Blueberries and oysters? Chocolate and cauliflower? Blue cheese and rhubarb and pineapple?

If taste buds could cringe, then mine were recoiled into a wincing mess when I first learned about these flavor pairings. For those of you who have been eating at El Bulli or The Fat Duck or Alinea, this is all old news. For me, though, it was definitely an invitation to walk on the wild side.

To help wake up my outdated taste buds, my friend, Frankie, linked me up with Food for Design, where chemists and chefs and some overachieving web designers are putting together a provocative, highly entertaining website. With just a few minutes of clicking, creative and courageous cooks can find some very unusual food pairings.

Bernard Lahousse and Lieven De Couvreur in Belgium are the masterminds behind Food for Design. Based on the simple premise that "food combines with each other when they have major flavour components in common," their postings attempt to pair foods according to their physicochemical properties. If two ingredients share common sequences or similar molecules, the thinking goes, then their overlapping flavor compounds will echo each other.

Even the simplest flavors that we perceive depend on hundreds if not thousands of molecules interacting. Heat, time, acid, oil, sun, salt--any number of things can change the bonds and the resulting shapes of these flavor compounds. Structural shifts lead to flavor changes. (Too much information, you say? Just ask any culinary student to summarize the Maillard Reaction to hear more than you ever wanted to know about the science of bread crust.)



Back to the fun stuff: My favorite pages are those with elegant tree diagrams tracing molecular groupings of common ingredients and the links between them that lead to not-so-common pairings. They're perfect illustrations of form and flavor, the culinary equivalent of graphic designers' never-ending debates about form and function. Keep exploring their pages to find such gems as: "Most people and even many engineers would guess that the shape of a raindrop is the familiar teardrop shape. However, the teardrop shape appears only in cartoons and the real shape is closer to the flattened hamburger bun." Hence, the macaroon.

Later this week, I'm going to try making a cauliflower souffle with dark chocolate shavings, serve it to my guests, and see how long it takes them to figure out that they're not eating white chocolate. If all goes well, I may have a recipe for you next week. Or not.

In the meantime, you can try a much simpler dish created by organometallic research chemist-slash-gourmand Martin Lersch: Caramelized Cauliflower and Chocolate Jelly.

Please do share your tasting notes!

Labels: chemistry, pairing, recipe, thy tran

After successful runs last year at the DeYoung Museum and Galleria de la Raza, The Great Tortilla Conspiracy returns for another fantastic show at SomArts Cultural Center. Self-described as "the world's most dangerous tortilla art collective," the father and son team of Rene and Rio Yañez explores a wide swath of themes in their unique medium. Along the way, they recruit other artists as well as creatively minded gallery visitors to join the fun. Immigration and genetic modification, apparitions of religious icons and pop-culture celebrities, free trade and lucha libre -- it's all game in tortilla art.


Artist: Jos Sances


Artist: Rene Yañez


Artist: Anonymous pork lover

The exhibit opens with a reception on WednesdaySaturday, April 5th, 6:00 to 9:30 pm. Throughout the month, SomArts will host a series of interactive tortilla events, including a tortilla fashion show and a panel discussion on the globalization of tortillas and corn. Those who don't want to think about the rising price of Mexico's staple can skip straight to the hands-on art workshop, where you'll create a masterpiece of your very own to contribute to the growing body of tortilla art.


Artist: Nicole Schach. Oh Blessed Virgin Mary, grant me patience for the 14 Mission, the 30 Stockton, the 38 Geary....


Artist: Rene Yañez


THE GREAT TORTILLA CONSPIRACY
April 3rd to 23rd, 2008
SomArts Cultural Center
934 Brannan Strreet
San Francisco, CA, 94103
(415) 863-1414
Google Map

Event Schedule
April 5, 6 – 9:30 pm - Opening Reception
April 11, 5 pm – Tortilla Drawing Rally
April 12, 6 pm – Artist Panel Validating Tortilla Art
April 18, 7 pm – Tortilla Fashion Show
April 19, 5 pm – Special Panel on the globalization of Tortillas
and Transgenic Corn


The divine Morrissey graces a tortilla.

Labels: art, corn, mexican, san francisco, thy tran

Bodega: The Bronx

Laughs are few and far between for anyone who works in that tough corner of the food world where food security, public health, and urban development issues intersect. Fortunately, the dynamic duo of Dallas Penn and Rafi Kam have been making short, sharp, and extremely funny documentaries about shopping and eating in urban neighborhoods, including this short on bodegas, those infamous corner stores.

Dallas Penn blogs about music, sports, politics and whatever else strikes his fancy (tags include "Black Bullshit" and "Wig Owners" and "Social Upheaval"). His partner in comedy, Rafi Kam, reviews albums and writes features about topics like Baduizm, a contagious disease that strikes the nerve endings of rap artists.

Together, they tackle the finer points of the Bodega Food Pyramid. This short film is a refreshing break from the boring, depressing, and thoroughly condescending material that comes out of many public health agencies. It somehow manages to be affectionately searing.

For anyone out there who has wondered why "certain communities" don't buy organic fruit or eat more salads, this will be an educational feature. For those who grew up in the Bronx or East St. Louis or South Central L.A., this documentary will hit close--perhaps too close--to home and heart.

Here in Bayview Hunters Point, nonprofit organizations and city agencies have been trying to spread good food with the Good Neighbor project. UK-based Tesco is eyeing a space for one of their newly polished Fresh&Easy markets, grocery stores with smaller footprints that are positioned to enter under-served neighborhoods. There's been some back and forth, though, as the company has been hesitating to agree to community standards that might cut into their profits. Neighbors are asking them to not sell hard liquor, but Tesco is loathe to give up the very high margins of the alcohol aisle.

At a policy symposium last year, I listened as their frontman pointed out how grateful we should all be that they're even considering opening a full-service grocery store and creating jobs in a poverty-ridden food dessert. Ask some of the locals, though, how happy they are to have their requests ignored.

And watch Penn and Kam's "Bodega" to understand, with a smile, what is at stake.



Bodega: The Tenderloin

On a complete tangent, the title of the film reminds me of a Vietnamese restaurant on Larkin Street in San Francisco (another neighborhood that also happens to be facing the community upheavals accompanying many urban redevelopment projects). Yes, service is spotty. And yes, the food is not good across the board. But it's one of those neighborhood places that has lingered through change and remained popular through several face-lifts and menu tweaks.

Bodega Bistro used to actually serve all three: bo (beef), de (goat) and ga (chicken). Hand-penned signs taped to the wall once advertised their special goat stew, but those are long gone. The name of the restaurant stuck, though, and its menu offers the usual suspects. One dish worth highlighting, though, is bun cha, a specialty of Hanoi.

For first-timers, it might be a bit confusing when the order arrives. A plate of greens and herbs piled high. Some plain rice noodles. Some meat submerged in clear broth. And an empty bowl. None of it looks particular appetizing on its own, but it's culinary magic when the layers of flavors and textures meld together.

Like many Vietnamese meals, it's all up to the diner. Combine small amounts of each ingredient in your own bowl, then drizzle a spoonful of sauce over all. If you've ordered any type of bun, the refreshing cold noodle salads that's a popular lunch item in Vietnam, then you'll have an idea of what bun cha can be. It's more formal, however, and when done well, truly memorable. The cut and quality of the meat and the freshness of the herbs are what determine the best versions. I wish the food were more consistent here, but two out of three times, it hits the spot.

Now, if only Bodega would bring back its second-syllable goat dishes.

Bodega Bistro
607 Larkin Street
San Francisco, CA 94199
(415) 921-1218
Google Map

Labels: documentary, healthy eating, humor, thy tran, vietnamese

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

From Tricycle Press, that little imprint of our very own Berkeley-based Ten Speed Press, comes the World Snack Series, a cheerful set of children's board books about sweet and savory treats enjoyed around the world.

Author and illustrator Amy Wilson Sanger provides both the books' sing-song text and the artful, colorful sculptures that grace their pages. Adults and children alike will love the parade of scrumptious snacks: cha siu bao, bhel puri, tamales, hamentaschen, little polpetini, and even temaki with uni roe. One of my favorite lines, from Yum Yum Dim Sum, sent me straight to the closest teahouse: “Why, oh why, my little sui mai, why do I love you so?”



Sanger's sculptures are exquisitely detailed yet retain magic and imagination. Flour on the handle of the pasta roller? Check. Translucent beads of flying fish roe? Check. Little snips of tree mushrooms in the dumpling filling? Check. Hand-stitched tofu? Of course. Occasional beans and sesame seeds cross the pages to add real-life dimension, but for the most part, Sanger depends on the transformation of paper and cloth to create amazingly mouth-watering renditions of favorite foods.

I have four of the six titles published so far, and though I keep promising myself that I'll hand them off soon to worthy tots, I must confess they're still in my possession. They were supposed to go into the emergency gift box--yes, my friends' kids' birthdays have been accruing at a startling rate--but I have a feeling that these books are heading soon to one of my own shelves. I'm especially looking forward to the seventh in the series, Chaat and Sweets, that will be released later this spring (May 2008).



What appeals to me, as the "California aunt" in my family, is the matter-of-fact approach to such a widely diverse table. There's an emphasis on foods that one might find in take-out and at restaurants, particularly noticeable in First Book of Sushi and Hola Jalapeno. Still, this series as a whole stands head and shoulders above other multi-culti children's books about the world of food. There's no preachy agenda between the lines, and dishes aren't presented as the newly discovered, unfamiliar foods of other families. (Read Everyone Cooks Rice for a well-intentioned, first-generation example of both of these shortcomings.)

The back covers of most of the books in the World Snack Series provide helpful pronunciation glossaries for parents who may not have grown up tying tamales or rolling maki themselves. While some may roll their eyes at the thought of cultivating pint-sized gourmands--with miso in their sippy cups and salsa on their bibs--I for one consider this another wonderful step forward in the long, pot-holed road to incorporating international flavors with neither condescension nor wide-eyed wonder.

Labels: books, children, thy tran

For those who love both poetry and pork, the recitation and the recipe, Dongpo Rou's silken layers hold a potent blend of both. This famous dish of Hangzhou, a city tucked near where the Qiantang River spills into the Yangtze Delta of eastern China, is named for its creator, the celebrated Chinese poet, Su Shi. Also known as Su Dongpo, he gave his name to the much-loved dish.

Stories are still told of how he forgot his simmering pork while playing chess or of the misunderstanding among his servants when he called for pork with wine. He was thinking a nice cup of spirits; they were thinking boozy stew. I like to think that while the pork belly simmered gently in wine and soy sauce and spices, the poet composed and ink-brushed and recited an afternoon's worth of verse.

Nicole Mones has written a lovely essay about the lingering ties between the poetry and the pork. Since this is Bay Area Bites and not Bay Area Chapbook, I will let other sites cover Chinese poetry. The recipe, however, is most definitely within our domain.



While teaching a writing class several years ago, I had the pleasure of having two students who were in the middle of their own dongpo rou studies. Class discussions about literary metaphors and run-on sentences quickly gave way to debates about judging slabs of pork belly and the precise ratio of wine to soy sauce and which spices should absolutely not be omitted. A friend's father generously walked me through his own recipe a year later. And then this year, after listening to Martin Yan, Olivia Wu, Albert Cheng, Nicole Mones, and Alex Ong rhapsodize about the dish during a panel discussion at the Chinese Culture Center, I realized it was time to embark on my own journey.



Many a Chinese food lover will name dongpo rou among the finest, most difficult, most sublime and most purely enjoyable of classic dishes. I know cooks who have dedicated years to perfecting it in their own kitchens and still bemoan the challenge of coaxing that alchemical melting of the pork's layers of fat and lean, meat and skin. My own explorations have just begun, but like any still-fresh convert, I can't stop talking about my newfound joy. It's like eating pork custard that melts on your tongue. It's like swallowing savory silk. It's what pork will taste like in heaven. (And now you know why I'm not a poet.)

I can't claim native expertise, nor can I say I have settled on my own final, best recipe. But, damn, this stuff is good!



DONGPO ROU

Ingredients
• 2 to 3 pounds of finest quality pork belly
• Half a stick of Chinese golden sugar, or 2 tablespoons brown sugar
• 4 scallions, white part only
• 3 thick slices ginger
• 6 whole star anise
• 1 cinnamon stick
• 1 teaspoon fennel seeds
• 2 to 3 cups chinese wine (I use Shaoxing rice wine aged 8 years)
• 1/2 to 1 cup stock or water
• 3 to 4 tablespoons light soy sauce, plus more if needed

Preparation
1. Check the skin of the pork belly to be sure all hairs are removed. Tweezers are good for this. Cut cubes that are 2-1/2 by 2-1/2 inches and tie with fresh straw or kitchen string. Blanch in boiling water for 2 minutes; drain.

2. In a heavy pot big enough to hold the pork in a single layer, skin-side up, combine the pork packets, sugar, fresh aromatics and dried spices. Pour in enough rice wine to come up two-thirds on the sides of the pork, then add enough stock or water to just cover the skin. Drizzle in soy sauce.

3. Bring to a gentle simmer, reduce heat until the liquid ripples with a bare shiver, cover tightly and then leave the kitchen for a few hours. Stay close, though, to check that the liquid never boils. Taste one or twice to adjust sweet and salty flavors, but otherwise, it's a matter of trusting the magical effects of time and moisture on the pork and its flavorings. I like to float a round of parchment paper on the surface of the liquid to help cover the meat and fat evenly. If you're in a hurry, you can stop the cooking at 1 1/2 hours, but it won't be as good as when you have waited for 4 hours.

4. Remove the pan from the heat and let the pork cool in its liquid. For the best results, I like to refrigerate overnight to remove excess fat that floats to the top. If done well, though, you'll be surprised by how little fat comes off into the sauce.

5. Set up a steamer over your wok, or place a shallow dish in a large pot. Arrange the pork in a bowl or deep platter with its liquid, which after refrigerating has become a deeply colored, sparkling pork aspic. Steam for one hour. If desired, reduce the sauce by boiling it separately.

6. Serve the pork cubes in small, individual bowls with the sauce spooned over and accompanied with lots of white rice.

Labels: chinese, nicole mones, pork, recipe, 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

Lucky me, the flu came visiting last week. Even after three days of sleeping in bed and swallowing nothing more than bananas and Advil, I could tell my uninvited guest had no intention of leaving. Time to get serious.

Cooking was out of the question -- I could barely stand up straight with the long, invisible spikes piercing both sides of my brain -- so I smiled as sweetly as possible at my husband and said three words: Pho ga. Please.

He'd never made the soup before nor did he have a mother who cooked it once a week, so I scribbled down some notes on a scrap of paper. I fell back asleep before he left for the grocery store, and by the time I woke up again, blessed me, I could smell the lovely scent of star anise and cinnamon and ginger all the way into the bedroom.

Now, lest you think that I'm married to a kitchen wizard, let me just say that during the five years he lived alone, the only meat he ever bought was bacon and he never, ever, not once, turned on his oven. Fortunately, the best foods for the soul are always the simplest.

Pho ga is an excellent way to prepare meals ahead of time. My mom used to simmer the chicken on Sunday, boil a big batch of noodles, wash all the herbs, and then refrigerate the components separately. It only takes about 10 minutes to reheat the stock and noodles for a comforting bowl of soup anytime during the week.

Eating my way through my husband's very first pot of pho ga brought me back to the land of the living. Here, verbatim, is the recipe:

Half-Conscious Notes on Making Pho Ga

Preparation
1. Cut chicken in half & pull off fatty chunks @ tail

2. Cover with cold water. Add onion (halved), some carrot logs, lots of star anise (8-10) a few cloves, teaspoon of peppercorns, and cinnamon stick. And Bay Leaf for the French. Add giblets, etc. & fennel seeds.

3. Bring just [double underlined] to a boil, then lower heat, cover partially & simmer gently 1 1/2 hour.

4. Remove chicken. remove big chunks of meat & return carcass. continue simmer 2-3 hrs.



Shopping List and Additional Notes

Ingredients
One 4-5 pound chicken
1 package wide rice noodles
A small hand of ginger
1 large onion
1 small carrot
Spices: star anise, cinnamon stick (preferably Vietnamese cassia), peppercorns, cloves, fennel seed
Fish sauce
Fried shallots

Fresh herbs: scallions, cilantro, Thai basil, saw-leaf herb, Bay leaf (optional)
Mung bean sprouts
Lime wedges
Fresh Thai chiles

This is the dream list for a homemade bowl of pho ga. Decent shortcuts include using good-quality, prepared stock and the meat of a rotisserie chicken. If you keep a box of premixed spice packets in your pantry (they look like big teabags), you can infuse plain chicken stock with Vietnamese flavors in 20 minutes. I've been known to enjoy a bowl of pho with only scallions for garnish, but each additional herb really does make a huge difference.

When buying rice noodles for this soup, look for the words banh pho ga on the label. If you're lucky enough to find fresh ones, you'll just need to immerse them for 10 or 15 seconds in very hot water. Dried noodles require 2 to 3 minutes of boiling.

I have a wide, extremely sharp cleaver that eases right through chicken bones. Halving chickens is also super simple if you have good kitchen shears. If you don't have a pair...get some. One of the must useful tools ever. Look for the heavy-duty ones with a round indentation at the base of the blades; that's what allows you to snip through the ribs and along the backbone. For those who think this all too much, just go ahead and buy chicken parts (bone-in!), but be sure to simmer the meat for only 30 or 40 minutes before stripping it off the bones. Having exposed bone marrow extracts more flavor. Besides, anyone who's tried to remove a whole chicken from a pot of simmering water can vouch for the wisdom of chicken halves or parts.

If you can, throw in a few extra chicken wings or, best of all, a couple of feet.

My family never bothered to strain the soup. All the aromatics and bones sink to the bottom of the pot, and we'd just ladle the soup from the top. If you prefer, though, you can strain the stock and reheat.

Vinegared onions are a favorite topping that's rarely available in restaurants. To make your own:
1. Slice an onion very thinly.
2. Drizzle generously with white vinegar.
3. Stir in lots of coarsely ground black pepper.
4. Let stand for 10 minutes and then serve alongside the herb platter.

Arrange sprigs of the fresh herbs, lime wedges, bean sprouts and chiles on large platters for finishing the soup at the table. Set a big bottle of fish sauce right on the table, too, because this is a Vietnamese meal, after all.

I like to pour boiling water (from cooking the noodles) over the bean sprouts to blanch them so they aren't hard and cold in the soup. (Shhhh, don't tell my Saigon-born mom. That's a Northern trick that I adopted after leaving home.)

For each diner, place a small nest of noodles in a large, preheated bowl. Cover with very hot stock and add a handful of shredded chicken. Sprinkle with chopped scallions, chopped cilantro and fried shallots. Let guests fine-tune their bowls with herbs and other flavorings as desired.

Labels: chicken, recipe, soup, thy tran, vietnamese

With a decidedly new take on the happy meal, the folks over at GOOD have filled their upcoming March/April issue with stories and photos about food along with their usual provocative round-up of art, politics and culture from around the world. Excellent visual design and a refreshingly straight-forward take on sustainability distinguish their pages. My friend Stewf introduced me to GOOD last year, on a camping trip no less, and since then I've been a loyal reader.

Be forewarned: this is not meant for the patchouli posse nor the bake-your-own-bread-after-grinding-your-own-wheat camp. Expect to see glints of flashy ads here and there. That said, my favorite sections include Statement, where the editors give an artist free rein with several pages at the beginning to set the theme and tone of the magazine. As a bit of an information wonk, I love Transparency for its always creative graphical exploration of intriguing, important data.

This food issue has a somewhat predictable feature on organic, free-range meat that will not be news to most who read this blog. Other pieces, though, offer interesting takes on what people are eating now in the U.S. Adam Leith Gollner's predictions for "the next sushi" includes bibimbap and dosa. Photographer Vanessa Stump's in-your-face layouts of everyday meals highlight the healthiest school lunch the magazine could find (Pasadena High School), military rations with squeezable apple jelly and a $250 pizza (wine not included).

With a bent toward revealing the power structure behind our consumer world, GOOD often highlights writers, photographers and graphic designers who can find new patterns in old realties. In this issue, Phil Howard shows which multinationals actually own your favorite organic snack. The magazine is based in New York, but the editors do manage to look west for stories on public housing in Chicago and an urban deer hunter in Los Angeles. There's definitely an emphasis on stories from big cities, though.

One section's title says it all: Provocations. Should we harvest the organs of death-row inmates? Should anthropologists be more involved in current military psyops? Do kids really need to learn handwriting with graphite and ink anymore? Read opinion pieces that are not afraid to take highly unpopular stands.

Finally, Good Project, the page that closes the magazine, invites readers to contribute their own ideas and creativity. The food issue ends with a call to send in photos and recipes for the best possible lunch that you could carry to work or school. It has to fit into a brown paper bag. And extra credit if you make all the food yourself.

Labels: magazines, sustainability, 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

This Thursday, InsideStoryTime will kick off its 2008 series of literary readings with a food-themed evening. Yours truly will join four other local writers: Julia Flynn Siler, Ron Saxen, Cameron Heffernan and my ramen king friend, Andy Raskin.

Stop by Delirium and make your way to the back room to listen to our stories about the weird, beautiful ways food flavors our lives.

Until then, here's a taste of what I'll be sharing:



Egg

You will hear a chick’s first cries long before you see it. Exactly 21 days after being laid, while still tightly curled within its shell, the chick begins to voice its unhappiness. Its last reserves of food have been absorbed; its protective shell is now cramped and dry. The first peeps rise from the egg weakly, intermittently, then through the day they grow more frequent and insistent. The egg flicks ever so slightly from side to side as the bird within struggles to stretch its wings. Hours later, a crack appears, the first sign of external pipping. Then the crack becomes a breathing hole, the breathing hole becomes a window, and the window opens wide enough for a head to push through. Finally, the shell cracks in half.

If all goes well -- if the temperature never varies from 100 degrees, if the humidity is not less than 65 percent, if the egg is not touched or moved, if the chick’s head is positioned correctly at the large end and not at the small, if it has enough energy, and if other chicks nearby cry out enough reassurance and motivation -- a wet, limp creature falls out. The entire process requires twenty-four hours, though the progress appears in idiosyncratic spurts. Each chick decides for itself if it wants to wait quietly before bursting forth in a few spectacular minutes. Or if it prefers a steady, plodding pace of birth.

Some chicks, of course, do not survive the stress of emerging from their shell. It’s hard work, and no one else can help. Its mother can only sit quietly above, keeping it warm. Humans must resist the urge to peel back a tip of shell or to turn the egg, with the best of intentions, so the poor chick can see the world upright. One must not assist except in the most dire circumstances, difficult to judge when wetness and blood and destruction are natural elements of the hatching. Some hatchers are able to look away as the chick dies, insisting that if it can’t fight its way out of its own shell, it won’t be strong enough for the rigors of life ahead....


(Photo by Mark Miller)

Frog Hunting

Once the summer sun has set, my mother can begin catching frogs. Standing next to her kitchen door, she pulls on thick socks and heavy-soled clogs. In one hand she grasps a flashlight, and with the other, she pulls a long, narrow, transparently blue plastic bag saved from the morning’s delivery of the Kansas City Star. Outside her home, a few hundred paces to the south, she arrives at her pond. Stepping softly along its muddy banks, she listens for the deep, throaty calls of the bullfrogs. Jug-o-rum, jug-o-rum, jug-o-rum. They will continue their chorus throughout the night, filling the humid air with their reassuring vibrations and the occasional, watery plop! of surprise.

To kill a frog, like the killing of any animal, is routine for those who live next to their food, though perhaps unimaginable for those who call their meat by another name. One fearless swipe of the cleaver will sever head immediately from body. Two quick nicks trim the fingers and toes down past their webbing, and a final slash along the backbone readies the skin for removal. Here, a cloth or a pair of pliers is useful: catch a firm grip on the edge of the skin and pull back toward the legs in one firm, smooth rip. Like a diver from a scuba suit, the frog’s lean, muscular body emerges pale and shimmering....


InsideStoryTime
Thursday, January 17, 2008
7 - 9 pm
Delirium
3139 16th Street (btwn Valencia & Guerrero)
San Francisco, CA 94103
(415) 552-5525
view map

Labels: books, events, thy tran

What do you do when the rain won't relent, when those gorgeous bay windows welcome in the wind, and when staying home in your pajamas is not only comfortable but life-saving?

Why, make soup, of course!



Soup of the Day

Yesterday's soup highlighted a lucky pantry find -- a forgotten can of Italian white beans. First into the pot went a lonely though generously proportioned carrot, two stalks of celery, a tight-skinned onion, and the final sprigs of holiday herbs: oregano, thyme, rosemary, and parsley. After these were sauteed to fragrant softness, in followed chicken stock, hand-torn plum tomatoes plus their juices, and those toothsome white beans.

I let the pot simmer for as long as it took to read a few chapters from The Ladies No. 1 Detective Agency. For an extra chapter, I tossed in some leftover roasted potatoes, the last of the red wine jus from the New Year's rib roast, then any and all dark greens hiding out in the fridge. That meant, for this pot, some slightly wilted mustard and a wedge of ever hardy cabbage.

Sense a theme here? A simmering soup pot is the best way to clean out your kitchen while steaming up your windows. Slice some bread, pull out the biggest mugs you have, and -- voila! -- the best food ever for curling up on the couch.

Mandu Soup



Around now, the first of the year, is also the time to enjoy ddeok mandu guk, Korean dumplings served in a simple broth. My friend Jineui invited me over to her brand-spanking-new kitchen in Sacramento to celebrate the start of a delicious 2008. Her promise to make mandu was all I needed to hop in the car.

Some dedicated cooks still make their mandu dough by hand, but many just buy thick, round prepared potsticker wrappers. (Be sure to look for “potsticker” on the label; “gyoza” or “wonton” wrappers are too thin for the distinctively chewy mandu texture.)

Jineui’s filling starts with ground beef and tofu that's been crushed finely between her fingers. She blanches bean sprouts then chops them. She adds minced cabbage, salt, pepper, and not much else. No sesame oil for her (“makes them taste funny”), but she does take time to squeeze moisture out of the vegetables. An egg wash helps seal the half-moons, and then the dumplings go into bamboo steamers lined with cabbage leaves.


(Photo by Jasmine Lee)

Serve the first batch of mandu straight from the steamer with dipping sauce. Serve the next few batches in bowls of clear stock with a light sprinkling of green onions and maybe some nori or egg strips if you're wanting to be fancy. Freeze the other few hundred or so mandu to eat through the rest of the winter. (I have one friend blessed with a mother who visits once a year and leaves about 2,000 or so homemade dumplings in their garage freezer before heading back across the Pacific.)

You can read how different families ring in the new year with mandu at the Kimchi Mamas. The Asia Society posted a simple recipe from the Korean National Tourism Organization, about as official as it gets for a humble dumpling, but a much more detailed recipe with helpful technique shots and lessons learned from past mistakes appears at My Korean Kitchen.

Oxtail Soup



Another Korean treat, ox-tail soup, is as easy as they come: Dump a few pounds of bones in a pot, add water plus a healthy pinch of salt, and then simmer for six hours, three if you're in a hurry. Jineui, always going the extra mile, likes to blanche her bones first for a clearer stock. During their long simmering, the bones give off their milky white goodness into a supremely flavorful broth. Serve with a spicy sesame seed dipping sauce. For those of us who live on the edge (fault lines and BSE be damned!) a bowl of liquified marrow manages to be both comforting and decadent at the same time.

What happens if you leave the pot over the wok burner instead of the special, low-flamed simmer burner? Umm...add more water and know that a few crispy brown bits floating around just means more flavor.

Vietnamese Crab Soup



On the more labor intensive side of soups comes one of my favorite Vietnamese dishes. Few restaurants even attempt to offer bun rieu, and a mere handful get it close to right. After feasting on Dungeness, I make broth with crab shells, shrimp shells and pork bones. Tomatoes add brightness, fried tofu offers some chewiness and, for old-school folks like me, cubes of freshly coagulated blood punctuate with silky richness. There's a raft of crab and shrimp bound with egg that hovers over rice noodles. And, finally, there are platters at the table piled high with sprigs of fresh mint and rau ram, chiffonade of cabbage and banana blossom, wedges of lime, tiny but fearless bird eye's chiles, and a dollop or two of shrimp paste to provide those layers of flavor that make Vietnamese food so distinctly fresh and complex.



So...what if you don't want to spend a day at the stove? Then head over to Pho King in East Oakland for a proper bowl. Di Da, one of my favorite Vietnamese restaurants in San Jose, an excellent establishment that happens to be vegetarian, also offers a wonderful, satisfying interpretation of bun rieu.

Pho King
638 International Boulevard, Oakland
(510) 444-0448

Di Da
2597 Senter Road, San Jose
(408) 998-8826



Soupsong

In my last love note to soups, I'm pointing you to the best resource ever for recipes celebratory and everyday, favorite and obscure. I fell hard for Pat Solley the "Soup Lady" a decade ago, while we were trapped in a car among the hills of West Virginia. Her job at the J. Edgar Hoover Building kinda, sorta freaked me out, but her dedication to all things brothy tugged at my heart. Of course, my stomach was never in doubt -- Pat knows more about soup history, traditions, tales, jokes and, of course, recipes from around the world than anyone else I've met. It's rare to find someone who can quote Herodotus and Bob Dylan in the same breath while cooking with all four burners going at once. She's now ensconced far away in Paris, but fortunately I keep warm with her Soupsong website and her excellent book An Exaltation of Soups.


(Illustration by D.C. Bloom)

Labels: cookbook, korean, soup, thy tran, vietnamese

Chef Sanjay Thumma is my current favorite time suck.

It's refreshing to watch someone demonstrate mouth-watering dishes with uninhibited joy, a matter-of-fact globalism and minimal make-up. It helps that I love so many cuisines in India, but what immediately appealed to me is his stance as a teacher. It's a very different experience to learn about traditional foods from someone who assumes, from the beginning, that his audience is not comprised of outsiders. Like a student whose teacher sets high expectations, viewers and home cooks rise to the challenge.

His balance of expert advice with friendly reassurance is neither oversimplified nor condescending. He's a professional who knows his stuff, yet he doesn't gleam with that over-polished, over-packaged look of television. Each video, from 2 to 10 minutes, covers one specific dish -- just enough for a mouth-watering work break if not dinner inspiration.

Don't expect super-high production value. Two still cameras and a complete lack of location shots does not a sexy food show make. But what Thumma's demos lack in glamour, he more than makes up with passionate enthusiasm (a taste of Hydrabadi mutton biryani literally brings him to tears), humor and generosity. Both veg and non-veg recipes appear in his demos, and he discusses the food of diverse communities across India.

Thumma seamlessly blends traditional techniques and modern adaptations. His simple yet brilliant two-step rice cooking for biryani ensures perfectly cooked basmati throughout the pot. His secret ingredient for butter chicken reveals the wonderful ways that food crisscrosses the oceans. Mentioning Indian restaurant cooks in the U.S. and England, Thumma holds up a bottle of "tomato ketchup" and squirts some into his sauce to finish it with just the right texture and tangy flavor.

While cooks already familiar with basic Indian spices will have a headstart, the demonstrations are geared to beginners, whether you're mixing your first raita, simmering a batch of comforting chana masala, making your own herb-infused paneer or--for the ambitious--rolling and stretching roomali roti to serve with kebabs.

There are many, many cooks demonstrating recipes on YouTube. I'm looking forward to watching the better ones emerge as new stars of the wide, wild culinary world.

Labels: india, recipes, thy tran, video, youtube

My friend Ed works crazy long hours making sure people are fed well. Fortunately, he also knows how to party. More to the point, he knows how to throw down one hell of a spread and mixes generous, powerful drinks.

Thus, I blame him for my momentary lapse of politics. It's been roughly a year since I gave up shrimp, confused and frustrated and devastated. Then, at a recent bash, Ed laid out platters piled high with buttery, herby, perfectly poached shrimp. My powers of resistance were strong for a good half hour, then slowly, steadily, the other guests' swoons of delight and the potency of sangria convinced me to try one...just one....

Two dozen plump prawns later, I remembered my boycott. I ate another dozen while contemplating their deadly deliciousness. I convinced at least two other guests to consider not eating shrimp while finishing my last plate. And when I got home, I emailed Ed for the recipe.

He obliged me with his secrets, which I offer now verbatim for anyone looking for easy holiday party food:

Ed's Party Shrimp

• I filled a stock pot with water and about enough salt for it to taste like the sea (about 1/2 to 3/4 cup).
• I added about 3 cups of dry vermouth. (It's what I had left over after a night of martinis).
• I then threw in one tin of the fish rub that I found in the spice rack at the grocery store. If you are morally opposed to using pre-packaged fish rub then I suppose you could substitute with about 1/2 cup of the following chopped/ground and combined: rosemary, thyme, sage, marjoram, parsley, onion, garlic, pepper, celery seed, oregano, basil (basically a mystery basket of cupboard spices)
• I quartered 2 lemons, squeezed the juice into the broth..and then threw in the rinds too.
• Here's the secret.....two sticks of butter (sshhh!). Just throw it in too.
• Bring to a boil...then simmer for 15 minutes.
• I used frozen shrimp. Cook the shrimp in the simmering liquid in small batches for about 3 minutes each.

Voila! Yummy...BUTTERY shrimp!



THE DARKER SIDE OF SHRIMP

As someone raised happily on my mother's spring rolls, black pepper shrimp, caramelized shrimp, shrimp dumpling soup, shrimp fried rice, and just plain ol' spicy stir-fried shrimp, giving them up has been one of the most difficult diet changes I've tried to make. They're so succulent and versatile and easy to cook. And they're everywhere -- which is, unfortunately part of the problem.

It was during one of my early trips back to Vietnam that I first realized the devastating effect on my homeland as rice farmers and fishermen moved to the lucrative, fast, easy promises of shrimp farming. I could hardly blame war-torn, embargo-crippled families for trying to make a living. Through the 90s, though, shrimp and prawns became a standard item on every restaurant menu, and as Southeast Asian food became popular, so did one of its staples. Jumbo shrimp became gourmet rather than simply an oxymoronic joke. They became affordable and, for the home cook, approachable.

However, that popularity came at a steep price. Nearly 40 percent of the world's mangroves, crucial to the health of the oceans, has been destroyed because of shrimp farming along coastal areas. In Thailand, it takes roughly three years for a shrimp farm to ruin the local ecosystem; many farms simply pick up operations and move further along the coast, hopscotching until there's no clean coast available.

Inland ponds require heavy use of chemicals to clean the water and kill the viral invasions endemic to intensive farming. The European Union bars all shrimp from China, where carcinogenic chemicals appears frequently in farmed shrimp; the U.S. still imports it.

Another heavy impact comes hidden in the shrimp's feed: while in the wild they scavenge, on farms they're fed fish much higher on the food chain.

THE SILVER LINING

Fortunately, there's a tiny tiny bit of light for shrimp lovers.

The strongest among us have already become vegetarians, but for others like me, with weaker wills tied more directly to emotional and sensual cravings, searching out good shrimp is possible.

The Monterey Bay Aquarium's Seafood Watch lists a few options for those who still crave a taste of shrimp now and then. Currently best on the list are wild-caught prawns and spot shrimp from British Columbia, and wild-caught ocean or cocktail shrimp from Oregon. Small, cold-water shrimp are the most sustainable. True, they're not as sexy as those big, lusty, warm-water prawns. However, anyone even remotely worried about the future of our planet should avoid these oversized, striped crustaceans.

Wild-caught is no guarantee, as by-catch is always a problem, but look for those from domestic companies. Small pink or white shrimp are generally -- very generally -- a safer bet for the conscientious eater than large, brown, imported shrimp.

Sustainable shrimp farming is still in its infancy. That said, Ecuador has surpassed other countries in developing organic, nonpolluting shrimp farms. EcoFish imports it under the name "Henry & Lisa's Natural Shrimp." Look for their bags of cooked or raw shrimp in the freezer section of naturally-minded, full-service markets.

I was dreading lunar new year without my family's recipe for spring rolls. The tofu version is fine the rest of the year, but it never inspires me to heights of celebration. So, I'm very glad to know that, come February, I'll be able to make my mom's cha gio.



MORE INFO

Some links for those interested in learning more:

• NASA's Earth Observatory shows before and after Landsat images of shrimp farming effects along the Pacific Coast of Honduras, one of the largest importers of the crustaceans to the U.S.

• The Environmental Justice Foundation created a short film about shrimp farming along the eastern coast of Brazil.

• Shrimp News International offers a detailed description of shrimp farming. Food wonks immune to industry spin might like scrolling down to see the charts and illustrations showing the life cycle of shrimp (missionary position!) or how El Nino affects the supply of larvae . Be forewarned: the text is a strong reminder that shrimp are, after all, just swimming insects.

• The Chefs Collaborative's communique with recommendations for sustainable shrimp was directed at restaurants, but the home cook can also use their excellent information.

• The White Boot Brigade, based in New Orleans, is a nonprofit dedicated to developing a sustainable shrimp industry in Louisiana. They work to educate businesses and consumers about the economic, environmental and social benefits of supporting small family fleets that harvest shrimp from the Gulf.

• And, finally, what's the difference between a shrimp and a prawn? In the U.S., nothing. Though there's sometimes a vague sense of "specialness" about prawns, the two words appear in menus and markets interchangeably. Australians, however, apparently make a point of remembering that prawns have evenly overlapping abdominal segments and that their females release eggs to currents rather than brooding them. For them, Americans are silly and confusing for calling shrimp prawns and vice versa.

Labels: recipes, seafood, sustainability, thy tran