V is for Variety

Some people never look at a menu. They know what they like, and they know what they want. Well, I know what I like too. . . VARIETY. I could order the ham and cheese sandwich on rye like you, but I like looking at menus. In fact, I enjoy searching for things that I might like just as much or hopefully even more. So just wait a second-- I need to decide what I’m ordering. Oh, and if I don’t like it, can I have half of your sandwich?

U is for Utilitarian

I’m often seduced by clever design. I am drawn to Alessi’s toothpick holders in the shape of a rabbit coming out of a hat. However, if I have to choose, I’ll take utilitarian design over anything else.

At the moment, my favorite piece of cookware is the cast iron pan. Utilitarian in every respect. No extra materials. No decorative elements. Nothing fancy. Just the ultimate non-stick pan. Seasoned correctly and heated appropriately, you can flip a pancake in the pan, no problem.

So toss out your heart-shaped pan with its special coating, rubber grip, heat indicator, and molded lip. Because really, isn't the pan already scratched anyway?

T is for Trinity

Celery, bell peppers, and onions = the holy trinity of Creole and Cajun cuisine

I’m not certain who originally borrowed Christian terminology to describe the essence of Creole and Cajun cooking. The description is catchy, but it unfortunately makes Creole and Cajun cuisine sound dull. Celery, bell peppers, and onions are basic vegetables without a hint of spice. If I didn’t know better, I would probably pass on the jambalaya.

But maybe that’s the point. A Cajun/Creole chef brings out the best in humble ingredients. The secret flavor in that spoonful of gumbo? It’s not some mysterious herb or expensive sausage. Everyday vegetables can be the hidden root of good cuisine.

S is for Simplicity

I won’t refuse a ten course tasting menu, and I’m drawn to entrees featuring a single item done “three ways.” I’ll order desserts with blown sugar architecture, mini milkshakes in shot glasses, and foam. But I must confess that in the end, I crave simplicity.

Ripe strawberries. Macaroni and cheese. A square of dark chocolate. Roast chicken. BLT sandwiches. Soft scrambled eggs. Soy sauce chicken and white rice. Sake nigiri. Hiyyayako. Chicken Pho.

Note: Simplicity can be deceiving. See this Washington Post article about foodmakers’ tricky marketing schemes.

R is for Roasting

Sometimes I don’t want to stand over a stove. I grow tired of sautéing different ingredients at different times, and water takes too long to boil. Scrambled eggs sound dull. A frozen entree sounds bleak. So I turn to a busy cook’s go-to secret: roasting.

Roasting gives the illusion of effort. Instead of hours in the kitchen, I can get a tasty meal in eight quick steps. If eight steps still seem too tedious, don’t worry—half of the steps are optional, and none require standing over a stove.

You can roast any meat...whole chicken, chicken parts, pork ribs, pork shoulder, leg of lamb, prime rib, hamburgers...the more fat in the meat, the tastier the meat. I avoid lean meat, like thin pork cutlets, flank steak, skinless chicken breasts. Those cuts need a quick sear before the oven, and that’s an extra step that requires a stovetop. Almost any vegetable will roast. I’ve done squash, broccoli, cauliflower, green beans, asparagus, peppers, tomatoes, carrots, zucchini... I’ve heard that stone fruits (peaches and plums) and hard fruits (apples and pears) work best for roasting, but any fruit is delicious when warm, juicy, and sweet. Some fruit, like strawberries and kiwis, might not look pretty after a stint in the oven, but would you refuse dessert because of aesthetics?

I’ll list my eight steps below, but please note that my directions don’t allow for advanced planning. I don’t know what you’re cooking, so I have no idea how long your food will take to cook. But I don’t claim this recipe to be perfect, just that it’s simple and easy. I recommend placing the raw ingredients in the oven whenever you have a free moment. The veggies and fruit can be eaten later at room temperature, and you can toss the meat back in the oven to warm. There’s no shame in pre-cooked food. You made dinner, and whoever is eating should thank you.

Roasting in Eight Steps

1. Buy something (optional – you can likely scavenge in your kitchen or pantry for something).
2. Turn on oven to 350 degrees.
3. Cut it up in pieces (optional).
4. Place it in an oven proofed dish lined with foil. You might think that this step is optional, but you’ll thank me later when you just toss the foil into the trash, instead of scrubbing a pan.
5. Add something (optional). If it’s savory, drizzle with olive oil and generously sprinkle with salt, pepper, and herbs. If it’s sweet, sprinkle with sugar and consider adding some cinnamon or a squeeze of lemon juice.
6. Put it in the oven, and go do something else.
7. Every once in awhile, check to see if it’s done. If it’s meat, check the temperature with a simple meat thermometer. If it’s anything else, just poke it.
8. When done, let it rest on the counter (optional). Meat will be juicer if it rests, and fruit will be less likely to burn the tongue.

Eat.

Q is for Quick

This post was originally titled “Quality vs Quantity.” But as I wrote about the critera for choosing a restaurant, I realized that restaurants need more than tasty food at an affordable price. Instead of just evaluating the food and the deal, I now want to know—is it “Quick?”

I’m a new parent, so speed matters. My dinners out no longer involve elaborate tasting menus, and I don’t linger over dessert. In fact, a leisurely meal makes me nervious. I want efficient service, so I can enjoy the food and pay the check, before my baby gets fussy and explodes. I’ve eaten at buffets for the first time in ten years. I ignore menus on display, peer through restaurant windows, and attempt to determine how quickly an entree might come.

I don’t want to abandon eating out, and I’ll soon tire of restaurants with plastic-covered menus. More importantly, I want my child to learn proper behavior at meals and to discover that he can’t always have fries with his meal. So sooner or later, we’ll brave an excursion to a three star restaurant , but first I’ll help him to master utensils.

P is for Playing with your Food

Kindergartners shouldn’t have all the fun—more adults should play with their food. And if you’re too embarrassed to fingerpaint with chocolate pudding, then a holiday can be your excuse.

Carve pumpkins and bob for apples. Build gingerbread houses and decorate cookies. Dye Easter eggs and host an egg hunt. Through these simple acts, you can reclaim the joy of playing with food. Your friends may initially balk at a grown-up easter egg hunt, but I doubt they’ll refuse a chocolate bunny prize.

So forget about being an adult, reconnect with your inner child, and whip up a batch of homemade playdoh.

O is for the One Bite Rule

Lessons from a Socialite

When serving passed hors d'oeuvres, a proper hostess follows the One Bite Rule. Amuse the eye. Excite the palate. But don't stain the dress.

More than one bite presents possible complications: What if you can't bite through and half of a cucumber dangles from your mouth? Or puff pastry smudges your lipstick and crumbles down the front of your husband’s suit? A photographer might capture this indiscretion for next month’s social press.

Luckily, I’ve never worried about a Socialite’s rules. At my dinner parties, spouses sit next to each other, and garlic is a flavor, not a faux pas. I serve smoked salmon, although it might compromise “the breath.” My guests may even encounter food on toothpicks with sauces that drip, and the hors d'oeuvres are substantial. Because I want more than one bite.

The Socialite’s party may be classier, but I consider my party more fun. No one needs to bring their best behavior, and for me, casual equals comfort. But perhaps my party would improve if I followed some of her rules. After all, the Society pages never feature a guest with broccoli in her teeth, but it’s quite likely that photo would appear on Facebook.

N is for Noodle Soup

When backpacking through Asia, noodle soup is the perfect meal.

You wear the same four shirts for a month. You buy bottled water for brushing teeth. Your sleeping arrangements are constantly to be determined, and one night you slept upright in a train. You may not need a four star hotel, a translator, or air conditioning. But you still crave good food.

Noodle soup is the remedy. The broth is boiling. The noodles are filling. And the price is cheap. Your natural instincts might protest against a steaming bowl of soup during 100 degree heat. However, hunger for satisfying, healthy food will convert you.

Order from street vendors or an open air kitchen, but remember to do your recon. Inspect the ingredients on display. Observe the kitchen hygiene. Assess the number of locals slurping noodles, and most importantly, determine if the food moves.

There may not be a menu. You may not have a choice, or you may just need to point, but noodle soup may become your best friend.

M is for Menu

What do you do when stress and panic threaten to erupt? Instead of relaxing in a warm bath or binging on chocolate ice cream, consider the comfort of menus.

Menus are everywhere, and slowly reading a menu can equal a yoga stretch. Take in the appetizers like a deep breath, then proceed on to salads, soups, entrees, desserts. As you read each item, imagine tastes, compositions, smells, textures.

Start collecting menus for those days when you need a little pick-me-up. A list of cakes from a bakery. An eight course tasting menu. The noodle joint from down the street. Each menu challenges you to create the perfect meal. If you take the seared scallops with pea tendrils for an entree and the fried calamari for an appetizer, will the meal be too seafood heavy? If you have pasta amatriciana and a side salad, will you still be hungry for affogato di gelato?

You don't need a new menu every time. A good menu can be read over and over again because your perfect meal differs from day to day. And menus are convenient--you can usually find one as you walk down the street and you can easily keep a couple in your bag for emergencies. A warm bath and a tub of ice cream are not quite so portable.

L is for Leftovers

Not all leftovers are created equal. While some doggy bags may be coveted, others sit in the fridge until the food seeps through the takeout containers.

In order to determine how carefully to guard your leftovers, you can refer to the Sushi-to-Pizza Scale.

Leftover sushi = a bad idea. Don't even bother taking those california rolls home. No desperation justifies dry rice, soggy nori, and yesterday's raw fish. But pizza = leftover greatness, especially if you're holding Zachary's or Little Star deep dish. Diligently stand guard over those takeout boxes. In fact, I would recommend removing the pizza from the cardboard box, wrapping the slices in foil, and stashing them in the cheese drawer underneath some old tortillas. Hopefully your roommates will not find them.

All other restaurant leftovers fall somewhere in the middle. Tacos veer closer to sushi--neither the crispy nor the soft ones are as good on day two. Chinese food can go either way. Did you visit the family-run joint around the corner or the Panda Express? However, Indian food definitely leans toward pizza status. Mix the Chicken Tikka Masala and Aloo Saag with some leftover rice, and the insane amount of oil and cream creates a spicy dish that still tastes good.

However, some leftovers are off the scale, like homemade Thanksgiving grub: turkey, cornbread stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, a dab of cranberry sauce, and cold pumpkin pie with whipped cream lightly sweetened with vanilla bean. Leftover perfection.

K is for Kitchen Table

In “Pipa’s Story,” author Samantha Chang tells of a poor servant girl who must find the heart of her master’s house. At Pipa’s own home, the stove occupies this center.

My home’s center is the kitchen table. The other living spaces—kitchen, family room, patio, foyer, office, bedrooms—extend out like spokes from this place. In spite of the living room couches, a somewhat organized desk, a bed piled with pillows, and a koi pond outside, all activities still revolve around the kitchen table.

However, the kitchen table claims centerstage because of food, not location. Cold cereal breakfasts, grilled cheeses for lunch, holiday dinners, late-night snacks, weekend pancakes, afternoon tea, birthday cakes. . . Meals are the everyday occasions when families and friends put separate pursuits on pause and connect with each other. The kitchen table is the place for these connections.

In contrast to dining room tables, kitchen tables are neither fancy nor precious. Enduring spills and messes, they don’t require fine china. My kitchen table is over 40 years old. It’s not vintage, and calling it retro would be a stretch. The brown formica top sports a faux wood pattern, and the metal legs can fold flat. But my parents bought this kitchen table when they first married, and now this kitchen table sits in my first home.

The table may not look like heirloom material. But this simple piece of furniture has seen my family share food and connections for nearly half a century.

J is Jook

Jook is the chinese-american version of homemade chicken soup. Also known as "congee," this comfort food consists of plain white rice simmered in broth until the individual grains meld into a thick porridge.

However, this food isn't just for the invalid or sad. You can easily elevate this humble meal into an elegant dish for guests. Just break out some extra dishes and allocate more prep time while the soup simmers.

For substance, add ground pork, raw peanuts, or slivers of chicken to the simmering soup. For the table, prepare bowls of shredded iceberg lettuce, coarsely chopped cilantro, thin slivers of ginger, sliced green onions, and minced chung choy (preserved turnip). Just before serving, bring out thinly sliced, raw white fish fanned out on a platter, or if your guests lean toward the vegetarian sort, place a bowl of still warm 2-minute eggs on the table.

Encourage guests to place a few slices of fresh fish or break a soft-boiled egg into their bowls. After you ladle the hot soup, guests can garnish then to their taste. The broth will gently cook the fish or egg as they select their toppings.

I is for Ice Cream

Movies give ice cream a bad rap. In the romantic comedy, the leading lady is dumped by her boyfriend, husband, or best friend: the camera zooms in on the woman's shocked, distraught face, and then cuts to her desperately eating ice cream out of a carton. This binge might occur alone in the kitchen or on the living room couch with her girlfriends. Regardless, Hollywood should not typecast this frozen dessert into such a limited role. Ice cream can be more than consolation for lost love, and truly good ice cream does not come in gallon containers.

Ice cream does receive its deserved role in one 1953 movie classic: Roman Holiday. Audrey Hepburn plays Princess Anne, a young ruler who yearns to escape from official duties. While visiting Rome, she sneaks away from her embassy for one perfect day of freedom. Her very first treats for herself include a new hairdo and a gelato.

She sits on the Spanish steps, and she is perfectly happy, enjoying her ice cream. This princess just wants an hour or two for anything that she desires. And that "anything" is ice cream.

H is for Hunger

Each morning in Thailand, buddhist monks walk in lines through city streets for alms. They hold wide metal bowls, and people drop offerings of money and food into these containers. The monks do not cook--they only eat what they are given during these morning walks. That food must be eaten by noon, and then they have no food until the following day. A monk asked me, "do you know what hunger feels like? Do you know how to make yourself stop being hungry when you have no food?"

I've claimed to be hungry, but I've never truly known hunger. Although I might skip breakfast or miss lunch, hunger has never been part of the path that I've chosen.

G is for Gadgets

Cookware stores, wedding registries, and celebrity chefs promote the glory of kitchen gadgets. Their mantras claim that these single-purpose tools improve efficiency with great results, but when the new design excitement fades, do I really need an avocado masher and a lettuce knife?

It's not easy to resist advertisements and product placements. My crème brulee torch and gravy separator are guilty proof that I can't resist—I wanted both, and I've used neither. The money that they required and the space that they need remind me of kitchen gadget consequences.

So I would like to suggest a quiet rebellion. We will not ban these inventions or berate the companies that sell them. Instead, we will simply make a personal commitment to the cutting board, bowl, plate, fork, spoon, and knife. Most gadgets can be replaced by these six items and time.

The initial investment of time may seem exhausting. However, after a bit of practice, you won’t need a “stainless steel veggie grip” to “hold small vegetables and fruits securely in place as you cut them.” The novelty of kitchen gadgets will no longer tempt you, and you can focus your spending on good ingredients, meals, and friends.

My commitment to the kitchen gadget rebellion:

I like to live simply, and I like to eat well. Rather than amusing myself with numerous gadgets and gauging my kitchen skill by the gadgets I own, I will give myself the time to use a cutting board, bowl, plate, fork, spoon, and knife.

F is for Farmers' Markets

Farmers’ markets call for leisurely strolls and frequent samples. The visit will not be a time efficient run to the grocery store, but farmers’ market shopping isn’t an errand, it is an occasion.

For the grocery store, the best customer is the predictable customer. Since the store offers similar produce year-round, you can follow the same shopping list and trace the same path during every visit. Sandwich bread will always sit at the end of aisle two, and tomato sauce will always be next to the pasta. The everyday veggies (lettuce, onions, garlic, celery, broccoli, etc...) remain in their designated location with consistent and adequate flavor, except when the tomatoes taste like water and the carrots suffer from limp, dried ends. However, even when the produce is quite good, the selection lacks discovery. This shopping can make meals repetitive, and that is a sad situation when food possesses such exciting potential.

A visit to the farmers' market makes food new again. The variety of colors and flavors spark tired appetites. Even a simple apple becomes new again, as the subtle changes in size and texture appear. For the produce is picked with taste in mind, rather than durability. Instead of seeing the same vegetable every day, you anticipate the arrival of new items. Arugala and rhubarb in spring--artichoke and cauliflower in fall. The farmer tells you that the garlic chives only have one more week at most, so you must try them now. In fact, the entire year becomes more exciting, especially in a California city where the weather is so temperate and the seasons’ change so subtle. You can see and taste the seasons change on your plate.

Beyond providing variety for our meals, the farmers' market gives food an identity by connecting people to each other. Your shopping supports a farmer and a family, rather than just helping a supermarket chain’s bottom line. You become an active and caring part of your local community. Rather than a customer, you become a faithful friend who comes back to visit with a palate that traces the seasons.

E is for Empanadas

Many countries enjoy these little pockets of joy, but Argentina’s are the tastiest. The name comes from the spanish word “empanar” which means to coat with bread. However, empanadas are not ground-up leftovers rolled in yesterday’s bread crumbs. These handheld treats consist of delicate, flour-based pastry stuffed with a coursely chopped filling, such as corn, chicken and squash, or chopped beef and tomatos. The pastries are baked golden in brick ovens and then served hot or room temperature. Argentinian cooks shape the pastries into circles or half-moons and fold the edges with various knots and twists, so that if you know the code, you can decipher the filling before taking a bite.

Food within food exists in an infinite number of forms. Jelly doughnuts. Chicken Kiev. Profiteroles. Twice baked potatoes. Calzones. Pupusas. Potstickers. Hostess fruit pies. Cabbage rolls. Cheese buttons. Stuffed foods heighten the convenience of cooking, serving, and eating. Even if you don’t like the twinkie, you must admit that holding the spongy yellow cake is easier than holding the sticky white filling. However, even though convenience may be the origin of stuffed foods, the element of surprise is the most exciting part. And I choose not to learn the empanada code, because I want the surprise.

In fact, some stuffed foods were invented purely for the surprise factor. Consider the Turducken. This de-boned chicken inside a de-boned duck inside a de-boned turkey with three different types of stuffing is certainly not made for ease of cooking, serving, or eating. The turducken does not seem to even be made for the sake of good taste. This “bird” purely exists for novelty and surprise, and the surprise factor does work. I will try this bizarre invention, and I will try it once.

But I would eat empanadas any day.

Some Argentinian restaurants fry their empanadas, but the pastries often taste heavier, and the thick batter masks the taste of the filling. Taco bell now offers a caramel apple empanada. Online reviews suggest that it is just the McDonald’s fried apple pie reincarnated.

D is for Dining Hall

It’s not easy to escape the freshman fifteen. All you can eat at every meal, and there’s never just one thing for dinner. Seven days a week, you can have a cheeseburger, chili fries, and a hash brown patty. If you want chocolate soft serve topped with cocoa puffs for lunch, go ahead. You never have to eat your peas, but you can have peanut butter and waffles every day.

Outside the dining hall, the food options don't help either. Beer in over-sized red plastic cups are trademarks of the Heaven-and-Hell-themed Friday night progressive and the frat party with aloha shirts. Dorm rooms have a stash of ramen, cookies mailed from your roommate’s mom, sun chips, and a box of froot loops stolen from the dining hall.

However, over time most students learn to make good choices. While the freshmen have “fifteen,” sophomores and juniors aren't branded by designated numbers. The dining hall becomes a crash course in feeding yourself, and the meals become a practice run for the after-college world.

C is for Canned Goods

I take pride in cooking from scratch and even enjoy the chopping, dicing, and mincing. But canned goods are comforting, even when they only collect dust. A stocked pantry promises that an impromptu dinner party is always possible and there is no resorting to mediocre take-out or a too-pricey dinner after work.

Canned goods fall into four categories: the Pantry Staples, the Adaptations, the Boons, and the Oddities. Pantry Staples include beans, corn, tomatoes, and broth–-basic ingredients that easily substitute for the real thing. While Adaptations only resemble actual items in appearance, their invented taste has become an accepted flavor. Many people now view Adaptations, such as canned peaches, mandarin oranges, and those florescent pink cherries in the fruit cocktail, as Pantry Staples. Boons allow cooks to make dishes that they never would normally attempt. Signature Boons include coconut milk and the once-a-year Libby’s canned pumpkin. Oddities are the true dust collectors: who buys those cans of asparagus tips or potatoes?

Beyond sitting pretty in the grocery aisle and on the kitchen shelf, canned goods provide a peak into other countries’ cuisines. If people willingly eat this second-hand version of a real thing, then the original must be pretty good. Cassoulet from France. Menudo from Mexico. Chrysalis from Korea. KoaMart.com, a Korean food online superstore, promotes the caterpillar chrysalis and their “very unique taste. . . Although it is rare today, chrysalis used to be a common snack for children in South Korea.” DaSolFoods, Inc. produces these 4.59 oz cans that cost $1.99 each or ten for $18.99. This Korean treat sounds much more intriguing than Spaghetti O's.

Quick Yellow Curry

1 teaspoon olive oil
½ onion–sliced
1 clove garlic—sliced
2 teaspoons yellow curry
½ teaspoon oregano
1 bay leaf
1 can diced tomatoes
1 can garbanzo beans–drained
½ can chicken broth

• Heat olive oil in medium saucepan.
• Add onion and sautee over medium-high heat for about 5 minutes until onions are soft and translucent.
• Add garlic, curry, oregano, and bay leaf and stir over heat for 2 minutes.
• Stir in diced tomatos, garbonzo beans, and chicken broth.
• Reduce heat to low and simmer for 20 minutes.
• Serve over rice.

“Homemade” Salsa

1 can diced tomatos – drained
1 can black beans – drained
1 can corn – drained
1 handful cilantro (about ½ cup) – chopped
¼ red onion—minced
1 teaspoon cumin

• Combine all ingredients.
• Refrigerate at least 30 minutes before serving.