Sir, Your Gauntlet Has Fallen, or Was it Thrown?

I've written this piece at least seven times in my head. It just wouldn't come out in pixels. It would rattle around a bit, I would have a conversation or two about Chinese food with a friend or a few, then it would rattle around some more. I would fly to China for more "research," and still it went a'rattlin'. I continued to hem and haw instead of put fingers to keys. The message had to be right, the tone had to be clear, the significance of the topic had to be, well, significant.

That said, thanks to a horrible night of pub trivia (damned round of obscure 4-letter "F" words *I wish I were kidding), a few Magic Hat's, and a long, somewhat arduous but highly entertaining discussion of my favorite topic with my buddy Matt, the scales have been tipped. The piece is no longer rattling; it has finally settled. The words have essentially written themselves.

An ironic "Muchas Gracias" to Matt Johnson for giving me a healthy dose of guff over my contention that Americans deserve better Chinese cuisine. Perhaps unwittingly, Sir Matt serves as the long awaited and definitely necessary catalyst for...

WHY AMERICANS DO NOT GET REAL CHINESE FOOD
an essay in 1327 words.

[coming to a blog near you, Wednesday, June 24]
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In the mean time, catch up with Soy Story, the other side of my China cuisine obsession:
(two-three minute clips)

SOY STORY Clip #10 "Very laid back"

SOY STORY Clip #9 "I've seen temples"

SOY STORY Digable Clip #8

SOY STORY Bonus Clip #7

SOY STORY Inventive Clip #6

SOY STORY Special Holiday Clip #5

SOY STORY Steamy Clip #4

SOY STORY Opinionated Clip #3

SOY STORY forbidden clip #2

SOY STORY Tasty Clip #1

Feeding Horse

In little more than two weeks, I will be back in China to film the second half of Soy Story. This time around, I will be focusing on culinary education, rice wine crafting, and eating alot. Enjoy the latest clip from my first set of material here...

SINCE BLOGGER DOESN'T LIKE H.D. VIDS, PLEASE CLICK HERE FOR THE FULL SOY STORY EXPERIENCE!

The Upside of Swine

Pork. Lust after it it. Loathe it. Slather your hands in its fat. Hurt its feelings. Hug it. Protest against it. Embrace its oinky charms. Lose sleep over it. The pig is one entity on this green Earth for which we have an indubitably strong feeling, one way or the other. Pork is that magical protein toward which it is simply impossible to hold an ambivalence. I love pork with all of my gastronomic nerves and yet I respect the (somewhat confused) haters. This article is solidly for the swinamorous among us (like that? I just made it up). I received this impeccable inquiry from my friend, Mike a few weeks ago and only today bring myself to a place where my hands are not shaking at the keyboard as I attempt to honor the pig:

Several years ago, you introduced me to a do it yourself Kahlua pork recipe (no fire pit on a sandy beach required). I won't rehash the whole recipe, but it included some Liquid Smoke and several rolls of aluminum foil. Since then it's been one of our favorite entertaining dishes, but I was wondering, do you use that similar cooking technique for any other tasty shredded pork dishes?

Oh, my. Is it getting hot in here or is it just me? Must. Keep. Steady. Hands. Mike, I sincerely appreciate your question, though it is a difficult task to tie me down right now. There are so, so many delicious answers, it is quite difficult to pick just one or two from my pork-addled culinary mind. I will, however, do my solemn duty to the HowieCOOK readers and give it the old college try. Without the aid of one of those increasingly popular psychotropic drugs that help you retain focus, I'll squeeze my brain and try to stick with the topic of shredded pork.

I've gone through three distinct shredded pork phases in my life:

Phase 1. Fake bbq to real bbq. In my younger days, when I was spry, I had a beautiful, *2 out of 5 on the effort-scale* technique for oven "barbeque" for lack of an outdoor space worthy of actual smoke-cooking. Bone-in pork shoulder, soy sauce, salt and liquid smoke rubbed, banana-leaf wrapped, foil sealed, oven roasted on 300 for 5 hours. Wham. As I aged (neither modestly nor terribly gracefully), my house grew taller and my lot grew bigger. I had finally obtained such outdoor space worthy of a can smoker. We purchased a Weber silver bullet for the back patio and have had a scrumptiously grand time of it, smoking pork shoulder, ribs, brisket, fish, chicken, etc. I must admit, there is just something attractively primal about mixing the element of fire with the element of hunger. mmm.

Phase 2. Real bbq to why bbq. Alas, sometimes smoking meat painfully becomes a *4 out of 5 on the effort-scale* technique, adding wood, adding liquid, stoking, rinse, repeat... It's not for the faint of heart. This is why folks naturally get the perception that barbeque, particularly the lovely, time intensive pulled pork is something you order in or go out for. In honesty, I've used the valid excuse of too-rainy-to-bbq quite frequently and drifted back to the kicka$$ oven technique from time to time. After all, it does produce a wonderful shredded pork; and it's a great deal more accessible, though still time intensive, nearly impossible to screw up. Yes, even for you. You know who I'm talking to.

Phase 3. why bbq to no bbq. Please, bbq fans, stop plotting to kill me. I still love me some bbq. However, I have to tell you and the rest of the ravenous audience the ugly but terribly tasty truth: If you want to shred pork, flavorful, savory yet subtly sweet pork, there is no better method than braising. There. I said it. Pause while I hide from the throngs of pitch fork wielding pit masters outside my window. . . . . . . .AAAAAAAAHHAFFGGGGG!!#@#!@!!$@#$ Just kidding. Back now. Braising pork shoulder on a very low temp for a very long time produces a succulent, moist shred full of oinky goodness. Braising is low-to-no work for the cook and the results could give the bbq intelligentsia a run for their money.

Where smoking meat does present a lovely bouquet, it does not tenderize the meat as much as braising. When intramuscular collagen in the meat breaks down, it liquifies and helps to moisturize the surrounding muscle tissue. This occurs during smoking as well. BUT, during braising, you get a bonus effect: If an acid is present in the cooking liquid, it helps to move the melting along and simultaneously tenderizes the muscle tissue. Broken down muscle tissue in the presence of melting fat means the muscle can draw in moisture, rather than just get wet.

Guiltily gilding the lilly, reintroducing the pork, once shredded, back into the braising liquid is flat out decadent. This stupendous model for shredding pork is actually quite common around the globe, but there are two examples that make me cry with anticipation: Chile Verde from Mexico and Red Cooked Shredded Pork from China. The process is the same for both but the liquid differs.

Method
Technically, the way I do it, it's not really braising. I know, I know, I've been talking about braising this whole time. I just like the word. Braising is the process of searing meat, then slowly cooking it in a flavorful liquid. I tend not to sear the meat, making my process, technically poaching. No one's going to drool over poached pork. Not terribly sexy. SO...

1. Bring your braising liquid to a boil over high heat in an oven proof, coverable pot then turn off the stove.
2. Gently lower the pork shoulder into the liquid.
3. Pop the pot into a 300 °F oven, covered.
4. Forget about it for 5 hours.
5. Remove the pot from the oven, remove the cover.
6. Remove the shoulder with a slotted spoon, gather meat together in a big bowl.
*This may require two slotted spoons to lift the whole shoulder. But, more likely, once you dig in with one spoon, meat will just begin to fall apart and one spoon becomes enough.
7. Once you have as much of the meat as you want, start shredding with two forks.
8. With a non-slotted spoon, add some of the cooking liquid from the pot to the pork to combine.

You're done. That's it. Go make friends.

Liquid Options
Though I present some suggested liquid paths below, you can truly go nuts with braising pork by keeping a basic model in your head: stock or water + acid + flavor. The acid can be a vinegar, citrus juice, relatively acidic booze, etc.

For Howie's Mexican Chile Verde:
(puree the following in a blender or processor)

2 lbs tomatillos, husked, broiled in the oven for 7 minutes
1 bunch cilantro, washed
3 jalapeño peppers, stem removed, seeded
3 poblano peppers, stem removed, seeded
6 cloves garlic, whole
1 medium sized onion
juice from three limes
1c orange juice
4-6c chicken or vegetable stock

For Howie's Red Cooked Shredded Pork
(Do not puree the following, trust me)

1c soy sauce
1/2c Chinese black vinegar or balsamic vinegar if boring and/or desperate
1c Shaoxing wine (get it here) or be dumb and use dry sherry
4-6c of chicken or vegetable stock (Chinese stock would be best)
1/4c brown sugar or 2 big hunks of rock sugar
6 cloves garlic, whole
2 three inch fingers of ginger, unpeeled, lightly smashed
7 scallions, cut in half
2 star anise
2 cinnamon sticks

What's that you say? What do you do with he pork once it's shredded? Here's a start...
Sandwiches
Omelets
Rice bowls
Tacos
.
.
.
Don't make me go on and on and on. Just eat it. Done.

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To submit questions to HowieCOOK,
send email to
HowieCOOK@gmail.com

BA DA BING, Shaoxing glazed eggplant

Hello HowieCOOK fans. My last two posts left you hanging and left me thinking: What would be the perfect result when the Purple Provocateur (that's my fancy name for eggplant) and Chinese rice wine were on a collision course? Think: You got your Shaoxing wine on my eggplant. No! You got your eggplant in my Shaoxing wine! And, so on. Well, finally I offer you the recipe that has all the blogosphere a buzzing. Or, is that the native buzzing in my head? Whatever the clinical case may be, I give you...

BA DA BING!
Grilled pork-stuffed eggplant cakes with a Shaoxing rice wine glaze
(Start this recipe 75 minutes before you want to eat.)

In Mandarin Chinese, Ba means eight, Da means big, and Bing means cake. Ba Da Bing or Eight big cakes is my interpretation of super-stuffed Chinese eggplant cakes on the grill, made shiny and sweet with a unique rice wine glaze. Why eight? The Chinese feel that eight is a very lucky number and if you follow the letter of the recipe, and make expected mistakes the first time, you should still yield eight nicely sized cakes for each eggplant you use!

SHOPPING NOTE: Buy the widest eggplant you can find, so that when you slice them in rounds, the cakes won't likely fall through the grates of your grill. Do not use typical, huge Globe eggplants for this recipe. The skin is terribly thick and there usually are too many seeds. Also, shop at a farmers market or a local farm store to buy fresh, sweeter, less brittle eggplant.

Glaze
1 1/2 C - Shaoxing wine or dry sherry
1/2 C - Light brown sugar
1/2 C - Soy sauce
1 clove - Garlic lightly smashed but still one piece

Eggplant
2 - Chinese or Japanese eggplant, cut between 1/8 and 1/4 inch inch round slices

Filling
1 lb - Ground pork
1 Tb - Shaoxing wine or dry sherry
1 - Egg white
1 Tb - Soy sauce
1 lg. clove - Garlic minced
1/2 Tb - Ginger minced
1 Tb - Scallion, white part minced
1 tsp - Table salt
1/2 tsp - White pepper
1 tsp - Granulated sugar
2 Tb - Corn starch or tapioca starch

Start by mixing your glaze ingredients together. In a small sauce pot over no heat, whisk up the Shaoxing or sherry with the brown sugar, soy sauce and garlic. Once combined, up the heat to high. Once you see an active bubbling, lower the heat back to medium-high, let the mix reduce until it has a wet pancake syrup consistency, about 15 min. Then, remove the garlic and set the glaze aside, off the heat.

Mix together your filling ingredients in a bowl. The mixture will appear to be wet and somewhat sticky. This is a good thing. You will soon want the filling to stick to the insides of a rather dry eggplant slice. If the mix appears to be too wet (read: runny), add some more of the starch until it resembles a loose burger patty.

Begin to assemble little eggplant "burgers" with eggplant as the top and bottom bun and about 2 tsp of filling as the burger. As you finish each stack, place on a parchment lined sheet pan. As you assemble, be sure to press the top layer of eggplant to assure that the filling is spread inside as far as it can be without falling out the sides. Once this step is done, refrigerate for 30 minutes. You could refrigerate, covered up to 48 hours before grilling.

Fire up the grill to medium-high. Allow the grill to heat, with the lid closed for 5-10 minutes. On the sheet pan, with a paint brush, pastry brush, or the back of a spoon if you are desperate, spread glaze over the top side of the eggplant cakes. With a long set of tongs, carefully place the cakes onto the grill, glaze side down. Leave some room in between the cakes for easy grabbing later on.

Glaze the now-up-side of the cakes. Close the grill lid. The eggplant should cook for 3-4 minutes on the first side. Open the lid, re-glaze the up-side of the cakes. Carefully turn over each cake individually. Re-glaze the now-up-side of the cakes and close the lid. After about 3 minutes of cooking the second side of the cakes, open the lid and carefully remove the cakes from the grill, placing the cakes in one layer on the sheet pan. Serve along side the extra glaze in a bowl and a heaping, steamy bowl of white rice, y'all.

Ah.

---

To submit questions to HowieCOOK,

send email to

HowieCOOK@gmail.com

Get Drunk in China

...Wait, before you think me a sot, or a mere advocate for Asian debauchery: Get Drunk in China is a terrific yet no-longer-running television show that explored the finer points of lively suppers in the Middle Kingdom. It featured an actor I know named Jimmy Taenaka, or "Jimmy T." Jimmy would pounce from city to city, joyfully investigating the local grain and fruit spirits as well as regional beers. When I told my friend and long-time China companion, Greg (happy China photo above) about the show's title and to Tivo it, he thought it was a gag. Simply brilliant title. So, I thought I would borrow it to draw your attention. Now that I have that, my friend Paul has a question that relates:

Other than the heavily marketed Tsing Tao beer, we don't get to see a lot of Chinese alcohol. What's good, and do you have any advice on what's a good compliment to my entree?

Though many folks who have been to China (even some sinophiles) would flog me for saying, there are many Chinese spirits that are perfectly suited to pair with a nice Chinese meal. Off the top of my head, I can think of two spirits that go down smoothly and compliment or follow foods ranging from tangy and sweet to hot and spicy. One is bai jiu and one is huang jiu, or white liquor and yellow liquor respectively.

Bai jiu, is primarily made from distilled sorghum. Some Chinese argue that sorghum-based bai jiu is only true bai jiu. In some Southern cities, bai jiu may be made from other grains, including rice, millet, and corn. It generally has a proof between 80 and 120 (40% and 60% alcohol). The more pleasant sips are from those of lower alcohol and therefore higher flavor and price. I could regale you with stories of the "cheap stuff" and how it encourages hopping over 9 foot University gates and lighting innocent coffee tables ablaze with elderly Japanese professors, but I digress.

Except for beer, baij jiu is the most commonly served booze across China. It is frequently mis-translated (alas, China) as white wine. This is quite often the beginning of a horrible relationship between an unsuspecting foreign guest and bai jiu. It is decidedly not wine, as we would so innocently interpret. Indeed, it is as much wine as wine is water. For most China visitors who hear "enjoy some local white wine," bai jiu is the closest thing to fire-water that one can imagine. Bam. Relationship crushed. Chinese liquor is horrible is all that remains in the mind. All because the word wine was misused and utterly abused.

I've heard bai jiu referred to with such color as "white lightning," "goddam vulgar," "why-oh-why would you do this to me," and so on. My otherwise brave buddy Greg's take is, "there are no words, maybe blech." I am here to proclaim: If one is introduced to Chinese liquors in a kinder, gentler fashion, without playing victim to the white wine phenomenon from above or a college-like dare, there can be an impending gastronomic adventure for the soul. On a related note, Taoist monks on remote Chinese mountain tops believe that bai jiu helps with immortality.

The right way to drink: I once threw a Chinese dinner party that ended with sips from a very fine bottle sent from a friend in China. My guests were surprised, generally pleased, and astounded that they had never considered Chinese spirits before. Yes, some did not like it, but then again, some of you out there have a love/hate thing with tequila, no? I believe the key to introducing a surprising liquor is to match it well with the food you're serving. This feast, in particular was full of starchy notes, corn flour, crushed rice, wheat pancakes, etc. Bai jiu, being distilled from similar grains, plays well with this set of thickening agents. It imparts an almost lightening feeling after the meal.

Huang jiu differs from bai jiu in that it is aged and primarily made from rice or wheat. Like any alcohol that is aged, sugars are given time to develop and alcohol level has time to calm down. Huang jiu, is therefore sweeter and mild in comaprison to it's "Quien Es Mas Macho?" white cousin. Huang jiu, though called yellow, typically ranges from light amber to dark rust in hue and has an alcohol content of less than 20%. Similar to western-style grape wine, huang jiu has a taste spectrum from dry to sweet. For true enthusiasts (or one who wants to pose as an enthusiast), huang jiu can be enjoyed warmed to temperatures well above room temp, say 100°F. Not unlike a snifter of cognac, warmed huang jiu will be a pleasure for the nose as well as the tongue.

Unlike bai jiu, huang jiu - specifically Chinese rice wine - has been gaining in international popularity and showing up in culinary and mixology realms of late. It has that exotic Far East appeal and in my opinion deserves a spot at the digestif menu next to the finest bottles of Napa Valley sherry and Japanese sake. China has recently become a big deal and many things authentically Chinese should be working their way into the mainstream. Two highlights: 1) My neverending quest to have you all not settle for Chinese food as simply fast, cheap, and convenient! It is an misunderstood artform, dag nabbit; and 2) Last year, a buddy of mine named Scott in Portland, Oregon started to import and sell super-fine Chinese rice wines (http://www.chinesericewine.com/). Now you don't have the can't-afford-a-plane-ticket excuse!

Arguably, the most famous Chinese rice wine is from the town of Shaoxing and has adopted the name. In addition to being enjoyably imbibed, Shaoxing wine is also used obsessively in cooking. At the level you would find white wine being used to fortify sauces and marinades in the French kitchen, or red wine used to brighten up Italian cuisine, Shaoxing wine is seldom left lonely next to the Chinese stove. In fact, there is an entire sub-school of cookery that proudly places Drunken meats and other ingredients in center stage. As booze tends to do, Drunken marinades denature proteins and tenderize muscle tissue. This makes for faster cooking, thereby saving scant fuel resources. Shaoxing wine marinades do double duty and also impart a sweet, sometimes woody or smokey flavor to the dish.

The right way to drink: Shaoxing wine pairs excellently with earthy and seafaring flavors and those with a decidedly salty finish. The sweet notes of the rice wine provide a terrific counterpoint to balance out the palette. If I am serving a warmed bottle of Shaoxing wine to finish off a banquet, you can be sure that I also used Shaoxing as described above in the marinades and sauces. This tactic would cause a theme in the meal and make the transition to a new type of liquor almost eerily familiar.

---

Paul, thanks for the question. I gave you much more than you bargained for! Though seemingly exotic, Chinese liquors are no more strange than some single malt scotches that I've enjoyed. If it's properly introduced on its own, as a part of a larger meal, I think that there is a chance that Chinese liquors will see a tremendous future in the Western world. Sort of like Japanese sake after World War II...only minus the war part!

Tune in tomorrow for the exciting conclusion of Get Drunk in China, where I give you my favorite recipe that involves Shaoxing wine as a luxurious glaze to little pork-stuffed eggplant cakes. Drool in wait.

---

To submit questions to HowieCOOK,
send email to
HowieCOOK@gmail.com

Purple Provocateur

It's a fruit! It's a veggie! Shut up, it's a fruit. Technically, it's a berry. It's first cousins with the tomato and second cousins with the potato. It gets its name for its shape and it's (originally cultivated) glossy white skin. Hailing from the Indian subcontinent and weighing in at "heavy for its size," it's the Purple Provocateur...Heeeeerr'e's E G G P L A N T !! This inquiry comes from my friend, Carrie. She writes:

I'm obsessed with Eggplant and have yet to find a reliable, non-time-consuming trick to cooking eggplant (preferrably stir fried or braised) that will 1) retain the gorgeous bright purple color, 2) will prevent it from absorbing all the oil from the pan and 3) can be done in a home kitchen with an electric stovetop. Please help!

Not to harp on the theme of hatred (steak, mushrooms, corn, cucumbers, blech), but I, like many of you out there, hated eggplant as a kid. However, when I moved to China (not to harp on the theme of China), eggplant and I began a very special relationship. I fell in love. It may have been the dream-like haze (read: smog) of China, the different, sweeter genre of eggplant grown, or just the sheer variety of dishes, I was newly in love with eggplant, nonetheless.

There, I found dozens of masterful methods to prep an eggplant. Fried, grilled, steamed, baked, stuffed, roasted, sauteed, breaded, pureed, stewed, braised; I could go on. It is simply provocative what a typical Chinese chef can do to such a humble piece of purple produce. My childhood aversion had no choice but to melt away when faced with such gastronomic pleasure. Today, I'll eat eggplant in any form, just had to get to know her better.


Now then, In answer to Carrie's concerns:

Keeping eggplant purple...The purple color of eggplant comes from anthocyanins and chlorogenic acids, also present in green veggies along with chlorophyll. Just as you would blanch broccoli in water to cease enzymatic action on the outside and draw chlorogenic-activating gases from the inside, the same works for the royal hue of an eggplant. Yet, eggplant skin reacts to the oxygen in water differently than a more porous veggie. It goes dull and rather gray in hot water.

Oil blanching eggplant works like a charm. Dipping cut eggplant into hot (say, 300 degree F) light oil for about 30-45 seconds seizes the skin and draws magical gases from within the flesh that support vine ripe color. Bright. Purple. Gorgeous.

Preventing it from absorbing oil...You've now read the info above and are very concerned about eggplant soaking up all of that oil from blanching to improve color, right? Eggplant can absorb oil, but it doesn't have to take in alot. Make sure you have a fresh eggplant with few-to-no seeds. This will reduce your desire to listen to outdated cookbooks and celebrity chefs and salt your eggplant! This controversial tactic has been bantered about for eons as a way to get bitter water out of the eggplant. In my not-so-humble opinion, it does more harm than good.

If you are using a fresh, firm eggplant with few-to-no seeds, you don't have to get anything out. Let's do the math, here. If you leave water inside eggplant, then cooking processes heat up the internal water and effectively steams the flesh from the inside. This same water also prevents some oil absorption. Alternatively, if you take out the water by salting, then you leave your eggplant vulnerable like a sponge, waiting for oil to be around. Soggy. Eww.

As a bonus, here are a few pearls of HowieCOOK wisdom about the Purple Provocateur:

1. On good-for-you: Eggplant, despite numerous sourpuss nutritionists' initial thoughts, it cuts cholesterol, is rich in antioxidants, fiber, vitamins and minerals, has skin that contains a phytonutrient that makes it an official brain food, and aids in digestive processes, i.e. it will keep you regular. Yes, I said it.


2. On breeds: It comes in many shapes and sizes. Though there are the ultra-cool graffiti kind with striped skin, the flavorful Indian kind that are small and dark, the Japanese white kind that look shocking, the most popular in our grasp are typical Italian globe eggplant and Chinese eggplant. If you don't like thick skin and high-bitterness-potential, go for the Chinese, longer, thinner, lighter purple kind.


3. On bitterness: it is not characteristic of all people, so why should it be one of all eggplant? Sure, there are bitter eggplants out there, but you can avoid them pretty easily. This is very important, since bitterness is the #1 reason haters hate eggplant. Seed volume causes this bitterness, and seeds over-develop in over-ripe or overly large eggplant. The fresher the eggplant, the fewer the seeds the sweeter the flesh.


4. On buying: Eggplant should feel heavy for its size, and have glossy, uniformly smooth skin with no blemishes. When you buy an eggplant from a big grocery store, chances are the eggplant has been sitting in cold storage for weeks. So, even though an eggplant seems to be fresh, smooth and heavy, it may still be over-ripe and bitter given the info in #3. Buy from farmers markets. Eat green. Be a locavore. Wear Birkenstocks. Blah, blah, blah.


5. On Jersey: New Jersey gets a lot of crap from just about everyone. I grew up in NJ and find it to be a great state. Terrific beaches, decent surf, and NJ provides Hollywood with one of the most salient stereotypes for Mafia casting. I digress. NJ is the third largest producer of eggplant in the US. 8000 tons/year. Respect.

Since I know you're just drooling to know, here are my top 5 favorite eggplant dishes:

• Yu Xiang Qie Bing - Chinese - Deep-fried, meat-stuffed eggplant cakes with a garlicky sauce


• Baba Ganoush - arguably Lebanese - Roasted eggplant mashed with garlic, lemon juice, sesame paste, olive oil


• Eggplant Parmesan - Italian - My little grandmother and her sister used to fight over leaving the skin on. I take it off!


• Zha Qie Tiao - Chinese - Like eggplant french fries.


• Baingan Bartha - Indian - Roasted eggplant mashed with tomato, onion, peas, chiles, garam masala, cilantro

Phew. So, you are all now lovers of eggplant and can't wait to read my brilliant recipe below. Wait. There is no recipe below! What ever will you do? Here's the deal: If you've read the article this far, you must truly be interested. I always have a hard time deciding which recipe I like best. YOU decide for me, and I will provide the winning recipe! Look to the survey in the upper-right-hand panel of this page. Let the games begin...

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To submit questions to HowieCOOK,
send email to

HowieCOOK@gmail.com

Hey Vegan, Eat Me!

My name is Tofu. I live on the second floor. I live upstairs from you. Yes, I think you've seen me before... Tofu has been abused, misused, confused and otherwise been refused. I get it. Tofu is weird. It's the golden palace of pleasure for vegetarians, blah, blah, blah. I have a terrific question from a good nonvegetarian friend, Jay and his wife, Stacey that will lend itself to mellowing any trash-talk about bean curd:

What are some great, flavorful ways to prepare tofu? Jay and I have tried recently (in our quest to eat more healthful dinners) but everything has turned out bland.

Tofu gets a bad rap. First, I must admit, there are foods that I do not like: mushrooms, cucumbers, corn, to name three all-stars. Wait! Before you start to hurl burning hot recipes at me with mushrooms, cucumbers and corn - I'm simply making the point that sometimes, people just don't like stuff. That's OK. It's natural. That said, however, if you can do to my least favorites what I am about to do to tofu, I'm all ears.

The Chinese (oh, here he goes, again). Stop it, internal dialogue! The Chinese invented tofu and truly exploit all of its attributes, but more on that down the page. Tofu is soy bean curd, essentially coagulated soy milk. Though the term coagulated has you pondering running away, never to read HowieCOOK again, hold up! Cheese is also coagulated milk, albeit the kind from cows, sheep or goats. We love cheese, so get over it and let the soothing words of HowiCOOK lull you into a comforting tofu haze.

Though you will mainly find a block of silken tofu or firm tofu in your local grocery store, there are a number of interesting commercial processes that tofu may go through which changes its character completely. It's worth some exploration on your own. If you have an international foods market in your 'hood, you may find two of my favorites, smoked tofu or pressed tofu.

Smoked tofu loses almost all of it moisture while smoking and, not unlike meat or fish, will smack of the flavor of the chosen smoking wood. Sliced in green salads, it adds a unique texture component. Most Chinese smoking processes use rice, tea, and peach or apple wood. Pressed tofu also has almost all of the moisture removed. The result is similar to and can easily sub-in for pasta.

For the moment, let's assume that you either do not have a local international market or do not have access to vast global market called the internet (I love writing things like that in a blog). You're happily stuck with the brick of silken or firm tofu. Silken is the softest type of fully formed tofu and has a texture reminiscent of quiche. Firm tofu has been further dried. It's a more crumbly form, which can be a drawback for some preparations.

When one is using tofu in this most commonly found brick form, it holds three characteristics that make it not a replacement for meat, but an ingredient with its own value! I'll just become a vegetarian and grill this here tofu brick instead of a steak tonight. N.O.

Brick tofu is a tremendous vehicle for flavor. It is bland on its own. Strong dressings, sauces, marinades all play well with the flat tofu taste. Again, do not think of cooking with it as using tofu instead of meat to be more healthy. There is a better reason. Since tofu is a reliable vehicle, make it a great flavor counterpoint! Go bold with seasoning, up the spicy, up the sweet, up the sour. In this way, one bite of a sauced-up tofu may result in a phenomenal punch, then a smooth, creamy middle, then a spicy back-end.

Tofu is about texture, not taste. Mouthfeel is its strength. Yes, mouthfeel is a technical term, and no, I did not just make up for you. What does it feel like to chew? Does it fill your mouth? Where does it meet up with your tongue? Is it creamy and smooth or gritty and sharp? Is there an aftertaste? Mouthfeel is often talked about in wine and cheese circles, but I believe it answers for alot of tofu's appeal. In essence, try to see tofu as a texture component in the larger dish.

One really cool thing that can be done with brick tofu (here, I prefer to use firm) is freezing it. Frozen tofu? Now tofu is for dessert? Well, it could be, but that's another entry for another day! Freezing and then thawing a brick of tofu enables it to absorb flavors much more readily. Off the grocery store shelf, there are bits of moisture (almost 100% water) dispersed throughout a brick of tofu. When tofu freezes, the moisture pockets expand.

When you then allow the tofu to thaw slightly and slice it, you will notice that the inside becomes sponge-like. Yes, like a kitchen sponge. It can then pick up big flavors in soups, sauces, dressings, etc. One thing to remain aware of, however, is that by expanding the tofu you are also lessening its structural integrity. Picture yourself getting tackeld with your arms and legs spread wide. It gets more pliable and therefore more fragile.

My advice is this: Take your tofu out of the liquid-filled, ubiquitous plastic tub with plastic seal on top. Drain the brick on top of some paper towels. Put some paper towels on top as well. If you feel like you can gently press it without breaking it up, do so. If not, just let the tofu sit and drain for a half hour. Once it is relatively dry, place the brick alone in a zip-top freezer bag. Do not try to get the air out of the bag, as the tofu needs room to expand a slight bit.

Freeze it for 4 hours or all night. When you take it out of the freezer, the tofu will have gotten darker in color. It's OK! This is natural and does not mean it went bad! Let the tofu sit in its bag for 15-20 minutes to thaw slightly. Slice or dice for use.

Below is a very, very simple recipe for Frozen Tofu with Spicy Sesame Dressing. For those of you who "do not like tofu," this dish presents tofu in a way that most of you have never seen and completely changes its texture - the main culprit in most of our food aversions! Ironically, it fits as a nice side dish to grilled steak...

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Frozen Tofu with Spicy Sesame Dressing

1 - brick of firm tofu, frozen, thawed, sliced 1/4 inch thick
5 C - vegetable or chicken stock

dressing
6 Tb - sesame paste or tahini
6 Tb - soy sauce
3Tb - water
2 Tb - sesame oil
1 tsp - rice vinegar
1 tsp - sugar
1 or 2 tsp - red chili pepper flakes (depends on how hot you want)]

(Assuming you have already frozen your tofu for at least four hours, thawed for a 15 min. and sliced) Start this recipe 20 minutes before meal or snack time. Heat up the veg or chicken stock over high heat in a medium sauce pan. Once the liquid begins to boil, lower the heat to a simmer. add your frozen tofu slices.

Do not move the tofu around in the stock! Resist the mighty pasta urge to swirl the whole thing up. Remember that by freezing then simmering, you are causing the tofu to go fragile. Simmer without touching for 8-10 minutes over low heat. While the tofu is simmering, whisk together all dressing ingredients. If the mixture is too thick, do not hesitate to add a bit more (equal parts) water and soy sauce. You're seeking the thickness of ranch dressing.

Set up a large plate or cookie sheet covered in paper towels. With a slotted spoon or a slotted spatula, gently gently gently remove the tofu slices, one by one, placing them in one layer onto the plate or cookie sheet.

Once you have them all removed from the pot and drained, plate up and drizzle or pour the sesame sauce over to coat and serve. Done.

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Jay and Stacey, I hope you enjoy. The rest of you vegetarians and vegans out there, you're welcome, and all of you tofu-hating confused people, let me know how this changed your life.

To submit questions to HowieCOOK,
send email to
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Soy Story Catch-Up!

No clever quips this time, and no fabulous recipes. Below are the 7 clips from Soy Story that I have so far. Sit back, relax, enjoy and don't get too terribly hungry!

OK, first some background. The Soy Story film project was formally conceived of about one year ago, after 12 years, many trips to, and thousands of meals consumed in China. I had decided that very few outlets within the enormous and influential food media world were doing enough to shift focus onto the rich history, diversity and significance of Chinese cuisine. I thought perhaps, with the then impending Beijing Olympics, media consumers would be ravenous to find out more about the food of the Middle Kingdon, its diversity, its dynamism and its cultural importance withing Chinese society.

Rather than clarify and debunk misconceptions of Chinese cuisine, much of the main stream culinary media took a wonderful opportunity and blew it by further cementing said misconceptions. Leading up to the Olympics, I watched in horror as the TV dudes who eat weird foods went to the best *donkey* restaurant in Beijing, the best *penis* restaurant in Beijing (I kid you not), and found the best *scorpion on a stick* in Beijing. I also combed through a number of US newspaper articles about Beijing cracking down on scores of restaurants that serve dog meat, mandating that they take dog off the menu during the Summer of 2008.

If you are an avid food media absorber like me, you may have been left with the impression that the following are true and many of your Chinese food urban legends were right:

1. Eating dog is common across China.
2. The Chinese eat only strange parts of even stranger animals.
3. If the cats in your neighborhood are disappearing, there must be a Chinese joint opening soon.
4. I could go on...

Soy Story seeks to celebrate Chinese cuisine in a way I find to be unique within the food media stream we receive. I interview real people, in real China, with real opinions, eating real farm-to-table foods, the array of which may surprise you. It's time we handed Chinese food back to China, and ask them to clarify a few things for us, don't you think?

I am not yet done filming for Soy Story, and I hope to find the footage a good home after I am done. If that last bit never occurs, however, it will always have a safehouse here at HowieCOOK. Bon appetit:

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To submit questions to HowieCOOK,

send email to

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Stir Fried Wikipedia

Well, well, back to the Chinese thing for HowieCOOK. Sensing a logical theme, are we? A friend of mine from high school writes in to get behind the magic that is the technique, not the dish (!) called stir fry, but more on my 'modest' opinion later. Here's what Stavra writes:

I would just like someone to tell me how to cook an EASY stir fry(chicken or shrimp. Every time I try something is just not right. The meat doesn't have enough flavor or the vegetables are too soggy..

There are a few simple rules to live by when stir frying meat and veg. Be careful, I may blow your mind. YET, since we're on the topic of stir fry, you will have to lie in mouth-watering wait until I offer you a terrific stir fry tale...

By now, we all know what Wikipedia is. We also know what stir frying is. Yet, have you heard of Stir Fried Wikipedia? It's real. Well, sort of...

Good ole' number 303 on the menu at Cha Ma Gu Dao (ancient tea and horse road), a rather modern restaurant in Beijing. They serve and are notable for a enormous array of mushroom dishes from Yunnan province in Southwestern China. In fact, they have mushrooms flown in from Yunnan by the kilo on a daily basis.

Imagine the enjoyment of browsing through an encyclopedic menu with my lovely wife, Jessica and Jian Jun, a Chinese friend. We happen upon "Stir-fried Wikipedia" next to a photo fo a beautiful mushroom dish and think, Have we found the world's first corporately sponsored fungus? We're all fairly geeky and thought that this was priceless.

Though, knowing alot about the Chinese ways of translation, my head went in another direction entirely. This had to be one of those entertaining yet innocent linguistic mistakes often though adorable by Western passers through in China. Like "keep on touching" instead of "keep in touch."

(Before you see this as dissing, do you know how many times I have asked for the "uneven room" instead of the "men's room" in China?)

I am not nearly the first writer to cover Stir Fried Wikipedia. The traveler blogosphere has been a playground for this little piece of menu brilliance for some time now. However, I believe I am the first writer to get to the bottom of it. When filming for Soy Story, I sat with the general manager of Cha Ma Gu Dao, Mr. Ceng Ping. Of course I asked about Yunnan cuisine, the way people feel about it, and the awesome flat-top grill in the kitchen. Then I dropped the bomb, "What's with this Stir Fried Wikipedia? Is this the official name of a mushroom? Do you know what that really means?"

The story goes: The guy hired to do the translation of the menu a few years back was put under alot of pressure to complete the task with a quite tight dealine. Most of the mushrooms were easy pickins on the web. So, our translator got comfortable with Google as the job aid, until he ran into the dreaded Ji Zong mushroom. Though he just went with the term "Ji Zong" most other places in the menu, he felt compelled to get the English word at least once. There must be an English word! Finally, he came across a unique word he had not seen for any other mushroom, and it was prominently placed in the first search result from Google. Wikipedia! That must be it, sounds exotic! Job done.

A thousand years from now, archaeologists will uncover a beautifully preserved laminated menu from central Beijing and find conflicting information from the otherwise known Wikipedia of commonly-edited-informational-web-pages fame. Dissertations will be written.

But, I digress...

Stir Frying is a technique, like sautéing, roasting, or baking. Stir fry is not the name of a dish, dag nabbit! "We're having stir fry tonight, honey" carries about as much meaning as, "We're having carmelize tonight, sweetiekins!" Frankly, you can stir fry any meat with relatively little connective tissue to break down and just about anything that spawns from the garden - if you do it right. It is a high-heat, fast-paced sauté. That is all.

It could be German stir fry night when you prep some thinly sliced smoked sausage, shredded potatoes and a light-textured cabbage. It could be Italian stir fry night when you put out a hell of a quick carbonara sauce. Stir fry is a process, not an end result, per se. If you think of stir fry and immediately think of Chinese, think again. In fact, stir frying plays an pivotal but a cameo role in any Chinese kitchen worth it's soy! Rant over, onto blissful education.

There are a few simple rules to play by to do it right.

1) With meats, it is best to marinate, even if for a bit of time. The Chinese tend to marinate using flavor enhancers, such as soy sauce, oyster sauce, hoisin sauce, or plain salt and/or sugar. They also use something acidic to tenderize the meat - if it is a meat with some connective tissue, e.g. flank steak. This is typically egg white (not just for woosy omelets, anymore), vinegar or booze.

A bit of oil doesn't hurt either. Oil coats the meat, and in combination with those items listed above seals in some flavor. Also typical in commercial kitchens is to pass through the oil. This means quickly taking the meat for a swim, marinated or not, through very hot oil - before stir frying. Traps in moisture. Before you think of this as no longer simple, you can get away without this last step. Remember to drain the marinade before stir frying.

2) With vegetables, it is best to blanche. Blanching is taking vegetables for a quick swim in boiling water, typically well under a minute. Boiling water will cease the enzymatic processes on the surface of the vegetable, thereby sealing it up, in a way. If vegetables are blanched, there is less likelyhood they will absorb too much oil while quick frying, which means less soggy veg.

After blanching, you shock the vegetables in an ice bath, as this will stop any further cooking before you get to the main event. Let you vegetables dry completely before then stir frying. hot+oil+cold+water=real+bad. Blaching also enhances the color of some vegetables, especially green varieties. A neat trick is to add a bit of baking soda to blanching water. This brings out the color even more.

3) For the main event, everything happens very quickly. Oil gets to (just under screamingly) hot. In alot of Chinese recipes, it's popular to see when you see a wisp of white smoke. Aromatics gets added to the pan (garlic, ginger, etc.). Before the aromatics burn, perhaps under 10 seconds, meat gets added. Stir, stir, stir. Once the outside of the meat is uniformly lighter in color than it started, add the veg. Stir, stir, stir. Add sauce components. See below

4) Finish it with a sauce. Typically, the simple sauce includes a flavorful liquid and a starch. This could be meat stock, plus corn starch slurry (mixed equal parts cold water + corn starch). Onc the sauce components are added, let the whole come just to a boil and turn off the heat. You're done.

So, Stavra, those are the rules. They may seem complex. They're not. I just write too much. I do have some ideas for what to produce. Below are my recipes for Egg and Tomato and Cilantro Chicken.

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Egg and Tomato (Xi Hong Shi Chao Ji Dan) is one of my favorite dishes, ever. Why it has never become popularized in American Chinese joints, I will never know. It's a simple staple in my home.

2 Tb - vegetable or other light oil
3 - eggs
1 tsp - salt
1 Tb - water
1 - beefsteak tomato, cut into 1/4 inch wedges.
1 tsp - sugar
2 tsp - soy sauce
1 tsp - sesame oil

This dish will take you 10 minutes, max. Whisk eggs and salt with water. Heat 1 Tb of the oil in your (ideally nonstick) pan over medium-high until very hot but not burning. Drop in your egg mix. Stir stir stir. When the eggs just about coagulate (scramble), slide them out of the pan. This should take about 30-45 seconds. The very hot oil should prevent eggs sticking, but no worries if some does.

Heat the other Tb of the oil in the pan until very hot. Drop in the tomato wedges. Let them sit and begin to liquify for about 30 seconds. Stir stir stir. When the tomato still has some body, shut off the heat and add your scrambled eggs back in. Stir to combine. Plate and drizzle with soy sauce and sesame oil. Damn, I love this dish. With a mound of steamed rice, it's a nice comfort bowl.

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Cilantro Chicken (Xiang Cai Ji Ding)

(Even) I was surprised a few years back when I discovered the volume of cilantro that is used in Hunan province. In fact, they serve a cilantro salad that is simply a well fabricated bunch of cilantro, oil and seasoning. This easy chicken dish rocks.

marinade
1 Tb - soy sauce
1 tsp - sesame oil
1 tsp - rice wine, sherry or gin
1 tsp - corn starch
1 - egg white

1 lb - boneless, skinless chicken breast cut into 3/4 inch cubes
1 Tb - vegetable or other light oil
1/2 Tb - ginger minced
1/2 bunch - cilantro stems cut into 2 inch sticks
3 Tb - chicken (or other) stock
1/2 tsp - salt
2 tsp - corn starch
1 Tb - cold water
1/2 bunch - cilantro leaves chopped

Start about an hour before meal time. Whisk the marinade together and combine with the chicken cubes. Let it sit for a half hour while you ponder the meaing of the wok over a nice cocktail. drain your chicken cubes from the marinade and set aside. Discard the marinade.

Mix the corn starch and water to make a slurry. Set aside.

Heat the oil in a skillet ( I would prefer not nonstick) over medium-high until you see the famed wisp of white smoke. Add your ginger to the pan. Before the ginger burns, perhaps under 10 seconds, add your chicken cubes. Stir stir stir until the outisde of the cubes is uniformly light. Add your cilantro stems to the pan. Stir stir stir for about 30 seconds until the stems just about start to go flexible. Pour in the stock, add the salt. Stir to combine.

Add your slurry. Stir to combine. Turn off the heat. Add your cilantro leaves to the pan. Stir to combine and plate the whole thing. I love cilantro and so the Hunanese.

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Thanks for the question, Stavra! Get frying! Who's next?

To submit questions to HowieCOOK, send email to
HowieCOOK@gmail.com

Leave My Chicken Out Of It, Turkey!

OK, it's about time I fess up to something grim from my otherwise spotless culinary past. A very good Turkish friend of mine likes to chide me about this unfortunate event whenever he gets the chance. Kemal, this one's for you. He writes:

I am curious to know if dessert can be made from an ordinary chicken? Please advise.

When Kemal and I worked together, everyone regularly brought in snacks of all kinds to share among the staff. Kemal, one day, brought in Tavuk Gogsu. Before translating for anyone what the label said in Turkish, Kemal strongly suggested we try it. Being brave, and by brave I mean stupid, we did. Perhaps it was the mystery, the influence of not knowing what was in it. We all thought it was quite odd. This was not supposed to be a game of truth or dare, Kemal! Tavuk Gogsu is a very Turkish dessert that features chicken. That's right. Chicken...plus sugar, plus cinnamon, plus cracked rice, plus milk. It's basically a chicken-infused-cinnamon-bun-flavored-rice-porridge.

I did not like Tavuk Gogsu, and to this day, this dish concerns me deeply. I have tried for years to convince myself that maybe it was who made it or which commercial kitchen produced it that mattered. Turns out, no wonder, no quality differences changed my feeling. I just cannot get over the fact that there is chicken in my dessert. To be fair: The Turks are not to blame for this dish. It originated in ancient Rome, brought to Turkey through expansionism...Yet we don't see the dish in Italy today. Hmm. Flash forward to my screw up...

Kemal once hosted a huge and wonderful Turkish banquet, complete with kefte (meat balls), kebab (kebab), dolma (stuffed grape leaves), pide (flat bread) and a varied and voluminous set of dips and salads. Since Kemal and I were already at war over chicken dessert, dear Kemal requested that I craft and bring the disputed poultry confection. Tavuk Gogsu. It was on!

Long story, short (it never actually is), I delivered one mighty and inedibly poor dish to Kemal that fateful mid-summer night. Whether or not it was intentional malfeasance, I'll never tell (it's my blog, dag'nabbit). It was a colossal kitchen disaster no matter the antecedent. Darn. I can't make a great chicken dessert. Alas, and Woe is me...

BUT

I am a worldly culinarian with an open yet colorfully opinionated mind. Meat proteins do not belong in dessert. That is not to say that meat proteins do not belong in any sweet dishes. Just not in dessert, I say! There are a two world dishes that spring to mind, one of which actually includes the above derrided chicken.

The Moroccans make a dish called Bastilla. Hell to make, but one of my favorites to eat. It's an almond, cinnamon and shredded chicken filled filo pastry that is dusted with powdered sugar. You might think immediately of dessert given the stuff on the outside. Yet, it's typically served within the first few courses. There is a unique bridge that is built between the savory poached chicken and the sugary aspects. That bridge is primarily built of the almonds and cinnamon. Both ingredients play will with sweet and savory. Bastilla's slightly salty chicken shreds offer an ideal counterpoint to the sweetness of the outside shell. It's like a dance for the taste buds. The Chinese do this with sweet and sour dishes.

The Chinese (go figure, Howie's writing about Chinese food)...Ahem, as I was saying, the Chinese make a rice porridge that is served with any number of condiments. Some of them are sweet and some of them are savory. The savory type largely use meat proteins. This is a breakfast food in China, not dessert. Makes sense, even here in the US we have our sweet-tooth breakfast of champions and our salty breakfast of champions. Though, the Chinese flavor their porridge with the likes of dried shrimp, pork belly fat, and red bean paste. Not so much here.

...OK, back to my war with Kemal.

Kemal - I respect you and I respect Turkey. I respect Turkey so much that I would like to make an honorable suggestion about Tavuk Gogsu - Either take the chicken out of the recipe and keep your precious dessert, or follow my instructions below to turn Tavuk Gogsu into a savory, kick-A$$ appetizer! Otherwise known as Go Go Tavuk Gogsu...

1 - chicken breast on bone with skin

3/4 cup - cracked rice or bulgur wheat

2.50 cup - chicken stock (room temp)

2 cup - milk (room temp)

2 tsp - salt

1 tsp - white pepper

0.75 tsp - tumeric

0.50 tsp - fresh thyme

0.50 tsp - fresh oregano

1 tsp - lemon juice

Start this recipe 2.50 hours ahead of meal time. Cover the rice or wheat with hot but not boiling water, let it stand for two hours. Go watch TV and have a Turkish Beer.

Poach the chicken breast in water to cover, over low heat. Probably 10-12 minutes. In this recipe, it's OK if the chicken gets just a tad overcooked, you'll be rehydrating it in the porridge later. Drain, cool and remove the bone from the chicken breast. Shred the breast meat into the thinnest fibers you can. Set aside.

Drain the soaked rice. In a food processor, grind the living daylights out of the rice or wheat. You could use a mortar and pestle, but that would suck. If you don't have a food processor, buy one or make friends with someone who does.

Combine the rice or wheat with the milk, stock and salt in a sauce pan, place on medium heat. Bring to just a simmer. Stir for 5-7 minutes on medium heat until the mix starts to thicken.

Add the shredded chicken to the pot and lower the heat to (not extremely) low. Stir on the heat for about 3 minutes and then add your tumeric, thyme, and oregano. Let the mix sit on low heat for 2-3 minutes without moving. Come back to the pan, drop in the lemon juice, stir to fully incorporate. Taste for seasoning and adjust. Serve hot.

I consider Kemal like a brother. I'm sure he'll accept my new recipe with open arms and no arguments. Whatsoever.

Thanks for the question, Kemal! Who's next?

To submit questions to HowieCOOK, send email to

HowieCOOK@gmail.com

Like a Steak Through the Heart

OK, folks. It's St. Patty's Day. Let's talk about steak. What's the connection, you may ask? Well, there is no connection, but I received this question from my good friend John Patrick O'hara - he's an Irish dude.

I love steak right off the grill, but a grill isn't always available... What's the best way to pan fry or roast a steak to get that grilled flavor?

I hate steak. Like hate hate. I just don't get it, don't see the point. I have hated steak since I was a kid. Chew it up, stick it in a napkin, toss to the side. That was my tactic and I got away with it - so sorry, Mom. I thought, perhaps, with time and maturity the feeling would pass. It hasn't. In fact, I have even gone as far as cooking it myself, thinking that my senses were just lying in wait for the perfect preparation. No go. Still hate it and I feel zero guilt. At a steak house I order the fish.

At best, steak is a terrific vehicle for other flavors (so is a spoon) and at worst, it's cow flavored gum (yes, I said cow flavored gum). Understand, I do not hate beef. I hate the chunk-of-charred-slab presentation. It makes no culinary sense. Here's a slab of cow and a serrated knife, now get to work! Why would any gourmand worth their salt pay top dollar for the honor of cutting their own meat? That is the work of the kitchen. And don't get me started about fillet! At least cheaper, fattier cuts wear the costume of flavor! Have the boneless skinless chicken breast instead. It's lighter on your wallet and has just about as much character!

That said, I will kick aside the soapbox and happily share my prowess about preparing steak. What, can't one jeer harshly and still be an expert?

John, no grill is no problem. The main event on a grill has relatively little to do with fire and much more to do with the metal grates. Sure, the ambient heat does some of the work, but the character of grilled food comes directly from the grates. After alot of healthy use, a grill grate has flavor built in. You want that flavor and flavor begets flavor. A brand new grill will not impart the grill greatness that you're after but you must sacrifice a few meals in the name of later flavor.

There is something to be said, as well, for the smokey goodness that comes with ambient grill heat. That flavor comes from drippings and mistakes from past grilling. You say Crap, I lost one of the burgers, when you should be saying, Yippee, I lost one of the burgers. It's OK. That's the good stuff. You don't necessarily want burgers to be sacrificed on the grill but it will certainly help to build flavortown for the next time you fire up.

So, there are two pieces to replicate when you are trying to mimic the grilling experience without a grill. 1) Seasoned metal effect and 2) Old-burnt-food smokey effect. Both are easy to do with a combo of flavor agents and the right vessel. Drum Roll Please...

1) Seasoned metal effect: C A S T I R O N. A cast iron pan is the gift that keeps on giving. Just like the grates of a well used grill, a coat builds up on the pan during each use that adds to its character. A well seasoned pan will impart a unique flavor to any meat, it will give you your daily dose of iron (true) and it is good for the stovetop and the oven. That last bit is the key to doing to a steak what you do on the grill. One part meat-on-metal, one part ambient heat to finish the cooking.

2) Old-burnt-food smokey effect: Difficult to replicate in the house, especially if one does not have a commercial grade ventilation hood above the stove. If you're excited about smoking out the cats and setting off alarms, I suppose you could let something burn on the bottom of the oven in hopes of that goodness getting into your meat. ---OR--- you could be smart and just use the right spices. Look for something with a smokey hint. My money's on smoked paprika, cumin, and bacon salt (it's real and its @#$! awesome). Steak purists are foaming at the mouth right now at the notion of putting anything but salt and pepper on the steak. BUT, my friends, smokey goodness is not going to make itself.

Preheat your oven, get the cast iron pan screaming hot, rub the meat with the spices, sear it, flip it, roast to finish. Done.

Now that I have simultaneously insulted and educated steak lovers (You're welcome), let me continue my St. Patty's Day ode to the O'Hara's of the world by giving you my special Green Cow Slab recipe. Enjoy chewing!

compound butter

1/2 lb - butter, softened

1/2 bunch - cilantro, leaves only

4 - mint leaves

steak

1 - boneless rib eye steak, 1 inch or 1.5 inch thick

1 Tb - light oil (vegetable, canola, etc.)

1 tsp - smoked paprika

1 tsp - cumin

2 tsp - bacon salt (or table salt)

Do this hours ahead of cooking the steak. Compound butter sounds complicated. It's not, and it may change your life. Compound butter simply means butter that's softened, has things mixed into it, then brought back to fridge temp to be used later.

Put the butter it into a blender with the (washed) cilantro and mint, blend until relatively smooth. You could just chop and mix in the herbs with a fork, but this way, the butter gets green for St. Patty's Day. Once blended, get some plastic wrap, plop the butter down onto it, form into a log with your hands the best you can. Roll it up in the plastic wrap and perfect the log. Fridge it.

Preheat your oven to 500 degrees Fahrenheit. Put the cast iron (or other oven safe) pan on the biggest element on your stove and heat to high. Let the pan heat for a few minutes. You want to work with a screaming hot surface. Mix together the oil and spices to form a loose paste. Lightly coat the meat with the mix. Using tongs, drop the steak onto the pan and don't move it. Let it sear for 30 to 45 seconds. Flip the steak and immediately place the pan into the oven. Roast for no less than 2 minutes and no more than 4 - depending on how you like your meat. Remove from the oven, plate and let it rest, covered loosely with foil, for 2-3 minutes.

When the meat is resting, get your compound butter from the fridge. Unwrap the green butter log and slice 2 discs off. Immediately place the discs on top of your steak. Melty green goodness.

Wow, this sounds good enough to eat. For you. Not me. I hate steak.

Thanks for the question, John Patrick O'Hara! Who's next?

To submit questions to HowieCOOK, send email to
HowieCOOK@gmail.com

"Brown Sauce" and Innocent Mongolian Horses

I was asked by my friend Jeff: "What, exactly, is 'brown sauce' and what is its history in Asian cooking?"

When we hear "red sauce," we can rest assured that there was at least one tomato harmed during its creation. When we hear "white sauce," we can more or less assume that cream or milk saw the inside of the pan. Yet, when we hear "brown sauce," that's a horse of a different color. For those of you who are too young to appreciate a profound "Wizard of Oz" reference, the answer is "no." There is no horse in brown sauce. Though, it would not be out the question, more on that down the page...

Sauces that are brown in an Asian recipe will always include soy in one form or another. Primarily, soy sauce would be the assumption. Some places will also add oyster sauce (yes, it is made from oyster goop and soy beans) or hoisin sauce (also has soy bean paste). I suppose the general rule would be that "brown" in this regard means a protein stock, plus fermented-soy-base, plus a mandatory thickener: typically corn, tapioca or potato starch. On protein stock: Largely, in Chinese joints in ths US, this is almost always canned or boxed chicken or beef stock. (Warning: Joke resolution from above...) Horse stock could be used, but I would imagine not, at least not south of Mongolia.

Now that the definition is out of the way, onto the meat of your question: There simply is no significant history and the term "brown sauce" should be outlawed. I can't remember the last time I was out dining on the town and heard," Oh my gosh. I love brown things. I have to try this beef and brocolli with brown sauce. Thanks, Mr. Ping, you really know how to please a diner!" There's nothing wrong with the brown food. It can be delicious. but when the color provides the only descriptor for a food stuff, we have to wonder.

My guess is that we still see "brown sauce" on US Chinese menus due to a perceived 1970s need for simplicity and the fact that the cuisine has sadly not matured since then. If you were the owner of a Chinese joint in 1974 in New York City, you probably wanted to draw customers into eating your food (fairly exotic, at the time) . Telling them what was in the sauce would likely send (even) New Yorkers running for the hills. Americans love their "brown gravy" on meat. Why not "brown sauce," right?

The history of Chinese food in the US has everything to do with laborers and immigrants looking for gold-lined streets, and little to do with sharing awesome food ways. The large majority of Chinese that entered the US between the 1850s and today were not cooks in China. Due to US laws and desperation, many immigrants ended up working in existing Chinese restaurants or starting their own and learning on the ground. Learning on the ground unfortunately meant immediately catering to the American expectation of 'Chinese' food.

My hope is that one day, the US Chinese cuisine market will begin to appreciate the details and nuances that define the vast number of Chinese sauces, some of which happen to be varying degrees of brown. Here is a terrificly simple recipe for Jin Jiang Rou Si (home style pork strips in a sauce that happens to have a medium-brown hue).

marinade

1 lb - pork tenderloin
1 - egg white
1 tsp - corn starch
1 Tb - soy sauce
2 tsp - any vinegar

sauce

1 Tb - any light oil
1 Tb - ginger minced
1 tsp - garlic minced
2 Tb - shaoxing, rice wine or sherry
2 Tb - soy sauce
3 Tb - chicken stock
2 tsp - corn starch
2 tsp - water

Start hours ahead. I wish every recipe told you when to start in the first sentence. Cut your tenderloin into long, thin strips. I don't want to dictate, but 1/4 inch X 1/4 inch X 2 inch would be cool. Marinate the pork in the fridge for hours in a mix of the other marinade ingredients. The vinegar and the egg white act to break down the pork proteins. Mmm. Soft pork.

Get your pork to room temp, drain off the marinade. Mix together the cornstarch and water with a fork. Turn the big element on your stove to a high heat. Choose a pan that can handle alot of heat. I use cast iron for alot of Chinese dishes. This is all very quick. So, pay attention...

After getting the pan hot, drop the oil in, drop the pork in, toss with spatula until it starts to turn light on the outside; maybe 1-2 minutes. Drop the ginger and garlic in, stir for 1 minute. Drop the wine or sherry in and back the #@%$ up. Relax. Let it sit with the booze for 30 seconds before reacting. The alcohol is burning off and the pork is finishing cooking. Drop in the soy sauce and the stock. Let it come to a boil. Drop in the corn starch mix. Back to a boil. Swirl to bring together the sauce.

Done.

Traditionally, this is served with thin, pasta like wraps of pressed tofu. I have also had it with thin pancakes, similar to what you might eat with Peking duck. At the end of the day. If someone presented me with Jin Jiang Rou Si and a bowl of steamed rice, I would be their best friend until the food ran out.

Thanks for the question, Jeff. Who's next?

To submit questions to HowieCOOK, send email to

HowieCOOK@gmail.com

HowieCOOK Lights the Fire

My name is Howie and I am obsessed with food. I am not a chef, never intend to be, and I do not play one on TV. I've been surrounded by great dining since I was a kid. My family cooked a random assortment of comforts on the weekends; my Mom fashioned entertaining and delicious build-your-own pizza nights; my Dad brewed a mean turkey stock after the holidays; my little Italian Grandmother filled the house with the aroma of old Napoli...or was it Hoboken?

In the late 1990's I lived in China for a spell and quickly fell head over heels for one of the world's great schools of underestimated cookery. My kitchen's been (figuratively) on fire ever since. Though China helped solidify this identity for me, I maintain a global perspective when it comes to food and I don't discriminate. I walk the Earth looking for my next perfect meal.

Where my bank account doesn't actually allow for the previous sentence to be true, I cook every day to keep up with a quickly spinning globe of cuisines. I even went through culinary school! I live for food. I love for food. I can talk food until the cows come home...to become a Beef Wellington. I am obsessed.

Now, I want nothing more than to share my obsession with you. I'll answer any question about food. There is no question that is too small, too big, too absurd, or too controversial. At times, I may take sides, I may piss you off, and I may make you squirm. Yet, every time, I will leave you hungry for more...

• meal combinatons
• recipes
• ingredients
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• fixes(!)
• history
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• sociology

...anything you want to throw at me! Every topic is on the table (witty, no?). I will give you more than you ever wanted to know. After all, food is life and life is huge. This is how we cook - or rather - this is...

To submit questions to HowieCOOK, send email to
HowieCOOK@gmail.com

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