The Rowdy Chowgirl

May 26, 2012

Thailand: Bang Rak Market

There may have been a bit of squealing. Possibly even some capering about, when I spied the Bang Rak Market on our way back from Bo Phut. I delight in farmers markets, or open-air food markets of any kind, for that matter. Somewhere in the raw jumble of unprocessed, home-grown, hand-caught local food lies the key to a place, and to the people that live and eat there.

Inside of an immense structure made primarily of sticks and tarps, rows of vendor stalls stretched into dim infinity. Out front: bright tropical fruits, and greens of every variety and hue.

A little farther back, stall after stall of fish, glistening on beds of ice, or just heaped in bowls or on newspaper. The mineral tang of fish guts filled the air, reminding me of summer evenings at the lake watching my brother clean his day’s catch.

Rows of meat vendors displayed their wares. Everything from whole chickens to ham hocks, to organ meats of every shade from deep purple to bright red, laid out without plastic wrap or refrigeration, whirlygig gadgets fanning away most of the flies.

Around the edges of the market were a few vendors selling packaged grocery items—noodles, sauces, spices, rice. You could get everything you needed here, without having to stop at a supermarket at all.

And then there were the lunch options. Skewered grilled fish, meatballs, deep fried chicken wings, and endless rich, saucy curry options, served over rice. The scents were intoxicating.

Next installment: Thai cooking class in Chaweng

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Thailand: Exploring Bo Phut

Pretty much the instant we arrived on the island of Koh Samui, we fell into a pleasant state of near-suspended animation. Major decisions included whether to nap through the afternoon or get up for happy hour at the swim-up bar, and where best to catch the sunset (answer: from the end of the infinity pool overlooking the Gulf of Thailand).

Somehow after a few days we finally mustered up the gumption to get out of the pool, put on actual clothes, and walk up to the resort lobby to rent a scooter. And for about ten US dollars, we were free to explore the island of Koh Samui on two wheels for the next twenty-four hours.

We sped counter-clockwise around the top of the island, toward the tiny town of Bo Phut. I clung like a barnacle behind Michael on the scooter, at once exhilarated by the rush of cool air on my face, and terrified by the unpredictability of the other drivers on the road.

We waited out a sudden downpour in a big, open-sided restaurant near the road, where a little boy sold us Orange Fanta, handed us straws, politely positioned a fan to blow over us, then danced delightedly a few feet away from our table until his mother spoke a few words from behind the counter and he stopped dancing, but still sat grinning at us.

When the deluge stopped, we continued on to Fisherman’s Village in Bo Phut, where we cruised slowly up and down narrow streets awash with standing rainwater. Shopkeepers swept puddles from their entryways out into the streets.

Fisherman’s Village was a place where nobody seemed to be in much of a hurry. There were funky little shops, beachside restaurants, a few pedestrians hopping around the puddles, and a motorcycle ice cream cart slowly making its way up the road while children emerged from storefronts.

We parked the bike and sat down in a restaurant called the Karma Sutra. Or maybe it is more accurate to say that we sank down in the Karma Sutra. The open-fronted restaurant was filled with low, cushy chairs around coffee tables, a big daybed, and piles of cushions. The ambience was a mix of casual ex-pat hippy and opium den. A big dog lay on the concrete floor, looking as if he would be sound asleep for a long while yet. Fans stirred the heavy air a bit. The man behind the bar came over with a menu, then returned to slowly polishing glassware. The menu offered a melange of French and Thai options.

Our yellow curry with chicken arrived in due course, along with a plate of steamed rice. Chicken, green beans, and carrots cut into decorative flowers all floated in a sea of saffron colored coconut milk. There were also some mysterious, round green things in the mix. I poked at one of these with a fork. “What do you think these are?” I wondered aloud. Michael just shrugged. This would not be the last time I speculated about an unfamiliar ingredient in Thailand, able to narrow it down only to a broad classification such as fruit, vegetable or animal. This one was appeared to be vegetable. I speared one and nibbled at its striated green skin, then took a bite. I still had no idea what it was, but it was mild and good. Later, I found out that these were Thai baby eggplant. The chicken was suffused with the flavor of the yellow curry. The green beans and carrots still retained their snap.

Portion sizes in Thailand are notably smaller than at home. One reason for this is the Thai custom of ordering several dishes with a range of flavors and textures, to share amongst everyone at the table. Another reason is simply that American portions are huge by any reasonable standard. Maybe the heat was a factor, and maybe it was also the rich, full flavors of everything we ate, but I found that my appetite quickly adjusted. One dish of curry fed the two of us quite satisfactorily—without leftovers, but also without the sensation of overstuffed regret. Our lunch was leisurely, each slow bite savored.

“Do you want anything else?” Michael asked when our plates were clean.

“Nope,” I answered after thinking for a moment. “Not a thing.”

*****

Next installment: Exploring Bang Rak Market

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Cambodia: Breakfast at Angkor Wat

Our driver races with the dawn. We bounce around a bit in the backseat of the tuk-tuk as it roars up the road to Angkor in the humid darkness. Even louder than the throaty motorcycle engine, the song of cicadas fills the air. Our guide, Mr. Soeu, sits opposite us, slender and neat in his long-sleeved button down shirt. He twists around to peer forward past the bobbing helmet of the driver. The road is far from crowded, but there are other tuk-tuks, a handful of scooters, and even a few bicycles all moving in the same direction.

I can’t stop grinning, so I direct my smile first toward the people passing us in a faster tuk-tuk, then toward Michael, sitting next to me. He smiles back and takes my hand.

The faintest hint of purple lightens the horizon as we follow Mr. Soeu across a road, along a dirt path, and then, as streams of people converge, up a stone causeway. There is enough light to walk without stumbling now.

When we stop, on a red dirt bank before a large pond, we join a shifting crowd of travelers and guides standing or sitting on blankets, speaking many languages, but quietly—subdued perhaps by the early hour, or by the looming five towers silhouetted against the pre-dawn sky.

A rooster crows somewhere nearby, then another and another.

“You can sit on one of the blankets, if you want to,” Mr. Soeu explains. “You just have to buy something–maybe a coffee?”

There are men circling the blankets, taking orders for drinks and returning with steaming cups of milky coffee. “Oh! I didn’t know it would already be sweetened!” says a girl with a long skirt and short dreadlocks as she takes her first sip. I shake my head at the thought of sweet milky coffee.

I am too excited to sit anyway, so I wander around, looking over at a row of open sided shacks and umbrellas nearby, where food and souvenir vendors are just setting up for the morning. I join a small group of Japanese girls chasing a wandering piglet for a few minutes. Then I stand next to Michael arm in arm to watch the dawn arrive in fantastic streaks of swirling pink and orange and blue behind Angkor Wat.

As the sun nears the horizon I can see more details of the temple and the trees behind it. The entire eery, beautiful scene repeats itself upside down, a perfect reflection in the pond. At last, the sun gleams out from behind the temple and I shiver with delight.

We linger for a while as the day begins. When the sky is fully blue, we walk through Angkor Wat, glimpsing long stone halls carved with elaborate reliefs, and an orange-draped statue of Vishnu, on our way to meet our driver.

We will return later in the day to explore further, but first we zoom off to Angkor Thom, still racing the sun in order to see as much of the vast Angkor complex as possible before the heat becomes unendurable.

When we are tired and sweaty and overwhelmed by ancient stone buildings and elaborate carvings, by the stone faces of Bayon Temple and the terrifying steep stairs of Phimeanakas and Baphuon, our driver deposits us in a small grove where several open-sided structures nestle surrounded by tuk-tuks parked in pools of shade.

“Here we will stop for breakfast.” Mr. Soeu shepherds us into a restaurant made of rough poles holding up a corrugated metal roof.

We sit down in plastic picnic chairs at a table in the welcome shade. In the kitchen area at the back, women chop meat with cleavers and stir sizzling woks.

The breakfast menu is full of soups and noodle dishes, curries and rice. I chose noodles with vegetables.

I am almost too hot to be hungry, but as I sit and rest, the tantalizing smells from the kitchen begin to revive my appetite. Underneath the smell of frying meat there are also the mingled scents of incense, dust, occasional whiffs of garbage, gasoline fumes, and my own sweat. This subtle comingling of odors is with us all day, but it is the smell of adventure and does not diminish my growing appetite.

Then the bracelet girls arrive. First only one. She pushes handfuls of bead bracelets under my nose and singsongs, “Bracelet, lady? One dollar.” I smile and shake my head. “Two for one dollar.” I shake my head again, but with less conviction.

Inevitably, the instant I hand her a dollar, three other girls are there. Bracelets, fans, fingernail clippers stamped with a picture of Angkor Wat, wooden flutes… “One dollar, lady. Please, so I can go to school?” “One dollar,” they drone in an endless chorus. I try to wave them away, smiling and shaking my head, but knowing that this is futile. Beside us, a table full of guides and drivers relax over their breakfast. Our driver looks over and a grin splits his face at my predicament. I buy one item from each of the little girls and finally they disperse, giggling, just as our food arrives.

I am usually conservative at breakfast, an unapologetic fan of the hotel breakfast buffet or a Starbucks muffin and an Americano. Variety is for later in the day. But here, in this dusty magical setting carved from the jungle, a morning plate of noodles seems just right. The delicious, mildly spicy tangle of noodles is filled with crunchy bits of green bean, cabbage, carrots, peas, and some dark greens I can’t identify. My palate craves the salty tang of fish sauce. With each savory bite I feel my energy reviving.

I chase the last strands of noodle from my plate and set down my fork, then I lean back in my chair, drunk on sunshine and wonder. Michael and I take turns swigging from a giant bottle of water, content to rest in the shade for a few more minutes, watching children playing tag in the sunshine, and a woman slicing a giant pile of fruit.

Then it is time to climb back into the tuk-tuk and move on.

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May 6, 2012

Cambodia: Amok Fish

Our first day in Cambodia began with a row of uniformed customs officials, splendid and unsmiling and endless. They collected visa fees and photos and scrutinized and stamped and handed passports up the line while I shifted from foot to foot with excitement and tried to look like the sort of person who should definitely be given her passport back and admitted to their country.

The town of Siem Reap was an intoxicating jumble of extremes: the sun, the dust, the humidity, the sense that an encroaching jungle might just take back this crumbling mix of faded colonial architecture and humble shacks at any moment.

After sunset, the heat still washed over us in waves like steam rolling from a shower. The smell of dust and exhaust fumes still filled the air. But without the remorseless tropical sunshine beating down, we were able to leave the pool and venture out of our hotel, to find the streets even livelier after dark. The town pulsed with life. Traffic whizzed by like a slow river without regard for lanes–a blur of scooters carrying entire families, tuk-tuks, and a few cars–horns honking and voices calling out. People filled the narrow sidewalks, some slowly walked, but more stood clustered around open shop fronts, or waited for their turn at open-air food stands.

“Tuk-tuk?” “Tuk-tuk?” chanted the drivers as we passed, reclining in the back of their own motorcycle trailers as they waited for fares.

We dodged and scurried to cross the street, sighing with relief upon reaching safe harbor on the opposite side.

Pub Street pulsed with life. We strolled past the open-fronted restaurants and bars that lined the streets, filled with travelers from everywhere, speaking every language. I glanced into stores that sold everything from souvenirs to sandals. A few street performers set up on corners, and a few children selling trinkets sidled near the outermost restaurant tables.

After wandering down a relatively quiet pedestrian side-street, we settled into chairs outside a restaurant called Le Tigre de Papier. A lean cat passed under tables, brushing ankles, hoping for a handout, then he rolled on the dusty pavement, coming to a rest by my foot.

As we perused the menu, the heat pressed against me like a giant restraining hand—utterly enveloping, preventing hasty movement, but increasingly comfortable as I slowed my breathing and relaxed into its velvety embrace.

Slowly, we ate Amok Fish from bowls made, origami-style, from banana leaves, with steamed rice on the side. The flavor of this dish was rich, complex, slightly sweet, and similar to a very mild yellow curry—full of spices, but not hot and spicy.

After scraping our plates clean, we leaned back in our chairs, relax, and watched the city night life pass by. The key to Siem Reap seems to be in its pace–it is a vibrant town, but not a town that is in a hurry. People–locals, expats, travelers–move without haste, talk without pressure, and have time for a drink or a meal, time for a conversation and a smile.

Amok dishes—usually fish, but also chicken or shrimp—were on every menu in Siem Reap. And while no vacation meal recreated at home will taste quite the same–lacking, as it must, that vital something imparted by context–it is possible to produce a creditable and tasty replica.

Should you not be able to track down a pre-made amok spice blend, try creating your own approximation by combining roughly equal parts chopped lemon grass, kaffir lime zest, galangal, turmeric, garlic, and dried red chile flakes and pulverize in food processor. These ingredients are readily available in most Asian grocery stores.

Amok Fish

2 tbsp amok spices
2 tsp sugar
½ tsp salt
2 tbsp fish sauce or soy sauce
1 tbsp garlic (crushed)
2 tbsp shallots, minced
15 oz coconut milk
1 lb firm fish fillets, such as snapper, tilapia, or catfish, cut into chunks
4 banana leaves (or substitute collard or other sturdy greens)

Directions
Mix amok spices, sugar, salt, fish sauce, garlic, shallots, and coconut milk. Submerge fish fillets in mixture, cover, and let sit in refrigerator for 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, assemble banana leaf boats (here is a short but amusing how-to video, or use your own origami skills). Alternately, you could simply line four small ramekins with banana leaves.

Fill banana leaf boats (or ramekins) with fish mixture and place in steamer. Steam for about 30 minutes, or until fish is cooked through and very tender. Serve with steamed rice.

*****

Next Installment: Breakfast at Angkor Wat

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April 22, 2012

The Sauerkraut Project: Phase Three

It is important to stay philosophical when fermenting, because you definitely win some and lose some.

I started the sauerkraut project with one giant stone crock, eleven heads of cabbage, and a lot of hope. Progress was slow, but when I finally, after several weeks of waiting, peeked into the crock, there was no doubt that the fermentation process had started. Tiny bubbles and a rich smell—a little like beer and a little like vinegar—assured me that cabbage was indeed becoming sauerkraut.

However…the next time I checked on the progress of the sauerkraut, it was evident that fermentation had stopped prematurely. Who knows why these things happen? You can start a batch of kimchi or sourdough starter and have everything happen according to plan, or it can take more or less time than expected, or it can just quietly go dead–In this case, a crock full of viscous green water and inert cabbage. Maybe there was too much chlorine in the water, maybe I was heavy handed with the salt. Who knows? Who cares? It’s just cabbage, after all.

So I did the only thing you can do, which was to tip the entire stinky mess into the compost bin, clean out the crock, and prepare for Phase Four: Starting Over.

Stay tuned!

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April 14, 2012

Greek Meatball Sandwiches

This season of Amazing Race is well underway, as are our biweekly dinner and viewing parties.

I may not be able to count on my teams to win for me on the show, but with everyone taking a turn making dinner for the entire group, at least there is always something interesting and delicious on the menu.

Rob performed honorably last week, serving up a hearty meal of Greek Lamb meatballs and beef meatballs with homemade focaccia bread, a tomato sauce, and mozzarella cheese, so that everyone could assemble their own meatball sandwich—but a much more upscale meatball sandwich than the usual smashed together version from the sub shop.

The sharp, salty flavors of olives and feta cheese sparkled in every bite of rich lamb. Mint and preserved lemon added an unexpected flavor dimension, underscoring the fact that these were no ordinary meatballs. They were extremely satisfying doused in sauce, sprinkled with cheese, and wrapped in pillowy bread, but I think they would also be excellent on their own, or maybe with a yogurt based dipping sauce.

Greek Lamb Meatballs

(slightly adapted from The Meatball Shop Cookbook)

Ingredients

1/4 preserved lemon, diced
2 pounds ground lamb
3 tbsp chopped fresh mint leaf
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tsp fresh oregano, chopped
1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped
1/2 cup bread crumbs
2 eggs
1/4 cup Kalamata olives, pitted and chopped
3 tbsp feta cheese
1 1/2 tsp salt

Preheat oven to 450 degrees F. Combine all of the ingredients in a large mixing bowl and mix gently by hand until thoroughly incorporated.

Coat a 9×12 baking dish generously with olive oil. Roll the mixture into round, golf ball-size meatballs, making sure to pack the meat firmly. Place the balls into the oiled baking dish. The meatballs will be touching each other. Roast until firm and cooked through, about 20 minutes.

Allow the meatballs to cool for five minutes before removing from the tray.

Makes about 24 golf ball-size meatballs

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April 7, 2012

Gnocchi

One of my food goals for 2012 was to try my hand at making gnocchi from scratch. I love these little potato dumplings, whether served with a simple marinara sauce, sage and browned butter, or lamb ragu. I bought a gnocchi board just to encourage myself, but it languished in the pantry for a few months awaiting the right opportunity. Last weekend, that opportunity came.

I spent the weekend with my friend Christie in Eastern Washington, and Saturday was gnocchi making day. We went over to the home of her friends Pete and Jewel late in the morning. Jewel is a cook of extraordinary calibre, and was gracious enough to teach us how to make Pete’s mother’s gnocchi, also known as Cavatele, or “sinkers”–a reference to the lead sinkers put on fishing lines. Gnocchi can have that effect, filling the tummy surprisingly quickly.

Jewel had done some advance work in the kitchen. A crockpot of sauce burbled on the counter. A cauldron of potatoes boiled on the stovetop. And the large center island was already stacked with eggs, flour, bowls, and utensils.

When the potatoes were done, we peeled them while they were still hot, then shot them through a ricer into a bowl of flour. We sifted and stirred this mixture with our hands until the potatoes were incorporated into the flour and cooled enough to not cook the eggs. Jewel warned us not to mash the potatoes into the flour, so we tried to use a light touch.

She dumped this mixture onto the counter, created a well in the center, and cracked eggs into it. After salting the eggs she stepped back and let us mix the eggs into the flour with our hands, smashing and kneading until we had a ragged but cohesive pile.

Then it was our turn to step back while Jewel kneaded the dough until she judged it smooth enough, but not too stiff. The dough rested under a bowl for half an hour, while we rested on stools around the counter and engaged in the sort of relaxed conversation that happens best in a warm kitchen during the pauses in a cooking project. Kitchen wisdom was shared. Ideas were batted back and forth. Somewhere in there, Pete wandered in and opened a bottle of wine.

Soon the dough was ready and we began by rolling it into snakes, then cutting these snakes into inch-long nuggets. I felt my brow furrowing and my tongue poking out between my teeth as I tried to follow Jewel’s swift movements. She took a piece of dough and, pressing two fingers into the middle, gave it a sort of roll and a flick on the counter top, set aside a gnocchi with the characteristic dimple in the middle, then made another and another. My hands struggled to copy her practiced motions, but after a few tries, using the gnocchi board for assistance, I had it–more or less–and began to produce a series of irregular dumplings.

Jewel started boiling the gnocchi while Christie and I made more. When she decided that they were perfect—plump and firm but no longer chewy—she drained the gnocchi and mixed them with sauce. We all got a little sample bowl of gnocchi and one of her meatballs to enjoy with the rest of our wine. Our gnocchi were good, but I nearly burst into applause after my first bite of meatball. Truly, it was worthy of a standing ovation. But this was only a teaser to whet our appetites for later.

We returned that evening for dinner, to gather around a long table set with a big pan of saucy gnocchi, meatballs the size of my fist, Italian sausage, garlic bread, grated cheese, an extra pitcher of sauce, and more red wine. We laughed, and talked, and ate. I felt proud of our efforts, as I slowly savored the pillowy gnocchi. Everything on the table was incredibly delicious, but more than that; it was made and served with love.

“Do you ever write about how food is more than just food?” Pete asked, swirling the ruby red wine in his glass as he gazed down the loaded table in my direction.

May I never write about anything else.

Jewel’s Cavatele (Gnocchi) Recipe

Start with cold water. Boil 3 to 5 med red potatoes with skins in unsalted water for 25 – 30 minutes. Peel potatoes while still hot.

Place 3 to 5 cups of flour in kneading bowl. Rice the skinned potatoes into flour bowl and slowly add flour. Sift potatoes and flour through fingers until cool; do not mash together.

Add 3 to 5 unbeaten eggs to well made in mixture after cool. Salt eggs. Knead until smooth.

Cover ½ hour. Roll out into a snake ½ inch thick. Cut 1 inch long pieces. Press with two lightly floured fingers in center and roll open like large macaroni.

Let dry 10 minutes.

Add 1 Tbsp oil and 1 tsp salt to boiling water. Drop Caveteles in large pot of rapidly boiling water, boil for approximately 30 minutes. Add a handful at a time so the water keeps boiling. If you let the water cool down they get gummy. Be sure to use lots of water when you cook and stir gently but often. Drain and mix with spaghetti sauce and serve or keep warm in oven until ready. If you take the oil off the top of your sauce and mix this with 2 cups sauce first, then add this, the cavetelles they won’t stick as much. Serve this with spaghetti sauce and meatballs.