With SFIAAF 2008 in full swing, I've managed to munch popcorn with yeast for dinner more times than I care to admit during the past few days. And with another week of films ahead, it looks like I'm going to need to restock my supply of dental floss.

Fortunately, it's been worth it. Over the weekend, two titles that food and film lovers should add to their list were screened to sold-out crowds.

THE KILLING OF A CHINESE COOKIE



Who among us can resist opening a fortune cookie? No matter how jaded or snobby, no matter how much you may hate that dry, tasteless joke of a dessert that sits on your bill after a meal at the Golden Imperial Jade Wok Garden, I dare you to leave behind, unopened and unread, that little strip of paper and its peek into your future.

Like many things we touch in daily life, the beginnings of the humble fortune cookie are murky, but in his documentary, The Killing of a Chinese Cookie, director Derek Shimoda doggedly follows the complex maze of historic claims and counterclaims. Best of all, he collects the amazing stories of thoroughly lovable individuals. Third-generation confectioners and visual artists, judges and lawyers, historians and entrepreneurs, master chefs and hack writers--everyone has an opinion about the fortune cookie. Among the highlights are recollections of the mock trial held in 1983 at the San Francisco Court of Historical Review. Instead of settling the dispute, though, the arguments seemed to have only stirred up the controversy even more.

More recently, The New York Times covered the long-standing debate in a feature about the origins of the ubiquitous cookie. Among the many representing Northern California's interests are the descendants of Suyeichi Okamura, who in 1906 opened the Benkyodo Company, a confectionary in San Francisco Japantown where you can still buy handmade moochi, sembei and other traditional sweets.


One of the Suyeichi Okamura's grandsons shows how hot cookies were once slipped into this wooden rack to cool slightly before a fortune was hidden within its crisp folds.

I can't remember the last time I laughed so much during a documentary while learning about the secrets of the past. With great affection, Shimoda tracks the cookie's influence from Japan's sembei treats to Golden Gate Park's Japanese Tea Garden, though World War II and the rise of Chinatown restaurants, to erotic art and lucky lottery numbers. I won't reveal any more about the film or the cookie's history, since I highly recommend this film. The fun of it will be in watching the story unfold for yourself.


A manager at a Los Angeles factory showing an old tin of fortune cookies that he's resisted opening for posterity's sake.

The Killing of a Chinese Cookie
Directed by Derek Shimoda
Sunday, March 23
12:00 Noon
Camera Cinemas 12 Downtown
201 South Second Street
San Jose, CA 95113
(408) 998-3300

You can still buy tickets for this weekend's screening of the film at San Jose's Camera Cinemas 12. Until then, you can read the memorable fortunes submitted by NTY readers.


I'M A CYBORG, BUT THAT'S OKAY



Many of us have been waiting to see Park Chan-Wook's latest film on the big screen. If you've survived his infamous films, Oldboy and Sympathy for Lady Vengeance, then you'll already know that Park's work is not for everyone. But those who love his intense, over-the-top vision or who can't get enough of Korea's boundary-breaking films, his latest should not be missed.

I'm a Cyborg, But That's Okay reveals a new tack in his filmmaking: romantic comedy. In Park's world, though, this means telling the story of how two psychotics in an insane asylum find love across the distance of alternative realities, group therapy and padded rooms.

Im Su-jeong plays Young-goon, a pale and skittish young woman who refuses to swallow even a single grain of rice, since cyborgs like her cannot digest food. She licks batteries to help recharge her energy, talks to vending machines and flickering lights, and mourns the loss of her daikon-nibbling grandmother. Superstar singer Rain plays a scruffy kleptomaniac, Il-sun, who invents and (in one of my favorite scenes in the film) installs a tiny machine called the Rice Megatron--with lifetime service guaranteed--inside Young-goon to help her survive the rigors of reality.

Any further attempt to explain the plot or introduce the cast of characters will fail miserably.

Viewers who nearly died from cuteness overdose during Jean-Pierre Jeunet's Le Fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain or Michel Gondry's La Science des Rêves might think twice about seeing this film. You'll find a bit of relief from romantic sweetness during a few crazed killer-bot scenes, but don't expect the endless blood or deep anger of Park's earlier films.

I'm a Cyborg is the ultimate film, however, for fans of surrealism on the screen, well-intentioned massacres, hope flickering in a chaotic world, and uncertain non-endings.

Labels: asian food, chinese, film, history, korean, thy tran

Once a month or so, my mother sends me a box from home filled with food. The last one, timed perfectly for lunar new year, included a batch of rice cakes. Before I even saw them, though, I knew there was treasure buried somewhere deep beneath her homemade peanut brittle, gingery mustard pickles from the last greens in her garden and bags of candied coconut used as packing material. The distinctive green-tea aroma of banana leaves had emerged as soon as the packing tape was cut.

Throughout the tropical sun belt, banana leaves appear as easy, inexpensive, natural, sanitary--and most importantly--delicious packaging. From Mexican tamales to Indian wedding feasts, Malaysian lunches to Vietnamese fast food, the leaves provide pliable wrapping, compostable tableware and a lovely flavoring for steamed or simmered specialties. Throughout Southeast Asia, you'll see banana-wrapped foods for sale as street food. Food sealed within their layers and then cooked slowly will keep for days without being refrigerated. Traditional foods for the lunar new year period are often cooked in banana leaves, especially for serving during the first three days when families are supposed to be enjoying each other's company rather than cooking.

For my mom and all my generous, food-loving aunts, banana leaves are perfect for the three-day priority mail period between the Midwest and California.



BUYING BANANA LEAVES

Virtually all Asian and Latino markets with a freezer section will stock banana leaves that have been folded and frozen into large squares. Though more delicate than fresh leaves, they're easy and convenient to use. If you're lucky enough to have a pesticide-free tree somewhere in your neighborhood, you might offer a trade in sweet or savory treats for an armful of fresh leaves. Berkeley Bowl often stocks fresh leaves, and there are also numerous mail-order sources for fresh leaves, such as Florida-based Greenearth.

USING BANANA LEAVES IN YOUR KITCHEN

Here are just a few simple suggestions for experimenting with banana leaves:

Golden Rice
Cook long-grain rice, substituting 1/4 to 1/2 cup of the water or stock with coconut milk. Add a few slices of ginger, a cinnamon stick and a pinch of turmeric. After the rice is cooked, stir gently and then prepare small packets of the rice. Steam for 20 minutes and then serve with curries or grilled fish.

Tamales
Rick Bayless offers a recipe for banana-leaf wrapped Red Chile Pork Tamales at his Frontera website. We're lucky enough to live in an area where tamale dough is available pre-made in Latino markets. Leftover or take-out chicken mole is a most excellent substitute for slow-cooking your own filling. For variety, sprinkle green olives, bell peppers or corn kernels over the filling before enclosing and cooking.

Fish with Red Curry
Small packets are a fun alternative at summer grill parties, while a hot oven is a perfectly decent rainy-weather option for a dramatic yet simple dinner-party dish. Rub sea bass or salmon with a generous amount of prepared Thai red curry paste thinned with a small amount of oil. I prefer using a whole fish and filling its cavity with scallions and lime wedges, but you can easily use steaks or fillets. Wrap a whole fish completely in three layers of banana leaves, alternating the grain of the banana leaf to crisscross from layer to layer for added stability. Individual portions can be wrapped in one large rectangle on a bed of scallions and lime slices. Tie tightly with wet string and then grill over medium high coals or roast at 400 degrees, allowing 10 minutes base time plus 10 minutes for every inch thickness of the banana leaf packets.

Mushrooms with Tomatoes and Ginger
Thinly slice full-flavored mushrooms and toss them with diced tomatoes (drain well if using canned), chopped scallions, grated ginger, cilantro, salt and black pepper. Wrap in individual packets and bake or grill until completely charred on the outside. Serve as a side dish with steamed rice and grilled chicken or pork.

Sweet Rice with Coconut and Peanuts
Cover about 2 cups of sticky rice with 3 inches of water and let soak for at least 4 hours, preferably overnight. Drain well. In a small bowl, mix together 1 cup each of grated coconut and chopped, roasted peanuts. Stir in a few spoonfuls of brown sugar to taste (omit if using pre-sweetened coconut) and then a healthy sprinkling of salt. At the center of a large square of banana leaf, mound 1/4 cup of sticky rice, layer 1/4 cup of the filling, then finish with 1/4 cup more of sticky rice. Fold the leaf in thirds like a letter, then fold in the two side-flaps to overlap at the center; tie securely with string. Steam for one hour, then let cool completely before serving as mid-morning or afternoon snacks with strong tea.



WORKING WITH BANANA LEAVES

If you're used to Saran wrap or foil, there's a bit of an adjustment to using natural material that's irregularly shaped and varied in texture from package to package, leaf to leaf. But banana leaves are immensely fun to work with, and their flavor is far, far superior to plastic or metal. Like crepes, practice with one or two or three first to get into the groove. Each thin package of banana leaves doesn't look like much, but there's a lot folded up in there. The leaves are inexpensive enough that you can get an extra one for back-up if it's your first time working with them.

• A couple of hours in the fridge or a few minutes submerged in very hot water will thaw out frozen leaves. I usually place the leaves in my empty sink, and then pour boiling water over them to clean and soften them. I keep them in the hot water until just before I need them, wiping a few at a time with a cloth to absorb excess moisture. Always wipe in the direction of the grain to prevent splitting the leaves.

• Soak some toothpicks or kitchen string at the same time. I prefer string for larger parcels of food, since the toothpicks can cause more damage then their convenience is worth. If you forget to soak the string or toothpicks, expect to see them char completely if grilled or roasted. If you're making very small packets, you can use thin strips of the banana leaf itself as ties.

• With a pair of scissors, trim away the hard, center vein of the leaf. Sometimes, I use the hard edges as extra support for larger packages, such as whole fish, but it can cause the leaf to split, so it's best to remove them until you're comfortable working with larger leaves. For appearance sake, you might also want to trim away any yellow streaks.

• To repair and reinforce a split leaf, just place it on top of another leaf with its grain running perpendicular.

• When grilling large items, such as a whole fish, use a cookie sheet and two wide spatulas to transfer the package to the rack, to turn it halfway through the cooking period and to remove it when done cooking.

• For easier and more attractive serving, especially on a buffet table, use shears to snip open the packets.

• Banana leaf packets are perfect for preparing ahead of time and cooking later. They hold up to moist fillings and they're easy to carry to potlucks and parties. Cover with a damp cloth to keep them moist in the fridge. Don't wait more than three days to cook them, though. They're organic material, after all, and will start fermenting if left raw too long. Once cooked, though, they and the food they hold last a surprisingly long time even at room temperature. While we have become spoiled by the apparent safety of refrigerators, much of the world still enjoys prepared snacks wrapped securely and deliciously in banana leaves.

Labels: asian food, recipes, thy tran

I've always wondered why street food was not as popular in the US. And then I started trying to understand health codes, land use policy, business permits, tax laws, risk management briefs, and sidewalk obstruction ordinances. I soon lost my appetite. The confusion was enough to make me give up on ever enjoying hot rice cakes while sitting on a plastic stool leaned up against a park wall or discovering the best roasted yams ever at the entrance to a post office.

Farmers' markets also face similar difficulties in getting started. While some neighbors relish the thought of fresh mesclun within walking distance, others fear backed-up traffic, loss of what little parking they already have, trash littering their yards, and rodents gathering for weekly food fests. Public parks, natural places for impromptu booths, end up having conflicts in mission and charter with profitable enterprise. Market management, like any other business or nonprofit, has its own risks and rewards and crazy ways of doing things. And finally, farmers have enough to keep them busy in their fields without having to face a long drive into the city. Not many can make a living for their families by standing around selling a few carrots here or some organic apples there, while their thin profit margins preclude hiring retail staff.

In many other countries, people figure out how to make use of every bit of space, material and time. While I understand the need for protecting the public, I'd love to see us loosen up just a little bit and support more micro-businesses, more diversity in the food market, and more openness and curiosity in place of fear and nimbyness.

A couple of months ago, my next-door neighbor decided that he didn't like the shape of my waist-high rosemary bush, the one I tended in that tiny patch of soil cut into the sidewalk in front of my building. So, without asking me, he cut it down to a stub of three inches and then poured so-called river stones over the space. A few weeks later, "someone" planted a begonia where my rosemary bush used to be. Not even a scented begonia, thank you very much. When pressed, my neighbor mentioned words like "property value" and "attractive landscaping." He's a new home-owner; I'm one of the last renters still toughing it out on my block. A sprawling, eight-year-old rosemary bush apparently does not have a place in my changing neighborhood.

Fortunately, another old neighbor realized how sad I was and planted a small, three-sprigged sprout of a baby rosemary plant next to the useless begonia. I look forward to watching it grow, and I hope that we both--my rugged herb and I--will still have a place to flourish on this shined-up street.

And about that video above: be sure to watch to the very end to see the magic happen.

Labels: asian food, farmers markets, thy tran, video

On display through the wonderful internets are hundreds upon thousands of photographs of everyday lunches. No soggy PB&J's here, though. One forum, the Mr. Bento Porn Flickr group, posts their collective creative efforts to make mid-day meals visually appealing, healthful, delicious and, yes, a little easier on the wallet. Their cousin site, Diet Bento, includes impressively low calorie counts for those whose 2008 resolutions (for now at least) include trimming down a little of their own belly fat.



Portable meals have been with us for as long as farmers have trudged off to their fields and soldiers have marched on in war. The Japanese took it a little further, of course. Where other countries preferred banana leaves or woven baskets, Japanese al fresco diners preferred compartmentalized boxes. By the 17th century, bento meals became elaborately arranged celebrations of the full moon and cherry blossoms, a leisurely way to enjoy intermission with friends at the theatre or, like the older form of sushi, essential food for travelers in an age before planes and bullet trains.

Fast forward to the 20th century for aluminum tins, insulated containers, microwaveable cups and, last but not least, those brightly colored, plastic Hello Kitty boxes that accompany kids to school. Adult versions abound, too, although Ichiban Kan's bento aisle seems pretty well populated by over-twenty-somethings. For those who want to pack with style, Plastica offers a sleek, stackable set in elegant colors.



Japan is not the only country with distinctive lunch boxes. Vietnam has its aluminum ca men that families carry every morning to the market to pick up breakfast, a different soup in each of the layers prepared exactly as each person prefers. The beautifully painted enamel tins of Malaysia are collectors' items, while in India, no-nonsense tiffin boxes show wonder less in their appearance than in their amazing daily travels from home to office and back again.

In Japan, there are nearly 500 magazines dedicated to showing parents (read: mothers) how to pack lunches that will entice and impress. The proper order to place in the elements, the proper balance of color and flavors, the proper container for the right food, the secret to making flowers and hamsters and their favorite manga characters out of edible delights: childrens' meals are no less subject to codification and over-the-top creativity than anything else the Japanese do.

A few English-language books attempt to translate the techniques as well as the art of bento. Some designs would only appeal to an obsessive artist with lots of free time, but many are simple and worth trying. It's a good way to get the kids involved the night before. Lay out some ingredients, flip to a fun photo and suddenly packing lunch becomes a game. Two titles to check out are Bento Boxes: Japanese Meals on the Go for a how-to guide and Face Food: The Visual Creativity of Japanese Bento Boxes for an aesthetic treatment of the topic.



Another good resource is Biggie's Lunch in A Box site, where parents will find excellent suggestions for getting their kids off to school with good food. She has hints that acknowledge the need for speed in addition to the desire to make lunch and snacks both healthy and fun.

Like with most good habits, packing meals for lunch requires practice and foresight at first, then as the regimen settles into a comfortable part of your day and week, merely some momentary foresight during weekend shopping and prep. Simple tips include washing and cutting your vegetables ahead of time, freezing food in smaller batches and learning to pack more flavor than bulk.

And if you just want to have a cute lunchbox without the work, well, they do make excellent take-out containers. Buy one with straps or handles to carry to your favorite deli counter and do your part to cut back on disposable ware.

Labels: asian food, books, children, diet, history, Japanese, school lunch, thy tran

(photo by Kevin Rosseel)

The San Francisco Professional Food Society, the Asia Society and the Chinese Culture Center have all joined forces to tackle a question that lingers, like a greasy smog, over Chinese restaurants:

Why is Chinese food so bad in the US?

Four experts will discuss the topic this coming week in an event geared toward saavy travelers, frustrated diners and nostalgic expats alike. Nicole Mones, author of the novels Lost in Translation as well as the more recent and relevant The Last Chinese Chef, will join Martin Yan, that infamous TV chef, who is now atoning for his can-cook approach by establishing an eponymous Culinary Arts Center in the Middle Kingdom itself. He hopes to teach American chefs how to cook real Chinese food. Rounding out the panel are Albert Cheng, former president of the Chinese Culture Center, and Alexander Ong, chef at Betelnut Restaurant. Olivia Wu will moderate what promises to be a lively discussion.

New York diners have already considered the question more deeply than we easy-going West Coasters. Nina and Tim Zagat's opinion piece in the New York Times listed access to ingredients and immigration policies as key factors. Mones herself compared Eastern and Western culinary preferences, recipes included, in her attempt to soften the question of why Chinese food in America is still in such a sorry state. Continuing the debate, the New York Daily News suggested that a thriving economy and well-heeled diners in China means chefs can enjoy a better living by staying in their homeland rather than sweating it out. How many creative chefs want to leave their families to sling kung pao and mu shu and yet another order of potstickers when their compatriots appreciate innovative flavors and, more importantly, are willing to pay for them?

If you can't make the event but would like to taste a bit of the controversy for yourself, visit the SFPFS event announcement: they list several restaurants in San Francisco Chinatown recommended by the speakers.

The Future of Chinese Cuisine in the U.S.
Wednesday, January 23
6:00-8:30 pm
Chinese Culture Center of San Francisco
750 Kearny Street, between Clay and Washington
Third floor, San Francisco Financial District Hilton Hotel
$25 Members (SFPFS or Asia Society)
$35 Guests

Visit the SFPFS website for details and registration.

Labels: asian food, books, chinese, events, thy tran

When an old friend from high school picked me up yesterday in her sparkling rental car, we were still trying to decide between taking in a museum or heading toward some fun shops. And when she finally nixed an afternoon of art and culture, I was more than happy to direct her to one of my favorites, Flight 001 on Hayes.

While she lost herself among their beautiful bags, a smaller but equally enticing travel gadget section kept me busy "researching." Some things weren't worth the box they came in -- a portable pasta drainer?! -- but one item caught my eye. Collapsible chopsticks.

Over the years, I've tried my share of portable, reusable chopsticks. My solid metal ones from Korea, engraved with gorgeous birds and encased in silk, are too heavy, too fancy and too difficult to use (note to self: thin metal sticks + noodle soup = stained shirt). All those cute, little plastic ones from Japan aren't any easier to use and don't collapse. On the other hand, my lovely white ones obtained from that cult in Macau are simply a pain in the ass to assemble.

So, I was intrigued by the petite size and grown-up look of this set from the folks at Kikkerland (who brought us Moleskine notebooks and Pieter Woudt's space-bending Spy Clock). These are my favorite travel chopsticks right now for their elegance, lightness of weight, ease of use while actually eating and relatively low price ($12). The plastic case is slim enough to slip into the smallest pocket and offers a protective covering in case you aren't able to wash your chopsticks until later. I highly recommend a pair of your own, especially if you travel frequently in Asia or if you're trying to cut back on your use of disposable wooden chopsticks here at home.



For those who'd like to more about waribashi, those disposable chopsticks invented and much loved by the Japanese, here are some quick facts and interesting links exploring the business, art and environmental impact of the ubiquitous, not-so-innocuous little sticks:

• The Waribashi Project is a collaboration between Berkeley artist Donna Ozawa of Berkeley and the Japanese Community & Cultural Center of Northern California. Collecting and washing discarded chopsticks, Ozawa has created art installations in both Japan and California. For one piece, she gathered 15,000 pairs of chopsticks from 11 noodle shops over a period of 12 days.

• The Green Chopsticks Project's reading room includes a few basic articles. It's a simple website but a decent start for someone just beginning to explore the issue.

• China, the major producer of waribashi, exports the equivalent of 25 million trees annually so that we can slurp noodles conveniently and swallow sushi hygienically. While bamboo makes up a small number of high-end disposable chopsticks (the bigger, longer ones) most of the break-apart versions come from birch, aspen or poplar trees. Since 2001, universities and entire cities in China have increasingly banned the use of disposable chopsticks. Demand from abroad, however, continues to grow. Last spring, in an effort to slow the deforestation of its country, Beijing imposed a 5% tax on the handy little chopsticks. Japanese businesses, ever adaptive, are now looking to Vietnam and Indonesia for new sources of wood.

• Voice of America takes a softer view of the controversy.

• Ping Mag, an online design magazine based in Tokyo, has an entry on chopsticks with lots of fun photos. NotCot has a great blog entry specifically covering modern versions of portable chopsticks.

• Kim Moser's color-coded collection of waribashi wrappers offers an aesthetic appreciation for the art of the disposable.

Labels: asian food, chopsticks, politics of food, restaurants, sustainability, thy tran, travel

Every year, on the first Sunday of November, tens of thousands of Sikh from across the U.S. and Canada travel to Yuba City for the largest gathering of their extended community in North America. It's the only public festival I've seen in this country where not a single piece of food is sold, yet I still managed to eat and drink for six hours straight.

Food is offered free to all who come: Every single one of the 60,000 Sikh (give or take 20,000 in any given year) who take part in the festival, and the few hundred curious folk like me who show up for the food.


Cauliflower pakoras fresh from the oil.

All along the side of the parade's path are stations of Sikh men and women rolling roti, frying pakoras, stirring curries, and cutting sweets. Everything served is vegetarian, to be as inclusive as possible. Friendly, young men offer fresh fruit, water, juice, and hot chai to all who walk by -- even the Christian evangelists with their placards and flyers.


A line of women roll fill bread with potatoes masala while a two-man team shares dipping and frying duty.

Men from the Punjab region of Northern India were among the earliest immigrants to the Pacific Northwest and then the Central and Imperial Valleys of California. Many of them were Sikh, and their hard work -- felling trees, laying rails, and laboring in fields and orchards -- helped build the West.


The November festival in Yuba City honors the Sikh scriptures, the Guru Granth Sahib, and the recitation of its words is central to the procession. Large, decorated semi-trucks help pull the priests and musicians through the crowded streets.

This Thursday, I'll be giving a presentation about the importance of the communal kitchen in the Sikh religion. There'll be lots more photos, including many archival ones, and we'll discuss how Asian Americans such as the Sikh navigated strict immigration and alien land laws to establish thriving farms in the Central Valley.

"Sikh Temples and Communal Meals: Religion, Politics and Potluck in California's Central Valley"
Presented by Thy Tran
Thursday, October 11, 2007
5:15-6:45 pm

Magnes Museum
2911 Russell Street, Berkeley, CA
Contact: Erica J. Peters, Culinary Historians of Northern California
Phone: (650) 938-4936
Email: e-peters-9@alumni.uchicago.edu


The Indian karahi has the same lovely, generous shape as a Chinese wok.

Labels: agriculture, asian food, festival, history, immigrants, india, indian food, thy tran

During a discussion this past week about authenticity, someone asked me what I thought about Japanese restaurants run by Koreans, while another person asked my opinion about the Japanese government's desperate fight around the globe to save sushi.

There are lots of glib answers, but they all skip over some important issues about food and culture. I need to take another week to mull this over.

In the meantime...please enjoy...



In case the YouTube logo gets in the way of the subtitles, here's a link to the video.

Labels: asian food, humor, Japanese, sushi, thy tran

Okay, enough with all the pho.

I think it's time for folks to try some other Vietnamese dishes. There are hundreds of snacks and soups, both in Vietnam proper and in Little Saigons around the world, but for reasons I'm still trying to understand, both restaurateurs and diners settle into predictable menus.


Savory bits of shrimp, mung beans and scallion oil top little steamed rice cakes.

Vietnamese cuisine today is where Chinese food was in the 50s, though some decade soon I'm sure restaurants will begin expanding beyond summer rolls, spring rolls, shaking beef and sizzling/happy/singing crepes. Perhaps it will be when we let go of the Western kitchen's saute line, or when the rubber plantation decor finally goes the way of the tiki room, or when tourists from Vietnam can visit here as readily as we fly there.

Until then, I'd like to encourage you to try two of my favorite hot-weather dishes.

Now that you're familiar with rice noodles in broth, go enjoy a plate of banh cuon and banh beo. Vietnamese cooks coax rice grains into endless shapes and textures, and these two dishes are classic ways to enjoy the cuisine's distinctive layering of flavors.

Banh Cuon

The best banh cuon are made to order. The set-up is simple: thin fabric stretched over the mouth of a wide pot, a few inches of simmering water, an oiled surface for rolling. A flat ladle and a long wooden stick are the only gadgets you need. Unfortunately, the skill required to coax a thin rice batter into a transparent round of edible silk must be passed from generation to generation.

Watch how a master steams and rolls an order of banh cuon:



Wrapping savory fillings, such as pork or mushroom, is the most common way to use the steamed rice sheets, though other versions have ingredients sprinkled above plain rolls rather than wrapped within them. Fresh herbs, like young mint leaves, and fried shallots should appear somewhere nearby. Just before you eat the rice rolls, you'll flood them with a dilute version of that ubiquitous dipping sauce made from nuoc mam.

Banh Beo

If you steam rice batter in tiny dishes rather than on a thin layer of fabric, then you'll have piles of cute banh beo. Something magical happens in the steamer to create a dimple in each round, perfect for holding bits of flavorful ingredients. The classic toppings are delicate in texture while concentrated in taste: dried shrimp cooked to neon orange, mung beans ground to golden fluffiness, perfect dice of crisp pork rind, or scallions wilted just until sweet. The same thin sauce flavors these lovely dimpled rice cakes.


My fleet of dipping bowls -- only 39 cents each at Kamei on Clement -- serve double duty as molds for banh beo.

Here's the easiest way to eat banh beo: use chopsticks to nudge each round onto a soup spoon, make sure there's a representative amount of sauce and topping included, and then slurp the generous mouthful in one, happy bite.


EATING OUT

If you live in Oakland, you're not far from a restaurant that serves both banh cuon and banh beo.

Tay Ho Restaurant
344 12th Street (@ Webster)
Oakland, CA 94607
(510) 836-6388


COOKING CLASS

If you want to learn how to work with rice batters and how to make banh beo in your own kitchen (so easy!) then join cookbook author Andrea Nguyen and yours truly for a special hands-on cooking class. It's a weekend class sponsored by Slow Food at Terry Paulding's amazing teaching kitchen in Emeryville.

In this class, we'll also teach you how to work with dried rice paper and how to make truly crisp banh xeo. Vietnamese salads, sweets, beer, and salty plum limeade round out the menu.

Vietnamese Transformations of Rice
Sunday, May 20, 2007
5 pm to 8 pm
at Creative Kitchen
1410D 62nd Street, Emeryville, CA
Slow Food members $50/nonmembers $60.

Andrea has a detailed flyer (pdf) at her website. You can also contact Frankie Whitman at fwhitman at pacbell.net for more information or to register.

Hope to see you in class!

Labels: asian food, events, rice, thy tran, vietnamese

A recent breakfast at T-28 Cafe in the Outer Sunset reminded me just how good a cup of hot, strong milk tea tastes on lazy weekend mornings. Although the richness of a well-aged pu-erh or the emerald sweetness of a spring shin-cha give me great pleasure as a tea drinker, neither have a place in my heart like down-home milk tea.

Milk tea is its own religion in Hong Kong, intertwined in the colony's history and culinary culture. It's a topic not taken lightly, and I know I enter dangerous territory writing about it as an outsider. I've hosted visitors insisted on traveling with their own packets of instant "3-in-1" milk tea to ensure that their morning cup wouldn't be compromised. Although the boba generation may not remember, milk tea helped defined the intersection of east and west. Enjoyed from morning to midnight, it was served on nearly every street corner. Establishments guarded their secret recipes, and even McDonald's began offering its own version of milk tea.


One of the 28 remaining dai pai dong in Hong Kong. Ubiquitous in the 50s and 60s, these street stalls specialized in both hot and cold milk tea as well as fast fare at all times of the day and night. I love those little, built-in, square stools -- perfect for hunching over a bowl of noodles.

As with any ritual that combines comfort with caffeine, there's much debate over the specifics, from the type of tea leaves to the brand of milk to the precise mechanics of combining the two. Generally, though, most can agree on some basic tenets for milk tea: a blend of Ceylon and Assam leaves brewed for an extended period, a generous stir of evaporated milk, and a hint of sweetness from a spoonful of condensed milk or sugar. Purists will insist on Black & White brand milk (the one with the cow on the label) and a cloth brewing bag to mimic the fine-textured, oblong filters that lend milk tea its nickname in Cantonese: "silk stocking tea." I'm perfectly okay with English and Irish Breakfast teabags, but even the pragmatist in me admits that milk tea with anything else but evaporated milk falls far from its creator's intent.

The key is brewing the tea over low heat for a very long time. The extra tannin gives enough body and bitterness to balance the milk, so the result is a strong yet silky smooth, creamy, and full-bodied drink that's as easy to identify by sight as a properly made espresso. In fact, even before the cup arrives, you'll know: walk into any cafe that makes its own milk tea and you'll pick up instantly milk tea's distinctive scent.


Marrying into the Wu family means learning new habits. The morning after my wedding, Ba Wu brews a big pot of milk tea for all our guests.

Yes, I know, Anglophiles and expats all shudder in horror at the thought of milk tea. But just like a tall glass of Southern sweet tea or a mug of cowboy coffee, the moment you sip one made with integrity and generosity, you'll understand.

For your first cup of milk tea, don't order from a place that makes it from an instant mix. Instead, look for Hong Kong eateries or bakeries where it appears on a separate drink menu. The popularity of bubble tea means a true milk tea has become extremely difficult to find. Try it at Sweetheart Cafe on Grant, D&A on Broadway, or ABC Bakery on Jackson in SF Chinatown. Slanted Door has an excellent version, lifted out of its Chinese diner ambience but honest, strong and good. My favorite source, T-28 Cafe out on Taraval at 28th Avenue, has an extensive menu that also highlights lemon tea, ginger coke, and other lovely libations.

Making Hong Kong Milk Tea

Experiment with various combinations of Ceylon ("English Breakfast") and Assam ("Irish Breakfast") teas. I personally like the redder, warmer flavors of more Assam leaves, but many prefer the darker, more robust Ceylon. If you use a large mesh ball or one of those muslin tea brewing bags, it'll be easier to strain loose tea leaves. Of course, teabags sidestep this entirely.

Bring a small pot of water just to the boiling point, but do not let it actually bubble up. Lower the heat to as low as possible. Add three times as many tea bags or twice as much loose tea as you would normally. Cover and leave the tea to brew for at least 10 minutes and up to 30 minutes. Strain out the tea leaves or remove the teabags; for this, it's okay to squeeze teabags to get the extra boost. Stir in evaporated milk until the tea is the color of caramel, then bring the tea back to very hot serving temperature.

Divide the tea among several cups and invite your guests to stir in a spoonful of sweetened condensed milk or sugar.

Labels: asian food, history, recipe, recipes, tea, thy tran

Learning the true shape of our food sometimes comes as a surprise. The challenge of carrying ingredients across time and distance plus the reality of everyday cooking has transformed the look, feel and -- most importantly -- taste of many foods.

That dry, yellow powder known here as turmeric is certainly one of them.

Looking at a little bottle of it in the supermarket, it's hard to believe that this cousin of ginger boasts the same family's gracefully arched leaves and large, stunning blossoms. There are many varieties grown in India, from where nearly all the world's supply comes. Turmeric's fragrant bite and intensely golden hue make it a key ingredient in the cuisine and culture of Asia's southern and southeastern regions. It's applied as an effective antibacterial tonic in Ayurvedic medicine, simmered in peppery Burmese soups and infused into golden cones of nasi kuning at Indonesian weddings.

Many foods more familiar to Westerners, say ballpark mustard and certain cheeses, also gain their yellow hue from turmeric. It's often dismissed, unfairly, as a lesser substitute for saffron by those who haven't tried it in its whole, fresh form or who aren't familiar with its native, rather than derivative, uses. The Royal Botanical Kew Gardens maintains an excellent website where you can learn more about the ancient history, botany, medicinal uses and spiritual traditions of turmeric.

Selecting and Storing

Look for the slim, orange rhizomes of fresh turmeric in the produce section of Asian and Indian markets, in small bags near where the herbs are sold. Buy rhizomes with bright, smooth peels, avoiding any with soft spots, dark bruises or dried out tips. They freeze well and grate easily while still frozen. Just immerse what you need in some warm water for a few minutes, than proceed to peel and grate.

For each teaspoon of dry turmeric in a recipe, substitute about 1 inch of fresh turmeric. Peel the thin outer layer by gently scraping with the edge of a spoon's bowl, and then grate the rhizome finely with a microplane or a ginger grater. It's best to bring out the color and flavor of the fresh rhizome with a quick stir in some hot oil.



Some simple ways to enjoy turmeric:

- Use it in any curry recipe that calls for dry, ground turmeric, adding it to the pan after the dry spices have been toasted or stirring with other aromatics that are cooked in oil.

- To dress up leftover rice: Saute grated turmeric, minced garlic, salt and a generous amount of black pepper in hot oil until fragrant and golden. Stir in a few tablespoons of coconut milk. Add cooked rice and stir until evenly coated. Serve hot. For a special meal, transfer the rice to banana leaves and steam for 20 minutes.

- To make a lovely Burmese soup: Stir several crushed garlic cloves, a small amount of paprika and half a teaspoon of grated turmeric into a couple cups of chicken broth. Simmer for 10 to 20 minutes, then add thinly sliced seasonal vegetables such as daikon, chayote, spinach, mustard greens, watercress or even carrots. Season to taste with salt and a generous grinding of black pepper, then sprinkle with chopped cilantro or scallions just before serving.

- For a refreshing cucumber sauce over fried or grilled fish: Halve lengthwise 2 or 3 small, pickling cucumbers or 1/2 of a hothouse cucumber. Scoop out seeds and cut into thick slices. Stir grated turmeric and onions in hot oil until fragrant and bright golden. Add chopped garlic and finely shredded ginger, then stir in the cucumbers, 1/2 cup of stock and, optionally, a spoonful of coconut milk. Simmer just until the cucumbers are warmed through, then transfer to serving bowl or pour over cooked fish.

- The next time you're at an Indian market, look for turmeric pickles tucked in among the other mango, lime and eggplant pickles. One of my favorites!

- To brighten your own favorite salsa, chutney or pickles: Grate turmeric, then heat it in the oil or a small amount of the liquid used in the recipe or even a bit of the pickling brine from purchased pickles. Stir well with other ingredients.

- Experiment with this natural food coloring by slipping a bit into any recipe that calls for ginger. You never know, that bright, new dish might become a classic from your kitchen.

Labels: asian food, recipes, spices, thy tran

Lest readers things that I only like to eat meat (and by meat, I mean, of course, pork) I'm dedicating today's post to one of my favorite cusines: South Indian.

After a recent crash course in using a Sumeet mixer-grinder, Ramach and Vidya introduced me to one of their standby eateries. I had planned to make my way back up 880 to Fremont for some good Indian eats, but Vidya assured me that a detour to Sunnyvale would be worth my time. Never to turn down a personal introduction to food, I postponed a few more rounds of pani puri for a plate of endless rice.

As with many Indian restaurants, our destination was ensconced in a strip mall alongside a Korean market, Chinese noodle shop, and Hindi video store. Komala Vilas is nothing fancy. Like its website, it offers only the essentials. There's not an extensive menu that includes every region of the subcontinent, nor are there evocative artifacts on the walls. If your skin is pale, you might be the only one of your kind in the dining room. Expect families on the weekends and high-tech workers during the weekday lunch rush.

But for experiencing a delicious meal as its enjoyed toward the tip of India, you can't find much better.


A banana leaf meal. (Photo by Peter Tan.)

A formal South Indian meal is divided into three courses of rice. Before stainless steel became widespread, banana leaves were the plate of choice, and if you travel in India, you'll still see this very convenient, very natural form of disposable dinnerware. With purity of service being so important, these one-use plates, bowls and cups were standard. It also helps that the plants are incredibly abundant in the south. Kerala is named, quite literally, after the banana trees that cover this state. Nowadays, stainless steel is widespread, especially in less banana-friendly climes like the U.S.

If you visit Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia, or Thailand, you'll find "banana leaf" restaurants and street stalls that serve a wide variety of food. There's something about eating off a fresh, green leaf that makes the simplest sauce even more flavorful.

Although it seems casual, there are specific dictates in India to serving food on a banana leaf, especially for celebratory feasts or religious offerings. From alternating dry vegetables with gravies to the exact corner for placing a sweet palate teaser, the order of up to 20 different foods follows a circular pattern that incorporates health, religion and regional traditions. Udupi diners, in particular, take particular care in the placement of their food.

At Komala Vilas, you won't need to worry about this. You won't even receive a menu, for that matter, but have no fear, for eating at restaurants like this is as simple as nodding your head. (You can even practice the Indian nod, that gentle sideways bobbing that marks a native of the subcontinent.) You'll be given a large, metal plate, then immediately, servers will appear with large buckets of food. All you need to do is say yes to rice and its many accompaninents.


One of the courses making its way around the dining room.

As with dim sum and hotel brunch buffets, it's all about the pacing. Even if you're very hungry, you might want to pass on seconds of the first course. The food is so good and the servers so attentive that it's very easy to accept more every time they come by. Spicy pickles and eating with your fingers slows you down a little, but not as much as you'd think.

Finally, a note must be included about forkless food. As one of my hosts in Kerala told me, she couldn't imagine eating with implements, as they would separate her from an entire sensory facet of food. The texture and temperature of vegetables in her hands were as important to her as our emphasis on visual aesthetics. At Komala Vilas, you'll learn to get in touch with your food. Just as you would use chopsticks at a Chinese banquet, do follow your fellow diners at a South Indian restaurant. Remember that the right hand is for food, though an occasional nudge with your left fingers is unavoidable for most beginners.


Cup your four fingers together like a spoon, and then use your thumb to slip each bite into your mouth. High society looks favorably on those who only wet their fingertips up to the first knuckle, but everyday eaters don't mind a handful of flavor.

Now, for the rice courses...

DAL SAMBAR
Sambar is the everyday food of South India. If you've tasted any of the common chaat, such as idli or vada, then you most probably received some sambar alongside or over it. Made from a handful of lentils or mung bean simmered in a pot of water until they disintegrate into a smooth, creamy mixture, dal has infinite potential. The most common flavorings include golden turmeric, sour tamarind, earthy asafoetida, fragrant curry leaves, and popped mustard seeds.

A ladleful of the sambar will appear at the top, left of your plate. To the right goes the vegetable of the day, such as drumstick, cabbage, potato, or caulifower. Once the rice comes, you can mix in as much of the sambar as you want.

Large rounds of crisp pappadam will be offered, too. You can crush them into little bits to sprinkle over your rice, or you can just break off pieces occasionally to dip into the sambar. Or you can just eat them all before your rice even arrives. Your choice.

The killer bucket that comes by regularly is the one filled with ghee. It's an endless spring of buttery goodness, and for those who are ignoring their arteries, this golden richness makes everything taste better.


Sambar, cabbage and pappadam waiting for a generous heap of rice.

RASAM RICE
The second course is analogous to a soup course. Rasam refers to the tangy, thin broth that gets poured over your rice. A small amount of one or two vegetables adds some texture, while a generous finishing of fresh herbs and oil-sputtered spices adds complex layers of flavors. Again, mix it all up and then sweep the rice up to your lips. If you like your rice very wet, feel free to use the side of your hand to scoop and eat.

By this time, you will also have been offered pickles. Maybe green mango, maybe zesty lime, or maybe a please-them-all mixed variety. I love pickles and have to curb my affinity for all things sour, or else the entire meal begins to taste like one spicy heap of pickle.

RICE & CURDS
The third and last savory course is a cooling mixture of rice and buttermilk or yogurt. Again, you can ask for ghee to enrich the rice. One of the most delicious versions I've had included some fresh lemon juice and more ghee than you want to know. Rice and curds is Indian comfort food at its best. I'd go in just for this course alone.

FILTER COFFEE

A tumbler of filter coffee, nestled in a deep, flared davarah, comes to the table frothy hot.

Since I have Vietnamese blood in my viens, sipping Indian filter coffee comes as naturally to me as slurping pho. The metal filter, the 20-minute drip time, the bite of chicory mellowed with caramel sweetness -- it's culinary deja vu.

You can order chai, but since we're enjoying the flavors of South India, a tumbler of strong coffee is a must. Coffee became popular relatively recent in the subcontinent, but as the bean's cultivation spread under the Raj across the foothills of the Western Ghats, it soon became a drink of choice in the surrounding states of Tamil Nadu, Karnataka, Kerala and Andra Pradesh. It's the Peaberry that gives Madras filter coffee its distinctive flavor, but other dark roast varieties can also be used.

Someone in the kitchen will pour the coffee back and forth between two containers to raise a lively forth of bubbles. The coffee should arrive so hot that you can't touch the tumbler. Pour a little into the deep saucer and swirl it around to cool. Most like to sweeten their coffee a bit...or a lot. White sugar is the modern stand-in for jaggery, but if you ask nicely, you might be able to convince the server to bring you some deeply flavored palm sugar. Moist flakes of jaggery is to filter coffee what a drippy spoonful of sweetened, condensed milk is to Vietnamese coffee.

It's powerful stuff. There's rarely need for a second cup, but then again, when has need ever stopped us from enjoyment?

DESSERT
In the spirit of all-you-can-eat, I had triple servings of their lovely payasam. This soothing dessert -- made from milk that's been boiled, gently sweetened with sugar, thickened with tiny strands of vermicelli, flavored with cardamom, and sprinkled with almonds -- is one of my favorites. You might think that you don't have room, but it's only a few spoonfuls (times three), just enough to finish a thoroughly satisfying meal.


KOMALA VILAS
1020 East El Camino Real, Sunnyvale
(408) 733-7400

Labels: asian food, india, restaurants, south bay, thy tran, vegetarian

Yesterday, I attended the best cookbook event ever. Book signings are now more a professional obligation than a fun diversion, but I'm very glad I stopped in at the Bayanihan Community Center to see Amy Besa and Romy Dorotan. This wasn't your usual book event. Grandparents brought their grandkids, and Tagalog was spoken unabashedly. The tastings were generous--I enjoyed thirds on those adobo ribs--and there was much laughter in the air. Their discussion and demonstration were a powerful reminder of the way sharing recipes, memories, and food keep a community together over time and distance.

Amy and Romy's book, Memories of Philippine Kitchens, has been years in the making, and once you open the covers, you undertand immediately the amount of time and effort that went into gathering the stories. It's a rare example of a cookbook that encompasses geography, politics, culture, oral history, and excellent recipes in a book that is as beautiful as it is generous and loving. Publishers Stewart, Tabori & Chang did an excellent job with it; they allowed Amy to include the region's complex history, a multitude of photos, and a voice centered in her own community's experience rather than bent toward explaining her cuisine to non-Filipinos.

The book has sold out in nearly every store around the world, from Manila to London to San Francisco. Managers tell of readers standing in their store aisles, crying over the book. Its deep resonance with the Filipino diaspora speaks of the need for this book. Long overdue, Memories of Philippine Kitchens is the harbinger of a wider appreciation of a much misunderstood cuisine.

The husband and wife team opened their restaurant, Cendrillon, in Manhattan in 1995. Amy had fled Manila just weeks before martial law was declared in 1972, and in their youth, they were activists in the international Phillipines political movement. Romy's passion for food, however, led him to work in restaurants. It wasn't long before they decided to open their own restaurant highlighting Southeast Asian cuisines and then, of course, to begin writing this book.

If you're not familiar with Filipino food, then you're in for a treat. The fresh seafood; the fruity sour flavors that assert themselves again and again; and the amazing variety of noodles, soups and desserts--Filipino cuisine is one of the most fun to explore. Generosity at the table is a hallmark, and the laughing, singing and joking that accompany any gathering adds their own unique flavor to the food. Three dishes that any serious food lover must experience: a piquant peppery adobo, a kinilaw made with the day's catch, and a communal pot of sinigang.


Kilawing Tangigue: Generous amounts of ginger and scallion spike this fresh-from-the-sea kinilaw, one of the native dishes of the Philippines. (Photo by Bing Ramos)

The islands--over 7,000 of them--are home to centuries of intertwined communities. Native hunters, Chinese and Arab merchants, Malay empires with Muslim rulers, Indian laborers, and Spanish colonists followed by American soldiers have all left their mark on the country's culture. Revealing history in the kitchen, the cuisine itself reflects this pastiche of influences.

Northern and Southern California are home to the largest concentrations of Filipinos outside of Manila. From the first sailors who landed in Alta California to the Central Valley's agricultural workers, including Philip Vera Cruz, co-founder of the United Farm Workers, their history is integral to the successes of this state.

To learn more about the history, culture and cuisine of the Filipino community, visit:

Arkipelago Books
1010 Mission Street, San Francisco
(415) 553-8185
One of the city's gem of an indpendent bookstore, this packed space stocks any book ever written about the Philippines or Filipino Americans. I visit regularly to check in on their wonderful cooking and food section, which has hard-to-find books such as Beyond Rice, a stunningly beautiful book on the traditional cultivation of this important crop, and Kinilaw: A Philippine Cuisine of Freshness, an essential cookbook for any seafood lover. Another great find is the CD collection of Bay Area classical guitarist, Florante Aguilar, playing harana, traditional Filipino courtship serenades.

Bistro Luneta
615 Third Avenue, San Mateo
(650) 344-0041
A modern setting for Filipino cuisine, Bistro Luneta blends traditional flavors with contemporary techniques. While other Southeast Asian cuisines also appear on the menu, this is the place in the Bay Area to taste Filipino cuisine at its most vibrant.

Patio Filipino
1770 El Camino Real, San Bruno
(650) 872-9888 or (415) 810-9882
The menu at this restaurant highlights the Spanish influence on the country's cuisine. The house specialty is Paella Valenciana, but there's also an impressive list of sinigang soups and dishes with favorite ingredients, including kangkong leaves, milkfish, duck eggs, and pork in all its many yummy incarnations. They have a catering service, definitely worth trying for your next feasting event.

The Filipino American Arts Exposition
Dedicated to preserving and presenting Filipino arts and culture, the FAAE hosts the annual pistahan celebration at Yerba Buena.

Labels: asian food, books, filipino, restaurants, san francisco, south bay, thy tran