Category Archives: Food

The kitchen day started in decidedly inauspicious fashion. After loosely reading of some online hoax of hard-boiling an egg in the microwave, I decided to try it, figuring that it couldn’t explode in thirty or forty seconds, the prescribed length to make it happen. And for that first attempt, it did not explode. In fact, as I peeled it open, it hadn’t even cooked anything other than the shell, and the raw egg spilled into the garbage, where it belonged. Undaunted – an attitude that I made a promise to hold throughout whatever happened in the kitchen that day – I tried again, popping another egg into a bowl and covering it with a paper towel. Yes, a paper towel. And just a paper towel. Since thirty seconds didn’t do anything the first time, I let it whirl for a full minute. 

And in the event that anyone was contemplating this, don’t: an egg will explode in the microwave in less than sixty seconds. Somewhere around the 45 second mark, a muted explosion startled me from my motions by the oven. I knew what had happened instantly and was afraid to look. Andy, somehow, hadn’t been signaled by the noise, as I peeked in to see him watching television, unaffected. Once I got most of the mess cleaned up, I yelled in to him that it wasn’t possible to hardball an egg in the microwave, just so he knew. 

“You’re kidding me, right?” he asked. 

“No, you really can’t. It doesn’t work. It exploded.”

And then Andy exploded in laughter.

Luckily, I didn’t need a hard-boiled egg for the ensaymada recipe I had planned on making. While Suzie has been nudging me to try baking some buns, such as the exquisite lemon cardamom buns she made for a brunch many moons ago, I’ve usually shied away from it (except in this one surprisingly successful instance). The idea of dough – and the rising and cutting and rolling out of said dough – frightened me. That was it – I was afraid. While Suzie didn’t trust the yeast part of the process, afraid it wouldn’t rise, I was afraid of the consistency and stickiness and stubbornness of the dough. When I can’t get something off my hands, I get easily annoyed. 

On this day, however, Suzie and I texted our new mantra when it came to being afraid: fuck it. (I think it was something we said in relation to something completely different, but it has become a catch-phrase we use for everything, including the hesitation of a yeast-based dough.) I went into the kitchen with an open mind and the intention to enjoy the process of making dough, no matter how challenging or disappointing it might be. Considering the planned recipe, I’m rather surprised I was able to keep that mindset.

Ever since visiting the Philippines in 1997, I’ve been a fan of ensaymada. It was what I had for breakfast most days there – a seemingly simple light and flaky roll, topped with a sweet butter topping and a layer of shredded cheese. Yes, cheese, which sounds weird, but ends up working better than I ever believed it could. When I returned home, I’d occasionally pick up some plastic-wrapped ensaymada rolls every few months to get my fix, and then they stopped being available at the local Asian markets. Looking online, I found a couple of recipes for how to make it, and with some brioche baking forms, a new packet of yeast, and an emboldened spirit of adventure and fun in the kitchen, I got to work with Suzie’s encouragement. 

For that first attempt, I used the recipe found here from Foxy Folksy. I liked the way the dough worked, but in my haste and enjoyment of the process, I was less careful than I usually am, forgetting the salt (oops!) and then neglecting the second rise (double oops!) and it turns out the second rise is key to the light and fluffy consistency that is essential to ensaymada. Those first rolls went into the oven uprisen and dense, and when they didn’t puff up to triple their size, I felt a tinge of disappointment, but went on undaunted. That was, after all, the theme of the day. And since I’d only put in half of the dough, I inadvertently gave time for the second half to rise a bit. When that batch went in, they were serviceable. Not great, but decent enough, and Suzie came by to try it out. The flavor was there, even if the consistency was not. We sat on the attic floor, surrounded by candles and light, and had a moment of hygge with this first try at ensaymada. Denmark and the Philippines were colliding in Loudonville, New York, while old friends met for a new experience 46 years into this life. 

The next day, fortified by a new confidence in dough, I tried a different ensaymada recipe from Riverten Kitchen. This time I added the salt, and did the second rise properly, and they turned out much better. I’m still going to experiment a bit more to get that chewy yet flakey consistency, but these are pretty good, and the fear of dough has been conquered.

A beautiful new practice to see us through the winter. 

My winter sauce is soup these days, and on such frigid days soup is the only sauce I need. Here are glimpses of the making of a Tom Yum soup, with a variation of chicken instead of the traditional prawns. (Prawns not being readily available in upstate New York’s tundra at the moment.) While substituting the chicken for the shellfish changes the flavors decidedly, the other ingredients remain true to the Tom Yum spirit, and its spicy origin. 

Fresh ginger, lemongrass, and kaffir lime leaves, along with a hefty dose of chilis and chili sauce and chili oil add the requisite heat – and that’s precisely what this winter needs. 

I made a batch for my parents to stave off the wintry weather and keep the cold at bay. It is said that this is one of those soups that aids any ailment. Not sure how true or scientific that is, but soup is good for the soul, especially if there’s chicken in it. Or noodles. Consider it my bastardization of the traditional Tom Yum soup. 

This colander of udon noodles added some heft to the soup I had left, and made for a cozy dinner. A seven-minute egg never hurt any bowl of soup either. 

When I was a kid, New Year’s Day was the one holiday our family hosted in our house, and with it came a few annual dishes that would come to signal the holidays for me. Mushroom knishes, crab and horse chestnut appetizers, and a sweet and sour meatball stew served in a fondue pot with a stereo glowing blue beneath it to keep it warm all day – these were the holiday classics that made up my childhood. As we grew up, we hung onto most of them, changing and modifying them, and for the past several years a traditional fondue has replaced the more complicated and tie-consuming meatball stew. 

The fondue Savoyarde seen here is a simple cheese fondue, served with bread and apples, and I cook it up every New Year’s Eve, even when it’s just Andy and myself, as it was this year. It’s silly and kitschy and all the things that a holiday like New Year’s Eve/Day merits. Some sparkle, some pizzazz, some cheesiness – just the way we like things around here. Dip in. 

When you find yourself with an abundance of ham, one of the best things to do aside from split pea soup is a batch of ham salad. Andy crafted this delicious bowl of it after a recent ham dinner, and since many will be left with the remnant of a Christmas ham, it’s an idea whose time is once again at hand. It also provides a punchier flavor palette when the Christmas staples – turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy – become monotonous. Thanks to its exquisitely-sharp accents of relish and a dash of vinegar that Andy claims is the secret to a perfect ham salad, this can be put on a sandwich or toast points or whatever cracker you have on hand. 

A simple snack for the come-down from Christmas. 

Much in the same way that he refined and improved upon this chicken-curry-in-a-hurry recipe, Andy has added his own special touch to Mom’s classic beef stew recipe. In his version, it was the addition of cocktail onions that adds an elegant and potent twist to the stew, lending flavor and globular architecture to the dish. He also opted for those little red potatoes that echo the size and shape of the onions, left with their vitamin-rich skins on, reddish color intact even behind the bold color of the stew sauce. (Secret ingredient hint: ketchup.)

This was one of the first recipes I ever made for Andy, during our first winter together. I remember getting the recipe from my Mom – a favorite for a cozy winter night – and then doing my best to bring it to life. Over the years, we gradually shifted to Andy making this more than me, and in more creative ways than I thought to flesh out. It’s now a winter staple whenever we need some comfort food.

PS – When in doubt, add a couple of snowflake rolls slathered in room-temperature butter. 

Cold nights and chilly days call for a favorite comfort food: soup. Since so many of us don’t get enough fluids on an average day (drink that water!) soup is an easy way to up the liquid intake while warming the stomach. It’s also one of the easiest methods of crafting a meal that lasts for several days – for dinner or lunch depending on how you want to do it. 

At the end of a summer season, we are often left with oodles of green tomatoes that simply wouldn’t make it to red without being zapped by a hard frost, so Andy brought in the whole load and let them ripen for a few days. Most of these turned redder than I thought they would, but for this soup I like the green ones too. They added brightness and a tart accent that made this one a little different. To make the soup, I brought about six cups of water to a boil and reconstituted a dried guajillo chili pepper, which added the heat and earthy flavor to the base. For the tomatoes, I roasted them all with a sliced onion at 425 degrees for about 20 – 30 minutes, until they were just browned and splitting open. 

Adding the vegetables to the simmering water, I removed the pepper and used an immersion blender to puree it all into a consistency I liked (a few chunks are nice in a soup). A healthy sprinkling of sea salt and freshly-ground pepper was thrown in, along with some marjoram and oregano, and that was it. 

I fried up some corn tortillas (so much better than a bag of Tostitos) and sprinkled them with salt, then dropped a heaping dollop of sour cream into my bowl, christened it with some chopped cilantro, and called it dinner. 

This Japanese hot pot recipe ushers in the official fall soup season. On a recent rainy and gray day I prepared this simple but satisfying meal, which I like to serve with a couple of seven-minute eggs for protein. Fill it with any of the greens you like – I opted for bok choy this time around since that’s what Andy had stocked in the fridge. Kale and spinach work equally as well, though the latter will all but melt into the stock. I prefer the hardier stock of the kale, or the sturdy stems of the bok choy. 

The mushrooms give it an earthy richness, as done the miso hidden in the stock. A generous helping of sliced daikon gives a bright white half-moon accent to many of the spoonfuls. My favorite part is the skin-on buttercup squash, which I microwave for a few minutes before cutting and dumping into the pot. The skin softens to something edible and fine. 

Some Pacific seaweed gives it that essence of ocean that I so often desire, and a few teaspoons of mirin round out the flavors at hand. Simple and substantial, this one works on the coldest evenings, and will be a staple seeing us through the winter. I don’t want to think about that yet, so for now let’s just enjoy the sight, scent, and taste of soup on a fall night. 

Suzie sent me a recipe that was a disaster save for this curry lime yogurt sauce. I employed it here for some roasted butternut squash. The recipe is simple: about 1 cup Greek yogurt, the juice and zest of one lime, a tablespoon (or more depending on your taste) curry and a teaspoon or two of turmeric. Salt and pepper to taste, and mix well, then use on just about any roasted vegetable. This also makes a fine dip for something different on your charcuterie boards, or, even better, for some home-fried potatoes. The possibilities are endlessly delicious. 

‘Tis almost the season for cider doughnuts, and on certain Sundays when there’s already been a chill in the air, I’ve gone ahead and indulged at this early stage of fall glory. Sometimes a cider doughnut is the only thing that stands between me and the abyss. These bad boys are fried up fresh at George’s Landscaping, and on the particular morning I picked them up I happened to catch a batch just as they were coming out of their cinnamon-sugar bath. The scent instantly filled my car as I started the drive home, and it’s a testament to my discipline and strength that 11 out of 12 made it back fully intact. (There was decidedly less disciplined behavior as the day wore on…)

The cider doughnut, and its accompanying coziness in scent and taste, is definitely a hygge-inspired moment. The sweet crunch of the sugar coating, the warm dough still spongy beneath the slightly firm exterior, and the notion of apple cider working its magic in the batter all contribute to the heartwarming comfort of it all.