Project 365 - Day 2 // The Pea that Didn't Make It

Ah, Pea, we hardly knew ye.

I neglected this poor, sweet pea plant during our February heat wave. Alas, Los Angeles.

I want to plant another in a pot indoors but I know it's too warm and I'd just be setting myself and the seed up for another heartbreak.

Box o' Green // My Parents Are My CSA

I have not shared bounty from my parents or the fate of said bounty in while, but I was inspired to do so again by this most recent haul:

All of it was green. All delicious.

From their garden:

• Bitter melon (wrinkly things in the center)
• Limes
• Long bean
• Leaf lettuce (my dad grows impossibly perfect-for-wrapping heads of this lettuce)
• Asian squash (fat smooth green object in the top right)

From the market:

• Mangos 
• Small watermelon

I always take walks around the yard whenever I go home, examining all the different things blossoming and growing and dying back. Their wild tomato plant is starting to die back. The persimmons and guavas and bananas are green and on their way for a fall harvest, and my dad has many more rows of those sweet lettuces and mustard greens sprouting up along with tons of Thai basil. I'm usually wary of taking too much home since I have a hard time cooking and eating everything, but I have help in the form of Vicky, my Vietnamese-American roommate.

It's awesome having a fellow Southeast Asian for a roommate and have an opportunity to bring a taste of home into our kitchen. There is something really special about cooking things that were so much a part of daily life during childhood and which are now so occasional. 

Coming up this week: bitter melon soup and Asian squash stir-fry. 

Say Peas // Google Cuteness, Again

I love it when Google is cute with food on their homepage. Today's graphic is in honor of Gregor Mendel's birthday. Remember learning about him and his peas in grade school biology?

Yeah, I don't remember much other than something about dominant and recessive genes. But I do like peas.  And I'm very fond of Jamie Oliver. In honor of Mr. Mendel, peas, and Jamie Oliver, I share with you this video from the 'Peas  &  Broad Beans' episode of Jamie At Home.

I would never have thought to pair peas with mozzarella before seeing this. Nom.

[There's an archive of all the Google Doodles! Of course there is. I didn't know they had different ones in each country... behind the times much? Yep.]

Crispy Potato Roast // Don't Stress Out

I like to use recipes more as a starting point and technique guide than as instructions or rules, and fitting them to what I have and not stressing out too much about exact ingredients or quantities. This is why I'm not big on baking like my friend Kim, who is a baking bad-ass. 

I saw this post on Smitten Kitchen for a gorgeous sorta-not-really gratin potato dish and had to try it. Had to. But didn't. For months. Until my friends and I had a steak night. Steak is a great reason to make delicious things happen with potatoes. 

Pictured are russet potatoes with red onions crammed in between them, and butter shmeared over the whole thing. The recipe didn't call for it, but I added a splash of milk to the bottom of the baking dish. It just felt right (and it was-- the milk made the potatoes soft and creamy). I used rosemary instead of thyme because that's what I had on hand. I think thyme would have been better, but my thyme died soon after my third move last year. Alas.

Swiss Chard & Radish Greens

Some of the very first bounty from my little parking lot garden were radish and swiss chard greens.

Radish sprouts just beginning to get their first true leaves

I'd never had swiss chard before I volunteered at Community Services Unlimited in 2008. Neelam introduced me to the greens and I fell in love with their earthy flavor and texture. Aaaaand they're wonderfully easy to grow. So you should go buy a packet of seeds, find some dirt, and plant them. Now.

Baby Swiss chard

These are the Ruby Red variety. I have some yellow, pink, and white ones starting as well. 

Both the radish and chard are so easy to grow and grow quite fast.

Endives Fresh from the French Ground

Taken last winter in farmers market in Lyon, France.


Freshness.

Where the Grub Comes From

I grew up thinking that everyone had a jungle of fruits and vegetables in their yards where their parents would go and get bits and pieces to prepare meals. Then I got a little bit older, and I thought that all Asian families did this. Eventually I realized that the sheer volume of things my parents grow isn't very common at all, and that my parents are amazing (and a little crazy).

Some snapshots of a few of the wonderful things they grow in their backyard:

Parsley

The stuff that ends up in the Khmer version of scallion pancakes. It's pronounce "kuh-chai" and is sort of green-onion esque, but has thicker leaves and is not as sharp in flavor.

Chinese kale. I think.

The tenderest lettuce leaves you'll ever wrap around a spring roll.

Lemongrass. These will eventually grow into a chaotic jungle.

Lonely sugarcane. I think my dad might have planted these for a lark since I showed envy at the multitude of sugarcane in my aunt's backyard. (Yes, my aunt has this kind of yard, too. The whole family trades their respective bounty.)

Kaffir lime tree. I don't recall actually seeing any fruit on this tree, ever, though the leaves are used often in my mother's cooking. Her delicious, delicious cooking.

Dessert: tangerines! Or whatever variation of small orange citrus these are. They're tangy, and more sour than sweet, which is why I like them. One of my friends suggests that this means I must have a sour disposition. I don't think that's true. Jerk.

Things I left out: banana trees, a lime tree, pomegranate trees, persimmon trees, a guava tree, mint, and many other things for which I don't know the English names.

And this (along with lots of leftovers from family gatherings) is how I survive on $20-40/month for groceries.

Anything + Pasta + Broccoli = Satisfying Meal

(Apologies for my amateurish, horribly blurry photography)

The title of this post reflects my general philosophy about leftovers.

First, I should explain that I am shameless about eating leftovers. Completely. I think I get this willingness to turn odds and ends into edible (and generally tasty) meals from my mother, who is a sorceress when it comes to inventing ways to avoid wasting food.

I have no problem making large batches of pasta to eat over the course of a few meals. I find that shells or macaroni are easier to cook, store, and re-serve than long pastas like spaghetti or fettuccine. The small pastas are also easier to incorporate with sauce and to scoop up in small portions. (This is important to me because I like to use small dessert-size utensils to eat my meals; this is probably because, contrary to what some might say, I have a relatively small mouth.

Also, pasta is very forgiving: as long as you treat it half-way decently, it doesn't much care whether you use a cream sauce, a tomato sauce, or just some butter and olive oil and simple adornments. The key is to cook the pasta to the proper level of doneness-- when it will be mixed with a luscious sauce, it should be cooked slightly less than a pasta that will simply be tossed with a little oil and a few ingredients.

Memory: With Our Fingers at Earth Cafe

I am reading Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone, and Phoebe Nobles' essay "Asparagus Superhero" triggered an old gastronomic memory.

During my third year at UC Irvine, a couple of my food-enthusiast friends introduced me to the Earth Cafe, an independent shop tucked away in a strip mall next to Ralphs on University & Michelson. Its neighbors included a pho restaurant, an IHOP, and a Korean barbecue restaurant. The cafe served luscious fresh-fruit and yogurt smoothies as well as a variety of vegan baked goods. As a staunch omnivore, I wasn't sure that I'd be at all interested in a place that would deny me butter in my pastries--and I wasn't. I was won over by the tropical "Fatbuster" smoothie, made with fresh papaya, pineapple, honey, and lemon.

My friend Joanne was particularly fond of the place and went often enough to be acquainted with the owner, Alen. One lazy, warm afternoon, Alen came out of the kitchen and sat near our textbook-strewn table with a plate of steamed asparagus. Instead of studying, we talked with him; I can't remember what it was about, probably something relating to our futures and what we were planning to do with the rest of our lives after the glorious years of college were over. That's really irrelevant now. What I remember is Alen eating those fat, end-of-the-season asparagus stalks with lemon-pepper salt, and offering it to us.

We took the cold stalks, dipped them into the little pile of salt, ate them with our fingers. Alen would periodically dip his licked finger directly into the salt to deposit more in his mouth. Two things startled me: the fact that the asparagus was overcooked, and the intimacy of the insanitary double-dip we were sharing with Alen. Something loosened in me since then and I am less fussy when sharing food casually. I also learned that it's very hard to ruin an asparagus tip.

I called to see if the cafe is still there and was greeted by the ominous operator's I'm sorry, the number you have dialed has been disconnected.

Photo credit: Itsjustanalias