincial and culinary capital Chengdu. However, the origin of its name is not easily pegged, with one explanation stating that it's an onomatopoeia for the sound of chicken meat being pounded as it's being tenderized¹ (in which case, it could also be called 'Thud Squish Chicken' - at least to my ears).

Another source asserts that it is named for a heavy stick or rod called bang, which is used to beat the aforementioned protein². For such a relatively simple recipe, Bang Bang Chicken certainly has more than its share of aliases, including the cognates bon bon, pon pon and pang pang³, and the cause for pause moniker Strange Flavor Chicken⁴.

There's nothing strange about its flavor - this Bang Bang Chicken is a refreshing dish of cucumbers and chicken topped with a nutty sauce spiked with Sichuan pepper. Unlike chili peppers, which are categorized as capsicum and contain capsaicin, the chemical compound responsible for the familiar (and, in my case, dreaded) burning sensation when consumed, Sichuan pepper is the dried fruit of a tree in the citrus family. As such, it is often described as having a lemon-like flavor and has a tingly, numbing effect on the mouth and tongue (a condition generally and rather alarmingly known as paresthesia), thanks to the compound hydroxy alpha sanshool. But don't worry: the effects are benign and short-lived yet quite pleasant.

Footnotes:

1. Wright, Clifford A. Some Like It Hot: Spicy Favorites from the World's Hot Zones. (Boston: Harvard Common Press, 2005), 66.
2. Tate, Mary Kate and Tate. Feeding the Dragon: A Culinary Travelogue through China with Recipes (Kansas City: Andrews McMeel, 2011), 207.
3. Daish, Lois. "Cool Chicken". New Zealand Listener (online). Nov 19, 2005.
4. Dunlop, Fuschia. Land of Plenty: A Treasury of Authentic Sichuan Cooking (2003). Cited by Wright 66.


Bang Bang Chicken
(recipe adapted from The Food of Asia by Lynn Lewis)

Ingredients:

2 medium cucumbers, sliced thinly crosswise
1 tsp salt
1 small carrot, julienned lengthwise
1/2 lb (250g) cooked chicken breast, cooled and shredded

Dressing:

2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 tsps ginger paste
2 Tbsps sesame paste
1 Tbsp rice wine vinegar
2 Tbsps apple cider vinegar
2 tsps granulated sugar
2 Tbsps chicken broth
2 Tsps soy sauce
1/2 tsp Sichuan peppers + extra
1/2 tsp black sesame seeds

To prepare:

Place sliced cucumbers in a colander, sprinkle and toss with salt, then set aside for about 20 minutes.

In a small bowl, whisk together all ingredients (except sesame seeds) until combined. In another bowl, toss shredded chicken with dressing, one tablespoon at a time, until just coated.

Drain cucumbers and gently squeeze the slices to remove excess moisture. On a small platter or plate, arrange the cucumber slices to make a bed for the chicken. Cover with chicken, pour remaining dress over and garnish with julienned carrots, black sesame seeds and extra Sichuan peppers.

Serve cool or at room temperature.

Return of the Blog

White Chocolate Cashew Cookies

Hello?

[Sweeps away cobwebs and thick layer of dust.]

Anyone still here?

[Pauses, listening for a reply.]

So sorry for taking off like that...

[Wobbles from percussive echo of sheer emptiness.] 

It's just that I've been a bit busy, writing for magazines and stuff. Woo-hoo...

[Crickets...]

So, now I'm back and planning to post new content very soon. Really.

[...]

How about a cookie while you wait?




White Chocolate Cashew Cookies

Time flies when you're working on deadlines. It's been months since my last post and my only excuses are fortunate circumstances: I've recently been contributing regularly to several publications here in Manila! I hope to share some of these articles as I finally get around to the long-planned revamp of this site. In the meantime, here's a treat to tide you over.

Ingredients

1 1/3 cups all purpose flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup butter, softened
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 egg
1 1/2 tsps vanilla extract
2-3 ounces white chocolate chips
3/4 cups toasted cashews, coarsely chopped

To make:

Preheat oven to 300F/150C. Line cookie sheets with parchment paper.

Sift together flour, baking powder and salt, and set aside. In a separate bowl, cream butter and sugar. Beat in egg and vanilla until blended. Fold in flour mixture until just combined. Stir in chocolate chips and nuts until evenly blended into cookie dough.

Drop by tablespoons onto cookie sheets and bake for 9 to 12 minutes (or until cookies are lightly golden on the bottom).

House Specialty: Chicken Ovary Adobo

Adobong Bahay Itlog ng Manok

Cow's tongue and beef tripe? Yes and yes.
Pig's face, intestines and blood? Mm-hmm, uh-huh and yup.
Chicken feet, gizzards and ovaries? Check, check and triple che-- say what?

I am not put off by offal. In fact, some of my favorite meals are made of 'nasty bits': I love lengua (tongue) in tacos and estofado (Sp. 'stew'), while tripe is tops in callos a la Madrileña and Mexican menudo¹. Mr. Noodle and I enjoy dinuguan (pork blood stew) and papaitan (goat bile soup) in all their gamey, slightly spicy, chock-full-of-intestines-and-who-knows-what-else glory. Even the Pupster gets his fair share - whenever there's lechon at a family gathering, my relatives know to set aside the ears and tail just for him.

Poultrywise, Mr. Noodle is particularly fond of chicken gizzards, especially the sweetish, smoky inasal (barbecue) skewers from Salcedo Saturday Market that have supplanted my stir-fried recipe as his current favorite. As for me, I've been known to inhale braised chicken feet doused in tausi (fermented black beans) sauce, heartily feast on grilled hearts and nibble unflinchingly on stewed cockscomb. There's not much from a chicken that I haven't tried... or so I thought.

During a recent Salcedo market run, I spotted several bags of what appeared to be separated egg yolks displayed alongside freshly butchered chickens. When I wondered aloud why anyone would sell sacks of already cracked eggs, my mother's amused look was tinged with dismay at having produced such an ignorant child. "Those are bahay itlog," she clarified. "They're chicken ovaries."



A Sack of Egg Sacs

Literally translated as 'egg house', bahay itlog is the part of a hen's reproductive organs from which a chicken egg starts its development. The orangeish balls in those bags were indeed yolks but at the pre-insemination stage, before the albumen (egg white) and shell form around them just prior to laying. Seeing the visceral strands of pearl-like spheres varying in size from peas to ping pong balls brought to mind fluffy, chirpy chicks that would never be. I recoiled in universal female empathy; sure, I've eaten balut, but this was... different. For the first time, I understood why some guys wince at the thought of eating Rocky Mountain oysters.

However, my curiosity proved stronger than my sense of interspecies sisterhood and repulsion quickly turned into fascination. I had never seen or heard of chicken ovary dishes before, much less tasted them. According to my mother, bahay itlog is considered quite the delicacy. She recalled how they were prepared only on those occasions when the family cook purchased a laying hen² by chance and discovered the egg sac as the old bird was being readied for the pot. As it turns out, what's good for the chicken is good for its ovaries, too - the unlaid eggs were (and still are) commonly added to simmering chicken adobo.

The Multicultural Ovum

Of course, Filipinos are not the only ones who appreciate the tasty qualities of immature ova. A 2007 New York Times article, "What the Egg Was First", described how Dan Barber, executive chef and co-owner of Blue Hill Farm and restaurants in New York and Connecticut, began experimenting with innovative ways to incorporate unlaid eggs into the menu. His recipes were new but their main ingredient was long familiar to staff and colleagues from such varied cultural backgrounds as Dominican, Goan and Alsatian. In the latter two, the not-quite-eggs were simmered (in curry and soup, respectively), a favored way of cooking them in other cuisines as well.

Never been laid...

In Jewish cookery, bahay itlog are known as eyerlekh (or ayelach, 'little eggs' in Yiddish) and are added to classic chicken soup; they are similarly found in traditional recipes for Portuguese canja de galinha (chicken broth) and Vietnamese pho ga (chicken and rice noodle soup). Proving to be culinary contrarians, the Japanese prefer their ovaries served as a type of yakitori (grilled skewered chicken) called kinkan, which is also the word for the kumquat fruit they so closely resemble. Here in the Philippines, adding them to chicken adobo is the most popular preparation - keeping it in the family, as it were.

Not one to pass up an opportunity to try something new, I bought a bag of bahay itlog, muttered an apology to all reproductive females in the universe, and headed home to expand my culinary horizon another nasty bit more.

Notes

1. As opposed to Filipino menudo, which uses primarily pork meat.

2. It's very unlikely that you'll find butchered hens with ovaries intact at the supermarket. Instead, talk to your local butcher or poultry farmer about procuring them fresh.

Adobong Bahay Itlog ng Manok 
(Chicken Ovary Adobo)

My mother cautioned against refrigerating bahay itlog and insisted they be cooked immediately. I couldn't find any information online to support or disprove her advice about storing them, but it was just as well to take full advantage of absolutely fresh ingredients. Besides, family members (*ahem* Mr. Noodle) may not appreciate opening the fridge to find a bag of reproductive organs just sitting there beside the Greek yogurt.

Most of what I've read about the texture of cooked unlaid eggs describe them as either creamy and velvety, or chewier than a rubber ball. With a recipe like adobo for which a long, slow simmer is ideal, achieving the former is a matter of timing that may be difficult to hit, while risking the latter by overcooking the eggs is a definite possibility. My compromise was to add the yolks toward the end of cooking and watch them diligently, rather than leave the pot to simmer at leisure as I would normally do for adobo. Thankfully, I managed to produce balls of mildly yolk-y flavor, a consistency closer to that of hard-boiled egg white and the appearance of plump kumquats, as Japanese yakitori-lovers had astutely observed.

I'm happy to say that the dish was quite satisfactory over all and even earned my mother's proud approval. Not an ignorant child after all...


Ingredients

2 cups of bahay itlog, yolks separated from membranes and gently rinsed (I'm not sure how many separate ovaries were in the bag I purchased, but this was my yield.)

2 Tbsps canola oil, divided
1 lb (500g) boneless chicken thighs
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 small red onion, sliced thinly
1/2 tsp ground black pepper
1 Tbsp brown sugar
1/4 cup cane or apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup soy sauce
1 bay leaf

1. In a large pot or Dutch oven, heat 1 Tbsp of oil over medium-high heat and brown chicken pieces, then remove and set aside;
2. Add another 1 Tbsp of oil and sauté garlic and onion until soft and fragrant. Return chicken pieces to pot and toss to mix;
3. Add all of the remaining ingredients and bring to a slow boil, then reduce heat to low. Cover and let simmer for 20-30 minutes or until chicken is cooked;
4. While still simmering, gently add the bahay itlog to the pot, but do not stir immediately to prevent them from breaking. Cover and continue simmering for another 7-10 minutes, until the yolks start to cook;
5. Uncover and very, very gently, start tossing the mixture so that the yolks are in the sauce. You can also ladle the cooking liquid over the eggs to help them along. As the yolks cook, they will turn a lighter, more opaque yellow and will feel more firm.
6. Test one egg to make sure it's done, then remove from heat and let sit for a few minutes before serving. Served with steamed rice.

As with all adobos, this recipe benefits from being served a day or two after cooking. Just be sure to allow it to cool completely before storing in the refrigerator, then heating it back up slowly to avoid drying out or overcooking the meat and eggs.

Do you know of other recipes for chicken ovaries? If so, please share!

Lamb, Lentils and Moriones: Easter in Marinduque

Braised Lamb Shank with Lentils

It's no Easter Parade.

At the stroke of midnight, Mr. Noodle and I will join the annual paschal exodus from Metro Manila to the outlying provinces, beginning with 2-hour drive to the port Lucena in Quezon province. From there, we'll board a ferry, colloquially known as a RoRo (as in, 'roll on, roll off') for a relatively short cruise to the island province of Marinduque. It may not be the Queen Elizabeth 2, but it beats an actual row boat, which might have been our only other option, thanks to my incorrigibly procrastinating ways.

Still calibrated to the American holidays of Thanksgiving and Christmas as the travel periods to avoid, the husband and I nonchalantly delayed purchasing our airfare until they were nearly sold out. We managed to score return tickets, but were left scrambling for alternative arrangements for the first leg of our trip; hence, a 2-hour ferry ride in the wee morning hours during which one of us must remain awake to guard our luggage and the precious bag of Crunchy Cheetos substituting for our traditional travel snack of Pepperidge Farm Goldfish crackers.

It's not all that bad, really. Although the seats are of the moulded-plastic variety, onboard concessionaires offer mostly hard-boiled eggs and instant noodle cups, and the condition of the restrooms can quickly deteriorate, the ship is clean, spacious and steady for the most part. When we arrive at the Port of Balanacan, I hope to see the towering figure of the Virgin Mary that welcomes ships to the harbor illuminated by the morning sun.

Virgin Mary at Balanacan Port, Marinduque

Mr. Noodle and I will celebrate Easter with my family in Mogpog, the birthplace of the Moriones Festival. This colorful, interactive weeklong celebration commemorates the story of Saint Longinus, the Roman soldier who pierced a crucified Jesus' side with a spear and whose blind eye was subsequently cured by a drop of Christ's blood. This story and that of the Morions - the anonymous local residents who dress up in colorful masks and costumes depicting Roman centurions - are often overshadowed by the more sensational (and bloody) Eastertide re-enactments of the Crucifixion and processions of penitent flagellants, complete with whippings and nailings to crosses.

Famously fierce faces of the Moriones Festival

In Marinduque, each city or town has its own Moriones with 'soldiers' stalking the streets in search of naughty children to scare straight. Their wood-carved visages painted in fierce scowls and frightening snarls have become icons for travel and tourism campaigns, but there's more to these morions than scary masks. Residents volunteer to portray morions as part of penance, in prayer for a personal cause or as an expression of gratitude for their blessings, but their commitment can last for a decade or longer. Instead of angry faces, these morions often have a serene expression; rather than helmets crested with feathers or a brush of stiff hairs, theirs are adorned with flowers representing each year of their commitment, to be removed one by one.

Mogpog Morions

And then there is the Good Friday procession during which flower-bedecked carozas (Sp. carroza='float') bearing tableaus of various saints wend their way from the local church through the town's streets. The care and attention devoted to these displays are evident in the smallest details, from the figures' life-like expressions to their ornate costumes. Even in a small town like Mogpog, this procession is a sight to behold. These are the images and icons of Easter in Marinduque that I would encourage anyone to experience for themselves.

Procession of ornate carozas

Breaking the Lenten Fast

I have previously observed that there is no signature Easter food in the Philippines. If anything could be considered a hallmark, it would be the presence of copious protein (especially of the porcine persuasion) after a long Lenten period of fasting and abstinence from meat. Otherwise, the festive meal is much as it would be for other celebrations - lechon, in particular, and whatever dishes are family favorites. Before Mr. Noodle and I indulge in just such a meal this coming Sunday, I prepared a dish that would be familiar to many Easter Sunday tables on the other side of the globe - tender lamb braised then baked with savory lentils.

Braised Lamb Shanks with Lentils

This dish is found in the 2008 reprint of James Beard's The Fireside Cook Book (first published in 1949) and it couldn't have been easier to make. Unfortunately, the recipe is not available online and I do not have permission to reprint in its entirety. Instead, allow me to share the ingredients and general procedure, then encourage you to consider adding the book to your own collection.

Ingredients

Lamb shanks
Butter or olive oil
Salt
Pepper
Garlic
Fresh thyme
Water or broth
Quick-cooking lentils
Onion
Cloves
Bay leaf

To make:

The lamb shanks are first seared in butter or olive oil, then seasoned with salt and pepper. In a large Dutch oven, place lamb shanks and add garlic, thyme and water or broth. Cover and simmer.

Wash lentils, removing any stones or broken pieces, then place in a saucepan and add water to cover. Add clove-studded onion, bay leaf, garlic and salt. Simmer until lentils are just cooked. Spread lentils in a casserole and place the shanks on top, adding the cooking liquid from both the lentils and lamb. Bake in the oven for a half hour until the lamb is tender and fully cooked.

Happy Easter to All!