Soup Weather

It has rained everyday this week and even the early blooming cherry trees, so vibrant not too long ago in the unseasonably warm weather, droop down as if ashamed to have burst into life too soon.  Nevertheless, I am not letting the storms keep me indoors. I still go to yoga everyday, meet girlfriends for lunch and to wander around Clement Street hunting for donabe pots and silkie chicken, and head out to my favorite cafe in the Fillmore district to work on my novel. One of the blessing of rain and wind is the chance to feel cozy in winter wear and to walk into the Grove, glance thankfully at the fireplace and those hovered around it with laptops and newspapers, then breathe in the spicy warmth of fresh-made hot apple cider.  

Soup is on my mind.  Last night's oven-braised short ribs (with wild mushrooms, fresh oregano, canned San Marzano tomatoes and Prather Ranch ground beef) that I used as sauce for bucatini pasta, will be skimmed of extra fat and re-repurposed tonight as some type of soupy stew made with collard greens and soaked crusty Italian bread.  To counter the richness of the soup, I found beautiful butter lettuce, thin-skinned baby red potatoes and blue lake green beans from my corner organic green grocer, Village Market,  that I will combine with nicoise olives and imported Italian tuna for a salad nicoise. The dressing will be made from Dijon mustard, macerated garlic, lemon juice, olive oil and patis, a staple of the Philippine pantry and is the equivalent of other fish sauce from  Vietnam and Thailand. Patis is my substitute for anchovies and will add that pungent, salt component to cut through the heat of mustard and raw garlic and acidity from the lemon juice. Salad dressing made from scratch is always a delicate balance of flavors.

Tomorrow I plan to make ginataan, a warm Filipino dessert soup made with coconut milk, cassava, yams, plantains, mochi balls and palm sugar. This is labor intensive and it is at times like this that I wished I lived in a household much like my mother used to run in Manila, lively with her sisters, relatives and our maids, so many extra hands to form the mochi balls, peel the cassava, dice the yams, grate the fresh coconut and squeeze it out of cheesecloth for kakang gata, that first and ultra rich yield of pure coconut milk.

But for tonight there is an equally comforting soup to make for my own household for two. My husband will come home from the stormy weather to an apartment made warm and fragrant will the scent of homemade soup.

Soul Food

2011 so far has been a year of transformation and letting go.  Re-establishing a consistent meditation and yoga practice have been key, as well as making incremental modifications to how I eat and what I cook.  Beyond the initial rush of a new year's resolution, I feel like the lifestyle changes I have adopted will slowly but surely will lead to optimal health.


My husband and I now start our day with a green smoothie made with organic produce. I do my daily meditation after drinking this slightly sweet and refreshing drink. The emerald green color is nice and gives one a sense of wellness just by looking at it.


Below is the very simple recipe and a few helpful notes:


Green Smoothie ala Mom (kudos to her for this recipe)


Ingredients:
1 bunch kale ( organic dinosaur or Russian, leaves trimmed from the ribs and roughly shredded)
1 Fuji apple (core and quartered)
1 banana
1 cup water (more if a more liquid consistency is desired)


Method:
1. Start by putting the apple and half a cup of water in the blender in Grind mode.
2. Add kale in handfuls, careful not to clog up the blender. Add more water as needed.
3. Add the banana at the very end.


About two hours after the power liquid breakfast, I head out to take my vinyasa yoga flow class. The green smoothie has replaced coffee for that morning pick me up and I believe has led to more energy and focus in an often times vigorous and physically challenging yoga practice.


I am adding this to my definition of soul food: simple, nourishing both for the body and spirit. Of course, having candied yams and fried chicken or pork belly and roasted bone marrow, when done mindfully and in moderation, are soulful in their own delicious and decadent ways.


Here's to a new year of good food and mindful eating.

Lobster Sotanghon with King Trumpet Mushrooms and Fried Garlic chips

This is a dish that my mother made up during one her visits to San Francisco.  She loves to shop at the Asian grocery stores on Clement Street and is always lauding about how much fresher and cheaper all the produce, meats and seafood are compared to Los Angeles.  During one particular visit when I got home from work she seemed particularly thrilled with that day's shopping. "Look, I got this lobster for half the price of a live one.  It is still fresh and would be perfect for.." and her voice trails away, a dreamy look softening her features.  "Lobster sotanghon!"  

My version uses a slightly different cooking technique for the lobster foie gras, which is the best way I can describe those yummy edibles found in the lobster head.  In a wok I heat up olive oil where I saute about three clove of garlic with baby celery, then add the lobster foie gras which takes on a nice almost translucent jade quality.  I reserve this then add the mushrooms.  King trumpets seem to have a lot of liquid and when sauteed in the same pan, a type of creamy gravy develops after only a few minutes.  

In a seperate pot (I prefer using a dutch oven)  I make a broth from sauteed shallots, a whole head of crushed garlic and the chopped lobster (shells and all) which I fry up before adding water.  I am careful not to overcook the lobster meat but at the same time, extract as much flavor from the shells to enrichen the broth. I remove the lobster and add the broth to the wok with the sauteed mushrooms. I season to taste with a little fish sauce, sea salt and pepper.  Turning up the heat, I add sotanghon noodles as the broth comes to a rapid boil.  I mix in the reserved lobster foie gras when the noodles are half cooked along with chopped baby ong choi (with the yellow flowers) and the lobster meat and shells.

Arranging the lobster artfully on the platter with fried garlic chips elevates an everyday noodle dish.  The sotanghon swells with the essence of the lobster broth, the mushrooms absorb the flavor of the fried lobster foie gras and mimics the mouth feel of the lobster meat itself.  A squeeze of lemon adds freshness.  Filipinos typically eat noodles with a little bit of rice.  The sotanghon is so flavorful that in this case, rice is recommended.

Black Kale and Shrimp Pasta a la Insomnia

When I called my mother at 3am somehow she didn't seemed that surprised to hear from me.  She is familiar with my quarterly bouts with insomnia and for some reason, I had a feeling she would be lucid enough and wouldn't be that annoyed by my after-midnight ramblings.  I convince her to drop everything and help me get my house in order, in the practical and spiritual sense.  She is in the middle of planting anthuriums and peonies, weeding her herb garden and picking vegetable seeds, but she says that her plants can survive for five days without her close tending.  I tell that those plants will be just fine, and for a bit of drama, it is I who will wilt if she doesn't fly out to San Francisco. Is tonight too soon? I love that my mother appreciates impromptu plans. I tell her that I haven't had a proper start to the New Year.  What would set me on the right track would be her ruthless organizing principles and take no prisoners approach to uncluttering our apartment.  It will feel like the New Year, lunar or otherwise, as soon as she her plane lands tonight and we go straight to my kitchen to prepare a healthy meal.  Everything begins with food. She is bringing black kale from the Torrance Farmer's Market.  I will buy fresh shrimps, lemons and good pasta.

My husband has come out of the bedroom and is pleading with me to join him even for just a few hours. It is 5am and we get ready for work soon. I will force myself to wind down so that I can get through the rest of the day. 

Living "A Moveable Feast" in Paris

My husband and I arrived from Paris late last night. It is early afternoon in San Francisco and the fog bank has not lifted at all in the Inner Richmond. The sun barely penetrates the slate grey sky. A cold wind dances in the tree tops just outside my window. A perfect day to stay indoors listening to Billie Holiday, sipping ginger peach tea and writing. It is late evening in Paris and I wonder if it remains as sultry as it had the been the past few nights we had spent there roaming around the Left Bank and Montmartre.

Autumn started to creep in yesterday on our last morning. It was finally cool enough for a trench coat and scarf as we made our way to a patisserie in Saint Germain des Pres for freshly baked croissants, past the cafes that were just starting to open and little shops with beautiful merchandise displayed in the windows. Down by the Seine we found ourselves alone on that little ship shaped island jutting out from under the Pont Neuf. The leaves of the horse chestnut trees and elms by the river have started to turn. A few golden and orange leaves were on the path leading down to the water. We sat at the concrete prow under the lamp post and the still lush weeping willow tree, watching barges and passenger boats cruise by. Hemingway wrote about this part of the river as being a popular fishing spot in "A Moveable Feast". I picked up a copy at Shakespeare and Company and wanted to pay homage to Papa Hemingway by having breakfast in that very same spot before we catch a plane home to San Francisco, quietly watching the city wake up, very much feeling how he felt when he wrote "I've seen you, Beauty.. You belong to me and all Paris belongs to me and I belong to this notebook and this pencil."

This trip to Paris to celebrate our one year wedding anniversary has not only brought me closer to my husband and cement our shared passion for Art, Beauty and of course, good food and wine, but also to myself as a writer. Reading Hemingway is instructive because he chronicles in particular his process, how he knows that past a certain point in writing he has captured that elusive thing and that he can stop, feel good about having done good work, confident that the next day he can continue again. The people he surrounds himself with and are shaped by, the meals and wines he consumes to fuel his writing, and the role of hunger as a way to see Art more clearly. I love how he writes about going to see a Cezanne painting after skipping a meal and how much more connected he felt to the work on an empty stomach. But when he writes about food later on, it is in the vein of one who really does enjoy the simple pleasures of mopping up olive oil in his potato dish with bread, loving the dish so much that he orders a second serving.

I cannot write about Paris without writing about what we ate. This really is the heart of my food blog. But I will not do this all at once. Like one who has harvested the fruits of autumn for a cold winter ahead, I will be frugal and hold out on writing about them. Like Hemingway I will remain just a little bit hungry to sharpen the memory of those meals and what they meant as an experience shared with my husband who has brought me to Paris a second time. This amazing man who proposed to me at Pont Neuf two years ago and this year went out his way to give us the gift of our favorite city to mark the passing of our one year as married couple. Paris belongs to us, and we belong to each other.

The Alchemy of Pancit Palabok

I made my first attempt at creating pancit palabok yesterday. Yes, “create”, not merely “cook”, is the correct way to describe how to prepare this alchemy of tubular rice noodles under a blanket of ground pork in a velvety sauce of achuete water and corn starch, topped with fried tofu, crushed chicharon, scallions, tinapa flakes, sliced boiled eggs, and poached shrimp. Served on the side are halved kalamansi limes to temper the richness with refreshing acidity and patis to play up the salt factor.

Pancit palabok can either be sublime when done right or be close to inedible due to incorrect preparation or if left to congeal on the plate by an inattentive diner. The right type of noodle is critical, as well as the addition of flaked tinapa which I found is the true heart of this dish. Reconstituted dried shrimp will do in a pinch, but seek out tinapa flakes or smoked trout it you can. And for a truly elevated experience, next time I will not only make my own sauce from scratch instead of using the packaged kind, but will also swap out saffron for the achuete seeds. Perhaps also play with the different thickening agents. Cornstarch is suitable, but what about ground rice flour made from toasting then hand grinding uncooked rice? Or maybe starting the sauce with a blonde roux instead? The same techniques that my Mom uses to make her kare kare sauce can be employed, but with much less butter and sans peanuts.

Truth be told this was an infuriating dish to make. I literally screamed at one point during the cooking process due to the ruined batch of noodles. Then there was the disappointment of finding out how slimy the reconstitutued salted croaker fish had become, a completely unsuitable substitute for the tinapa flakes. I had all four gas burners on at the same time, and a kitchen sink full of utensils, bowls and pots as the aftermath. This dish is no joke. It suffers no fools and will not wait. Five minutes after it is served it turns sullen, the otherwise wonderful sauce would have congealed, the rice noodles stick together, and the first bite will be savory paste and not that amazing silken experience of noodle, sauce and garnish married as one.

This is a dish that is best served to one who anticipates it, stomach growling, as my husband did yesterday afternoon when we spent our last day of the long weekend relaxing at home instead of venturing out to BBQs and Labor Day sales. In our sunny kitchen while he booked our flight to Paris for our upcoming one year wedding anniversary, I spent two hours dreamily re-reading the recipe from “Memories of Philippine Kitchen”, with visions of myself at Cendrillon in NYC getting coached by the authors of the cookbook. Reality set in as soon as I put my third pot on the stove: this was not a simple matter of whipping up a tried and true dish. I was in unknown territory: preparing, cooking, soaking dried croacker fish only to discard it, soaking dried shrimp as a Plan B, cursing at the ruined noodles, making a new batch, frying up squares of tofu and garlic, chopping scallions, grinding chicharon with mortar and pestle, and finally, hours later, assembling then serving the pancit palabok as our late lunch/merienda (Lurienda? Is this the next wave of in between meals, where instead of meeting for brunch one can issue a more provocative invitation for Lurienda?)

Was it worth the effort? An entire afternoon for what is essentially considered snack food, slurped down during long bus trips from Baguio to Manila, in a motel/restaurant in Pampanga famous for its pancit palabok, or in Carson at a Filipino buffet place with terrible food save for that one specialty? This highly caloric ode to salt, carb and fat, with more ingredients than can be counted with both hands? To a true enthusiast it is worth it. Was I happy with the final result yesterday? Not really. My husband who loves everything I make loved it, but I ate the pancit palabok with little joy, already dreaming up ways to improve the dish. But later on as I swiped an errant tofu along the bottom of the pot, I though, ok, not bad for a first try. No recipe to share this time because it still eludes me, the flavors and textures have not truly come together on that first attempt. Like an expensive purse just slightly out of my price range I consider pancit palabok aspirational cuisine, one that I will research, recreate and tweak until it becomes my own.

Sabel in San Francisco

I am still jet-lagged after flying in yesterday from the Philippines via Hong Kong. In the cubicle world once more I am planning tonight's dinner. Something for the weary traveller who goes straight to the office with no rest, something soothing and delicious without being too complicated. Something that a tired wife who must go home after a full's day of work can easily prepare for her husband who will be working late tonight. Something that feeds the soul set free, the heart that has broken wide open from three weeks of travel up and down the Philippine archipelago, a dish that celebrates Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao: wild as the fern salad with organic field greens from Ben Cab's Sabel Cafe in Benguet. Bitter as the seed of lanzones I accidentally bit into while riding the Victory Liner bus from Manila to Baguio, hands sticky from peeling my favorite fruit. Sweetish as the giant taclobo clams we saw while snorkeling in the Coral Gardens of Hundred islands. Salty as the same said ocean waters. Sour as the sinigang made with batuan served to us at a sea side restaurant in Iloilo. Savory as the pancit Molo made by our family's cook in La Paz. Sweet as marang from the night fruits stalls of Magsaysay in Davao City. Nuanced as durian, a truly indescribable taste, one that gets lost in translation.

I know that this is an impossible dish to make, a clash of flavors that cannot be swallowed in one sitting. It is the taste of homesickness for what I left behind in Inang Bayan. It is the tang of sadness from the passing of a national icon the day that I also leave Inang Bayan, my Dad and I silently crying together in the car on the way to airport while listening to the radio announcing the death of former Philippine President Cory Aquino. It is the reheated leftovers of What Could Have Been but Isn't. It is the just picked freshness of what is and will continue to Evolve and Become. It is not a dish best served cold; it is fragrant steaming hot and sticks to the bone, a bowlful of forgiveness and redemption.

But back to practical matters: I will go to Molly Stones after work for sushi-grade white tuna and make Davao-style kilawin, with lemons, Thai bird chilis, cucumbers and radish. I will fry up some of the dried squid from Iloilo that passed customs yesterday. And I will make pinakbet the way Mom makes it, Ilokano style with a lot of bitter ampalaya. And when we drink water after the meal it will taste sweet.