July Nine

I've been working like a dog.

Where does this expression come from? Every dog I've ever met has a sweet life. She's fed gourmet foods, bathed, coiffed, doted on, and played with every day. It's a cushy life. Unless you're a herding farm dog, wouldn't "working like a dog" actually mean that you're not doing anything but being tended to by your human? English idioms, I do not get you.

We've just barely broken into July and the humid heat of the past few days has me questioning if it's worth living. I am truly weak sauce. It was a tad bit dryer today, which was helpful, but that didn't mean that I managed to cook anything. I nearly talked myself out of going to the market half a dozen times, so dismayed was I at the painfully fresh memory of sweat pouring down my face and neck every time I stepped foot outside the day before. But I pushed through and when I got back in, my idea of putting a meal together entailed tearing up a baguette to be slathered with pesto and a fistful of arugula on top. It's amazing how the heat draws out the lazy.

Pumpkin Pie

There was a time when I would have a slice of pumpkin pie for lunch almost every day. I was sixteen, a senior in high school with rarely a spare moment for lunch. I'd fly through the cafeteria between meetings and classes and clubs and sports to grab a saran-wrapped plastic plate of pie. Sometimes I'd stop for a quick chat with Chris, the kind bald man who managed dining services, or Kathy, the chatty wide-smiled cashier lady, or Shirley who was new and shy.

I always made it a point to say hello to Shirley, sometimes with fork in hand and pie in mouth, but always a hello would spill out of my mouth. She had an air of that timid shyness about her. As a citizen of humanity, I guess I sensed then what I know now: some people are shy, but it doesn't mean that they want to be left alone. They just need a little more time getting used to the idea of someone new. And to be receptive to someone like me who wants to know your dog's name immediately, I should also tone it down a notch or two at the beginning. And whaddya know? They turn out to be sweet as candy and sometimes even have a wicked sense of humor.

Anyway, where was I? Pie, was it? Yes, pie. Right. So I'd take that pie and run to my next meeting. End of my story about pie. Sorry, that was kind of a whole lot of nothing that led to a whole lot of nothing. Let me try again.

That time, that time of pumpkin pie, was a different time. I had thrown myself into a busy web of high school shenanigans to take my mind off of things that I didn't know how to handle. I did it then and I do it now: I distract myself to avoid things that make me uncomfortable. I take whatever seems too much, bury it, and lock it away. Who wants to handle things that are too heavy to carry, too dark to lighten, or too tangled to straighten?

Since my little high school love affair with pumpkin pie, I rarely have any. It's still one of my favorites, but I just don't have the occasion. But every time I do find a pumpkin latte in my hand or a slice of pumpkin bread on the plate in front of me, it brings me right back to that time so long ago and how so little has changed since.

Soup Was in Order

File this under things that calm things that need calming. And reasons why I should pick up a real camera again.

For those of you wondering, this soup is nothing more than what you get after simmering a whole chicken for a couple hours with a handful of whole, peeled garlic cloves. Baby bok choy, watercress, scallions, and hot rice was tossed in after ladling and then the bowl was seasoned with a sprinkle of sea salt and fresh cracked pepper.

Awe, Nuts

I have been known to navigate through pints of Ben and Jerry's ice creams in the most curious of ways. With no shame or regard for the hungry children that suffer from malnutrition across the world, I will eat just the ice cream, working around every solid morsel that requires chewing. It turns out that half of every pint of Chunky Monkey, for example, is comprised of walnuts and dark chocolate. It shouldn't legally be called ice cream if half of it isn't actually ice cream, is all I'm sayin'.

As I feel about food stuffs that infiltrate my creamy dairy confections is how I feel about walnuts. I'd really rather they give me some space. Distance is what I think most adults would call it, in the context of relationships. So what to do when someone generously offers you a helluvalotta them?

You say thank you, but no thank you and gently refuse their offer. But in this case, I had already turned down a bunch of other stuff and if you have any manners, you know that there are only so many no, thank you's someone can utter in the span of a single conversation before coming off as an ungrateful brute. A girl can't repeatedly reject the kind gestures of someone who wishes to share something that they think she would like. It's mean, you know? So I gave in and accepted graciously.

So now you know the story behind the large container of walnuts in my kitchen. And the truth about how I don't mind setting aside things I don't like. And about how I sometimes have trouble saying no to people who have kind intentions.

The New York Bagel

I walked twenty city blocks for this monster. Correction: twenty city blocks and four avenues. The things I do! Only, uh, I had intended to get a bagel. As in one. And a couple more for the folks back at the apartment. But I walked out with a dozen. Technically thirteen, because you know, bagel shops do their business by the baker's dozen. The guy behind the counter made me do it. No, he didn't. But he asked and that's almost the same thing.

Bagel anyone?

Banana Bread +

As I'm typing this up, the banana bread is busy doing its thang in the oven, but I'm realizing that I plum forgot the 1/2 teaspoon of kosher salt.  It isn't the end of the world, but let's give the type A control freak part of me a minute.  She'll be all right.


Ingredients
1/2 cup butter (that's 1 stick) at room temp
1 cup granulated white sugar
2 large eggs at room temp
1 1/4 cup (3 large bananas) mashed bananas at room temp
1/4 cup milk (I used 1%, but whole is best)
2 teaspoons vanilla
1 3/4 cups all purpose flour
1/4 cup whole wheat flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

1/4 cup golden raisins (optional)
1/4 cup dried cranberries (optional)
1/4 cup of chocolate chips (optional)

Word to the wise - room temp ingredients will prevent lumpy curdling weirdness when you mix your wet ingredients, but if what you use, with the exception of the butter, is cold, the bread will still turn out just fine.

Instructions
1. Preheat oven to 350° and grease an 8" x 8" pan, or line with parchment paper.  I do the parchment.  You may use whichever pan you'd like.  Muffins (yields 12-15), mini loaves (yields 4), whatever you have, it'll do.  

2. Cream butter and sugar with mixer. Combine first on low speed until combined and then increase for 3 minutes until light and fluffy.

3. Add eggs to the mixture one at a time, incorporating after each addition.

4. Add bananas to the mixture and blend on low until combined. If your mixture looks less creamy than you'd like, like a globby mess of banana bits and fat that refuses to mix together into a decent-looking batter, that's all right.  Chances are, your bananas, eggs, and / or butter weren't at room temperature.  Not a big deal at all.

5. Add the milk and vanilla to the mixture and mix just until combined.

6. Add the flour, baking soda, and salt to the mixture. (I don't mix the dry ingredients in a separate bowl before adding to the wet and it turns out just fine every single time.)  Mix on medium speed until just combined.  Please do not overmix.  That's asking for trouble.  You might want to take a spatula and check for any patches of flour that might be hiding.

7. Use your spatula to add dried fruit, chocolate chips, nuts, whatever your heart desires into the batter.  Or none, if that's what you prefer.  I put my fruit into the batter and saved my chips for the next step.

8. Pour batter into prepared pan and smooth surface. I sprinkled chocolate chips atop half my pan, only because the chips were starting at me in the face and well, how could I ignore them?

9. Bake for 50-55 minutes, until a toothpick in the center of the pan comes out clean. No wet goop on that toothpick and you're good to go. If you use a muffin pan, you'll only need 22 - 30 minutes, so check the oven after minute 20.

10. Take your banana bread out of the oven and let it sit for 10-15 minutes.  After this initial settling period, if you greased your pan, wedge a butter knife around the edges to release the bread from the pan.  Move to cool on a wire rack.  If you used parchment paper, you can lift the bread out of the pan and set it to cool on the wire rack.

Serving
It's tasty served warm immediately, cooled and served later, or can even be frozen and brought back to room temp two weeks later.  I'd recommend bringing it to the office so that you don't eat the whole dang thing on your own.  I speak from experience.

Cucumbers Gone Korean

I realize that I haven't posted a recipe here in a while, so here's one for a ridiculously simple, common Korean banchan.  This photo is of nothing more than sliced cucumbers, not anywhere close to the final product, which is sparkling red from the hot pepper flakes, so please do not be misled.  There's a picture here {+}.

I've seen this dubbed as a Korean cucumber salad by American food writers, but it's not.  I swear, we Americans need to do something about our dearth of vocabulary.  How does one douse egg, macaroni, or tuna in mayonnaise and then use the same term to describe a bed of leafy spinach and vegetables?  If there ain't no leafy greens, it ain't no salad, ya' hear?

Oh-eeh moo-cheem translates into seasoned cucumbers: oh-eeh is cucumber and moo-cheem is seasoned.  As strange and awkward as these foreign sounds may be received by an American ear, I'm gonna stick with the Korean.  At least it's accurate.  Also, please don't ever let me catch you calling this a Korean cucumber salad.  Because it ain't.

Oh-eeh Moo-cheem or Oi Muchim (transliteration sure is tricky)
오이 무침

Ingredients
6 Persian cucumbers
2 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons Korean hot pepper flakes (gochugaru)
2 tablespoons scallion, thinly sliced
1 clove garlic, minced
2 teaspoons brown rice (white is fine, too) vinegar
½ teaspoon sugar (sometimes I omit)
2 teaspoons sesame seeds
2 teaspoons sesame oil

Directions
Thinly slice cucumbers (1/8 to 1/4-inch thick). Toss gently with salt and set aside for 15 - 20 minutes. Gently drain excess liquid. Mix well with all remaining ingredients.

Serving
Can be served immediately.  Can also be chilled for as long as you want before serving (a few hours, overnight, whatever).

It's decided to rain the entire weekend.  That's a bummer seeing as how this is my last free weekend for a while, but you can't win 'em all, you know?  After five hours of sleep, four of them on the living room couch in a failed attempt to mute the incessant thuds from the apartment above, and at least two spent begrudgingly inhaling the stink of wine and liquor that permeates from Soeur and her man when they return from a night out, I arose from bed the couch this morning feeling less than cheery. Sometimes I hate that I can't afford my own place.  And that my ceiling is my neighbor's floor.

Now that I've gotten that off my chest, I will move on.

I should be at the office today to mitigate the madness that is scheduled for next week, but procrastination slapped me hard this morning.  There is now a surprisingly tasty tray of scones hanging out on the kitchen counter.  After patiently working with the delicate demands of cold butter, I'm very pleased that these turned out so well.  The chocolate morsels, littered and smashed across the tops of each dough wedge at the very last minute, were a brilliant afterthought.

I think I'll put off my work for a little while longer and run to the market.  I feel like some chopping and sautéing in the kitchen will be good for me.

Ugh.

My sister is so bossy sometimes.

The Lovely Pomegranate

Before the time of my brothers, my sister and I would sit next to our mom and patiently watch her crack open one of these guys.  We three would sit on the floor looking down into a big bowl.  On the floor sat a newspaper hoping to catch the inevitable scarlet spatter that escaped the bowl.  Sometimes, a neighbor would be over, one of uhmmah's girlfriends, and the four of us would share.  This is the memory that pops into my head whenever I see a pomegranate.

This, and the story of Persephone.  The goddess of the underworld sounds like a powerful title, but Greek mythology actually holds that Persephone was kidnapped by Hades, the god of the underworld.  She was tricked into staying there...because she ate a few pomegranate seeds.  The gods struck a deal: Persephone would split her time between the earth and the underworld.  Her mother Demeter, the goddess of fertility and harvest, objected, but nothing could be done.  And so, when Persephone is with her husband Hades in the underworld, Demeter sees to it that the earth doesn't produce crops, but once Persephone is reunited with her mother on earth, the lands become fertile again.  Hence, the ancient explanation for the cycle of seasons.  Perhaps also, the ancient belief that the pomegranate had contraceptive properties.

If you have the opportunity to get your hands on a whole pomegranate, please do so, if only to learn what it looks like before it's sprinkled on your salad, or reduced into a sauce for your chicken.  Be patient, handle the insides delicately, and maybe you will be rewarded with two bountiful cups of ruby red capsules like this one yielded.

Happy Election Day

Back in Philadelphia, my local polling place was a little church a short walk from my place.  Tiny grandmothers manned the ballots.  There was rarely a line, if any.  My walk home was along quiet residential streets sprinkled yellow with November ginkgo leaves.  For living in the heart of the city, the calm, unharried setting made voting a pleasant and reassuring experience.

But now I live here.  Let's just say that they don't do here what they do in Philly.  I stood in a line two blocks long four years ago.  But as it turns out, I had nothing to worry about today.  Why didn't anyone tell me that there's no line at 12:30 in the afternoon?!  I zoomed in, signed my name in the registry, scanned my ballot, and hopped next door to the pizzeria run by my former landlord and his family.

Vinny, the landlord's son, was amused when he discovered that my sister and I had managed to polish off five whole slices.  His pies, you see, are humongous.  One slice is usually enough for a girl.  We had a good chuckle as we got ready to roll ourselves back to the subway.  Then Vinny's father walked in.  Always ready to give us girls a hug, when he leaned in this time, I hesitated ever so slightly.  It had been a few years, but I remembered how strong he was.  He's probably pushing eighty, but I've seen him carry wooden bookcases twice his size down four flights of stairs.  He doesn't even break a sweat.  Sure enough, I think I tweaked my neck a bit when he pulled us in for today's squeeze.  Ha.  Vinny and his pops are good people.

Lunch in the old neighborhood.  UES.  NYC.
12:43 pm.   Today.

Over our delicious pizza lunch, I was telling my sister what a good life we have.  How privileged we are to have the right to play a part in our government's election.  How nice it is that we can take a safe subway ride a week after a major natural disaster hits our region.  How awesome it is that it's not a big deal to throw down twenty bucks for a hot piping pizza whenever we want.  How fortunate we are that both our jobs allow us the flexibility to step out midday to exercise our right to vote.  As women, as citizens, as humans, no matter how tough we might find things every now and again, on the whole, our standard of living is quite grand.  We are so very fortunate to be living this good life.

Let Them Eat Cake

I work with a small non-profit.  All of us involved with the organization have full-time jobs in addition to our responsibilities there, so that means that we meet during the off-hours, in the evenings.  It's become a tradition that we hold these meetings over dinner at my place.  I prepare a homemade meal for everyone and we blow through our agenda as fast as possible, even if that means four hours.  Or longer.  It's been known to happen.  That after a full day at the office is brutal.  Last night, I was pleased that we were able to keep the meeting to just over a tidy two hours.  And because I love this group so much, I went to the trouble of making the cutest cake in the whole wide world for dessert.  An icebox cake is the way to go if you're looking for simple.  Try it with different cookies and flavors.  It's the most forgiving cake you'll ever make and it requires no oven time!

An Icebox Cake: Ginger Cookies / Pumpkin Spice / Praline Pecans

Ingredients
8 oz. mascarpone (cold, not room temp)
1/2 cup confectioners' sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 cups cold heavy cream
48 2-inch, round, thin ginger cookies
1 teaspoon of pumpkin spice
small handful of chopped praline pecans

Directions
With an electric hand mixer on low speed, mix the mascarpone, sugar, and vanilla about a minute.  Add the cream and mix on high speed until stiff peaks form.  On whatever plate you'd like to present your cake, lay your cookies in a 2x4 array, sides slightly overlapping.  (The cookie layout will determine the shape and size of your cake.  Make a circle, rectangle, star, whatever.  Just make it a complete layer of cookie all the way across.)  Cover cookies completely with the cream mixture and spread evenly across cookie layer.  Repeat layers of cookies and cream mixture ending with a layer of the cream mixture on top.  (I used 6 layers of each.)  Cover carefully with plastic wrap and let sit overnight in the fridge, minimum of 8 hours.  Before serving, dust with pumpkin spice and sprinkle with chopped pecans on top.  

Serving
This might be obvious, but serve this straight out of the fridge.  If you let it sit out for a while before serving, it will still be edible, but as pudding instead of cake.  

Mmmm...Muffin

Today, I choose muffin.  Apple season, after all, is upon us.  There will be plenty of time for gala and granny and golden in the coming months.  But muffins?  They go stale and I just can't have that.

Whining

I can get myself into a bit of trouble when I have the apartment to myself; like spoonfuls of creamy peanut butter and chocolate hazelnut spread (like Reese's!) on Saturday mornings; and taking pointless pictures wearing nothing more than the tank and underwear I slept in the night before (classy!).  I didn't know the camera had caught me in the frame, but well, there you have it.

I wish I weren't feeling so, shall we say, tender everywhere.  A little cold this week sapped a lot out of me.  Being high on electric blue pills to get through the day and clawing through restless nights with congestion is no way to live.  On the plus side, I was proud of myself for sticking it out and not taking time off from work.  It was a godsend that I could go home for lunch.  Have you ever tried lying on top of your comforter?  It's kind of nice.  Also, walking into your office with pillow crease wrinkles on your face in the middle of the afternoon makes you feel very self-conscious.

I'm feeling what I can best describe as urban claustrophobia.  It's muggy.  It's smelly.  It's gross.  There are too many smokers standing at stop lights next to me.  I even sought out Central Park hoping for a little break.  I wanted to be somewhere where I couldn't see a single taxi.  I wanted a lot of green grass and open air and flora.  I arrived at the south end of the Park and walked all the way up and around in circles looking for a quiet spot to...well, I don't know what I expected to do.  I just wanted a little break from the furious strollers and the anorexic couture-clad women and the tall business men that walk so smartly around me every day.  Instead, the park was packed to its gills: lovers wedged on top of another; artists hocking their acts along the winding walking paths; kids throwing tantrums; bikini-clad iPhone-yapping locals packed like anchovies across precious lawn space.  It was all just too much.

I think I went to the wrong place.  I should have headed west to the Hudson, maybe at dusk, when the air's a little cooler and the water catches the amber of the sun.  It's finally September which means that the crap of summer in the city is only around for a tad bit longer.  Hallelujah.

Caffeine

2:20 pm.  Today.
Caffeine does for me what it's supposed to: it lights a nice little fire under my ass.  Occasionally, it will make me hyper.  But never counter-productively so.  Almost always, though, it makes me jittery. Fingers tremble, legs wobble, and light-headedness takes over.  These physical side effects were why I cut out coffee from my diet back in April.

I don't know if it's because we've finally entered the only other calendar month that starts with an A or because I can feel the PMS creeping in, but whatever the case, I had my inevitable relapse this week.  The lure of sugary and milky officially took over.  This, today's afternoon cup of joe number one of two, is what we call a big fat fail.  If I were in kindergarten, I wouldn't get a gold star sticker on my chart today.  That's really sad because you know it would be the only blank slot in a sea of gold stars, right?

Simply Lunch

Unlike a lot of Korean-American families, we never, ever, ever, ever ate this growing up.  Our father wouldn't allow it.  But now as an adult, when the fridge is empty, I go to this simple meal.  And I don't mind it.  In fact, I kind of like it.

Listen.  Leftover brown rice, a hot fried egg on top, and more than a generous squidge of ketchup: I know this probably doesn't speak to your gastronomical sensibilities.  It might even look rather ick.  But if you grew up in a Korean-American home, chances are, you're at peace with this.

Lunch.  NYC.
1:06 pm.  Today.

Milk or Dark?

Did I ever tell you about the time I picked up Neuhaus chocolates as stocking stuffers for my siblings one year?  And how, come Christmas morning, not a single sibling had a morsel of fine Belgian chocolate to enjoy?  Between my birthday and Christmas Eve, I had gluttonously pigged out on all three bars.  My birthday's the 13th.  That means twelve days of chocolate mania.  Shameless.

Neuhaus is still tops in my book (and might I add that the man that works at the flagship store on Madison, he is as charming as ever), but I think I've found a new favorite.  A friend recently returned from a trip to Brussels and kindly brought back some chocolate pour moi.  I hadn't heard of Leonidas until yesterday, but I will say this now: a trip to Belgium will end in no other possible scenario than Julia leaving behind her clothes in the hotel room to make room in the suitcase for all the milk chocolate goodness she'll most certainly need to bring back home for all her friends.  Or so she says.  Because she might very well then proceed to eat all of it herself before landing on this side of the Atlantic.

What you see here is great for a milk chocolate lover like yours truly.  As it slowly melts, you'll detect the very faintest hint of texture from the tiniest crumbles of wafers.  So delicate on the tongue.  And so decadently good.  And so grateful for the kindness of traveling friends.

Color

With the amount of food coloring and preservatives supermarket baked goods usually contain, I generally steer clear of them. While eye-catching, they taste like cardboard and do very little for me on the taste front.  But when a guest brought some over last night for dessert, goodness, was I pleasantly surprised. Actually, I kind of went to town.  Much to our surprise, the labels revealed no preservatives! Just your typical baking ingredients along with natural and artificial flavors at the end.  Before you cringe at the amount of food dye screaming from these leftovers sitting atop our dining table this morning, try one.  Never judge a book by its cover, yeah?

One of the nice things about summer is that we get decent light in the mornings, right at the peak of rush hour. Images bright and glam straight out of the camera are nice ways to start Monday mornings.  Especially cool June ones like today.

If I Ever Make You Anything

Make it be one of these.

My second batch (ever).  In the span of five days, no less.

Be very explicit with me, lest I produce some inferior version that leaves you peeved that all those extra carb calories went to something unworthy.  Ready?  Ok.

These are buttermilk drop biscuits with sharp white cheddar and scallions from the Cook's Illustrated recipe Mia shared.  Go on and write down those italicized keywords somewhere.  If we ever meet in person, just utter a few of those words and I'll take care of the rest.  In fact, we won't even have to talk.  I'll whip up a batch, we'll eat warm pillows of yumminess, and then quietly part ways.  Because that would be enough to secure our friendship.

Circa 8:15 pm Last Night

Dinner.
One egg, over easy.

A fistful of baby spinach.

A smattering of cannellini beans.

Sea salt and cracked pepper.

A scant dollop of olive oil.

Let me tell you something: when you're hungry enough, anything and everything tastes good. This poverty challenge is as real as it gets, man.  There's no nice way to say this: Hunger is a bitch and she's not my friend.