The Best Way to Cook Cauliflower

I first tasted this revelation at Artichoke, a Middle Eastern cafe and bar which serves hearty and comforting food. It was at a wedding celebration of two of our closest, smartest, grounded, unfussy and kindest friends. 

Approaching the buffet spread, my eyes actually glazed over the Roasted Cauliflower. They looked like knobbly brown and white bits. Without any garnishing, they certainly looked pretty plain. It wasn't until Ed told me how fantastic the Roasted Cauliflower was that I discovered how delicious those little knobs were. They tasted almost meaty! 

Being a very hardy vegetable which keeps up to a week in the refrigerator, I often reach out for it while grocery shopping. Having something that can be pulled from the refrigerator and placed on the table in half an hour is incredibly handy for nights when we're up late and feeling peckish.

The preparation is so simple that it feels almost silly having a recipe at all... so I shall have none. I simply tossed the raw, chopped up cauliflower in a generous amount of olive oil, and seasoned it with salt and pepper. I serve it warm after roasting it in the oven at 200 degrees celcius for 20 - 30 minutes, or until it has nice brown edges. 

Brain Broth

The actual name of the recipe is 'Brain-Boosting Broth', and I wouldn't have chanced upon it if I did not end up with much more fennel than two people could consume (courtesy of my mum who got an incredible deal at Pasar Bella).

Wanting to find a way to use up more fennel (there was only so much fennel salad we could eat in a week), I went to my usual trusty source - Epicurious. The recipe looked simple enough, so I used the largest cast iron pot I had and set to work. It smelt and tasted delicious - the sweetness from the vegetables, warmth from the fennel and earthiness from all the herbs came together very well. I used it as a base for a risotto on one night and froze the leftover. 

When Ed was feeling peckish this weekend, I made a pasta soup out of it and added some diced green peppers and fresh dill. Good for the body, good for the brain. Also good for the wallet. 

Brain-Boosting Broth

Ingredients

8 quarts water

3 carrots, coarsely chopped

2 white onions, coarsely chopped

2 celery stalks, coarsely chopped

2 bulbs fennel, coarsely chopped

1 parsnip, coarsely chopped

12 cloves garlic, chopped

1/4 cup fresh ginger, peeled and chopped

Stems from 1/2 bunch fresh flat-leaf parsley

1 bunch green onions, green and white parts

1 stalk fresh lemongrass, cut in half lengthwise

1 tablespoon salt

1 teaspoon black peppercorns

2 cloves

1 teaspoon dried oregano

1 teaspoon dried rosemary

1 bay leaf

1 teaspoon ground turmeric

Method

Combine all of the ingredients in a large stockpot and bring to a boil over high heat. Turn down the heat to maintain a gentle simmer and cook, uncovered, for 2 hours.

Strain the broth through a fine-mesh sieve. Use immediately, refrigerate for up to 5 days, or freeze for up to 1 month.

Perfect - Roasted Savoy Cabbage

In the perfect world, I would be home all day trying out recipes from my latest cookbook (thank you Sherwin and Vivien, I adore it!) or my favourite food magazine, and dreaming up recipes to test out on Ed when he returns home in the evenings. In the perfect world, I'd be rolling out almond tart dough at 3pm, caramelising fresh figs at 4pm, filling the almond tart shell with some sweet vanilla custard, the lightly wrinkled figs and crunchy toasted hazelnets an hour later, and savouring a glass of delicious Frontignac by 6pm with a rack of lamb slow roasting in the oven. In the perfect world, all this would be done in a huge and rustic looking woody kitchen with hanging copper pots and the kitchen island of my dreams. In an even more perfect world, endless rolling hills of tulips would sway in the wind when I peek out from the french windows dotting the walls of the kitchen.

Alas, tis not to be.

Apart from the fact that rolling hills of tulips are a little far-fetched for this little red dot, I recognise that there are trade offs I have to make. If I want the kitchen of my dreams, I need to stay gainfully employed to afford it. Kitchen or time, kitchen or time? I choose kitchen anytime!

I may not be building the ultimate kitchen of my dreams, but I daresay it will be nearly there - complete with a dishwasher. Finally! Ed has been most sweet by indulging me in my longtime fantasy, by suggesting (on his own volition, I swear!) to turn our newly purchased 3 bedroom apartment into a 2 bedroom apartment to expand the already sizeable kitchen. Of course, this fantasy does not come cheap. The little fortune that our impending renovations will cost us means my perfect world will not exist, at least not for the next couple of years.

In the meantime, I make do with any spare time I can find to dabble in the kitchen. Every now and then, Ed and I would find ourselves at the nearest 24-hour supermarket at 10pm 'just walking around'. It is an odd habit, but one I love and look forward to. Sometimes, even though it is pushing our bedtime, we (read: I) would go so far as to attempt to cook a full dinner/supper of a protein and a salad. With Ed, there's hardly a bad time for a 'snack'. One particular night, with the help of my iPhone and this awesome free app, I put together a meal of seared lamb rack with roasted savoy cabbage.

By the time we brought the groceries home, cooked and sat down at the dining table, it was close to midnight. But my fatigue from the long day was overtaken by the inexplicable happiness I experienced during the entire preparation. I know, I'm quite an oddball. I delighted in my small victory as I sliced the lamb rack and found just the right shade of pink staring back at me. While I accidentally burnt parts of the savoy cabbage, the large portion I managed to salvage were incredibly tasty and almost meaty even. It had a deep, earthy flavour that would really have benefited from the raisins I thought I had but didn't and therefore omitted. The dish may not have been perfect what with burnt bits and all, and I may not have been in that perfect world with figs and hazelnuts, but looking at Ed polish his plate and bones down to the last crinkly cabbage leaf with such rigour, I knew life was perfect.

And now as I gaze upon the unfamiliar, shiny band around my ring finger, life feels surreal, and that much more perfect. Who knew that the grubby-looking tennis teammate from junior college, with those massive (and scary) forehand drives, would clean up so well and become the man waiting for me at the end of the church aisle, 10 years down the road? There, I've finally said it. I'm married!

Click here for recipe of Roasted Savoy Cabbage.

Crowd Pleasers

I used to keep a kitchen diary, a little book where I would take down recipes that I've tried and that worked. I'd start one, then start hunting high and low for it, with only a handful of recipes into the book. I've been through journals of all shapes, sizes and colours before I decided that I'd stop wasting my time with this truly vicious cycle.

If I still kept one of my kitchen diaries, this recipe for tomato tart would definitely be penned into the book. Although it wouldn't be much of a recipe as much as it would be a quick jotting down of 'Slow-roasted tomatoes, Caramelised onions, Char-grilled peppers and Puff Pastry/Table Water crackers/Anything nice and crunchy'.

It started out simply with just a fascination for this recipe that turned juicy, and mildly tart tomatoes into intensely sweet nibbles. So I started adding them to burgers, soups, canapes, and salads. Wherever I thought it wouldn't look out of place, it was always there to lend a hand.

Over time, I developed a similarly strong liking for slowly caramelised onions. Leaving onions to sweat in its own juices, waiting for it to turn a slight shade of brown and melt into utterly sweet tenderness is always a painful test of patience.

And then came char-grilled peppers. The first time I encountered these gems was, and I feel my face flush even as I'm typing this, through one of Jamie Oliver's cooking shows. I'm a not-so-secret fan of his, and am a sob-show when watching his TV series - school dinners. In his usual 'bim-bam-slam' style, he threw a couple of peppers onto an open fire on the stove and watched it turn totally black. He then left them to sweat in brown paper bags, then peeled off their skins, leaving behind soft, juicy, peppery flesh.

I was intrigued by the process, and didn't wait long to try it on my own, only to realise that I had been missing out on something so great for all 20 over years of my life. My love story with peppers started then.

And so the Mother-of-all-tarts was born. For convenience, it was named a tomato tart. It wouldn't have been as much a mouthful as a slow-roasted-tomato-and-caramelised-onions-and-char-grilled-peppers-tart. Even Tomato, Onion and Peppers Tart sounded too complicated for my mind to wrap around.

Something crunchy or flaky, like puff pastry, rolled out and punched out with cookie cutters then baked blind, provides much needed texture to the combination of all three ingredients above. And they never fail to be crowd pleasers. Even my brother who, like me, never fancied onions or peppers, would make exceptions for these bite-sized canapes.

The making of each of these components (tomatoes, onions, peppers) requires a lot of eye-balling. With just a little practice and perhaps some luck for good measure, you'll master it really quickly!

Links for recipes:
Slow-roasted tomatoes
Caramelised onions (I'd sometimes add white wine and/or sugar)
Char-grilled peppers

Ratatouille and Polpette

I am often thankful for being so blessed in life - with a great family, a roof over my head, lovely friends who enjoy food as much as I do, and just as importantly, a kitchen with almost all the equipment I need (except a mandolin for, you know, those frustrating days of imperfectly julienned carrots and zucchini).

I was also fortunate to find someone who enjoyed cooking and eating as much as I did when I was overseas for three long years. Of course, I wished the kitchen were better equipped, and wished I didn't have to worry about taking up more than my fair share of space in the refrigerator that my 7 other flatmates shared with me. But I was grateful for a kitchen at all.

So when Addy asked if I could lend my kitchen to her 2 colleagues from France and Italy, I was more than happy to offer my home for a night. It was a fun and relaxing night for me since all I had to do was set the table, help crack eggs, point out the dried oregano on the herb rack and offer wine. In the meantime, N the Frenchman, was busy chopping and watching over multiple pots of peppers, onions, zucchinis and aubergines at one time. In a different part of my tiny kitchen (and by different part I mean 3 feet away), A the Italian was mixing the meat with eggs, breadcrumbs and herbs.

At the end of the night, we had a feast of Fusilli Carbonara, Sicillian Polpette (meatballs), Ratatouille, and to top it all off, Strawberry Tiramisu from Val.

As we loosened our belts and indulged in numerous portions of everything, N explained that there's no fixed recipe for ratatouille. While adding potatoes to it (as suggested by Val) is not common, one can add absolutely anything to it. N's version of it was tender, with each chunk of vegetable soft and still recognisable. Some like theirs mushy and a great big indistinguishable mass. Others like theirs resembling something along the lines of big chunks of vegetables in a tomato sauce, which I believe is delicious in itself and deserving more credit than my poor description affords it.

I thought that N's version was excellent, and not to mention tedious. Each vegetable had to be stir-fried separately, presumably to retain the flavour of each vegetable before mixing them altogether in a big pot together with a sauce comprised of chopped, peeled tomatoes, bay leaves and herbs. It was comforting and wholesome, the kind of dish I would gladly eat with rice (speaking like a true Asian) for every day of my life. Okay maybe not EVERY day, but for many days for the rest of my life.

The polpette were just as gratifying, and what I know to be common in Italian homecooking. Unlike our usual round suspects, these meat'balls' were shaped into big patties and pan-fried in oodles of sinful butter. Like most homecooked food, and like the ratatouille, one can wing the recipe and perhaps even make it your own with a signature blend of herbs?

It is arguable which was the star of the night though. While the ratatouille was truly delectable with its slight tang and full-on earthiness, the polpette were very tasty and tantalising with their slight touch of golden brown. If I really had to make a choice though, I think I'd go for the Strawberry Tiramisu which Val made and which blew all our socks off.

Okay, I guess I'm a little biased. I've known this girl since I was still sporting a bob-styled mob on my head. She's great at jumping over horizontally placed poles and irritating people with her tremendously skinny frame. But other than the time she had to cook for herself when she was in Milan for an exchange programme (during which she survived on alot of pasta, soup, and eating out), she hardly lifts a spatula, much less a whisk.

But loving Tiramisu so much, she decided to try to make it on her own one fine day. While not really difficult, it is one of those recipes that can easily go wrong. The mascarpone cheese might overwhelm the whole dish, the sponge fingers might not have been soaked through with the coffee and liquor, being too heavy handed with the cocoa powder and you'll end up with a mouthful of powder. Yet it seems that her first try was such a success that she made it again, and again, and again for a grand total of 6 times.

The strawberries provided much relief from an otherwise boring and texturally unexciting dessert. That was probably what did it for me - the strawberries. Even N, who proclaimed that he was just 'alright' with Tiramisu, ended up scraping the last bits. A, who stressed Val out by well, simply being an Italian, said that what she made was really, really good.

I'm super proud of her, and am now hunting for other recipes that don't require cooking, as it seems thats the only factor keeping her away from the kitchen. For the recipe she used, click here.

Peas In A Pod

For late night snacks when hunger creeps up and when I know it'll be a while before I can snuggle into my sheets, there are a couple of things I resort to. Yogurt with muesli; milk with cereal; fruit; almond biscuits; trail mix of assorted nuts and dried fruits; spoonfuls of P&J (when I get supremely desperate); unsuspecting packets of chips lying around; weetabix, dry; instant noodles; baked beans straight from the can (I know, I know) etc......

Believe me, it gets worse.

A couple of weeks ago (or more, time passes too quickly when there's plenty of work to do), I had an amazing lunch at Tampopo, a great ramen place within Liang Court, with my colleagues. We then trooped around Meidi-ya for a spot of shopping. We didn't end up with much except for a packet of yummy chocolate wafer snack. However, I had a eureka-moment when we passed by the frozen goods section. D mentioned that she loved Edamame especially as a snack at night.

I don't know why, but I never looked at Edamame that way before. I had packet stashed in my freezer from a Japanese dinner long ago, and we all know that the freezer is this miracle box that's cold and immortalises food, which means that they were/are still perfect for consumption. Edamame had always been a prelude to something better - a cheap sushi feast at Sushi Tei/Sakae Sushi or a luxurious multi-course Japanese dinner that would span a few hours with some great company.

So when I put the kettle on, and a pot over fire, taking my packet of frozen edamame out at 1130pm last night, I was worried that my body, by conditioned reflex, would feel even hungrier and expect something more after that. In my worry, I guess I might have grabbed an additional handful (or two) of edamame to pop into the boiling water.

3 minutes passed, I strained the beans and dunked them into some ice cold water to speed up the chilling period as well as to regain their grass-green beauty. Evidently, they didn't require much time from start to finish. I crumbled a pinch of Maldon Sea Salt all over, being certain that the beans would get a much needed boost from their oceanic friends.

Eventually, I realised my fears were unfounded. The beans were perfect on their own. They popped out easily from their pods and made for a guilt-free yet fulfilling snack. I lounged on my carpet with one of my favourite magazines, with holiday plans flooding my mine with beautiful imagery, enjoying my edamame with Moka running amok around me. For a brief moment, life was really perfect the way it was.

After my hunger was satiated, I rinsed my fingers in the bowl of lime-water and wiped them on my tea-towel, thinking to myself that there really wasn't anything more I could wish for.

Simplicity at its best

Beef Tataki - A deceptively simple dish that P prepared, quick and delicious.

When a Japanese-crazy friend calls for a dinner party with an East Asian theme, I'd have to be crazy to think that he'd make anything other than Japanese. I was more than happy to go with the flow, but like my previous post, there is a whole lot of cuisines that I've never tried my hand at and Japanese is definitely one of them. That means that while I was eager to try my hand at Japanese cuisine, I was apprehensive and a little worried about the outcome, especially since it was for a dinner party.

Of course, I took the opportunity (read: excuse) to trawl through Kinokuniya's collection for a simple and reliable Japanese cookbook. Since it was my first attempt at Japanese, I was not going to risk attempting overly complicated recipes. Kimiko Barber's The Japanese Kitchen caught my eye with its clean and fresh cover photo, and then with the tres simple recipes.

They are organised according to common Japanese ingredients, cutting across the various kinds of roots, seeweeds, noodles, fruits etc...... A short and informative introduction is also included for each ingredient - 'How it grows', 'Appearance and taste', 'Buying and storing', 'Healthy Benefits', 'Culinary Uses', before several recipes are provided featuring the said ingredient. I find this style extremely useful, especially when I was pushing my trolley through Meidi-Ya supermarket (a very well-stocked Japanese supermarket at Liang Court). When I saw an ingredient I was unfamiliar with, I just had to look for the section on it to find out how I could possibly use it.

I decided to prepare appetisers, and since they were all so simple, requiring so little effort and ingredients, I chose 6 to make in small quantities per person.

Diced Tuna with Yam Sauce, Simmered Daikon with Grainy Mustard and Miso, Edamame with sea salt, Nameko with Grated Daikon, Asparagus with Vinegar Miso and Grilled Octopus with Sweet Miso Sauce. Since there were so many items on the menu, I had to make the effort to be very organised with my mise en place. All the ingredients were grated, chopped, simmered, boiled and sliced beforehand. The sauces were also mixed to the exact proportions required in advance. They were all placed in neat rows to be put together on the dishes just before serving.

The two items which surprised me (with recipes later) were the Diced Tuna with Yam Sauce as well as the Nameko with Grated Daikon. I had initial reservations about the yam sauce, as it comprised raw grated yam dunked in a light dashi stock-based sauce and served with cubes of raw tuna. I was not sure how raw grated yam would taste, and frankly the texture of the grated yam was a little off-putting. However, the flavours and textures came together in a very surprising harmony.

As for the Nameko with Grated Daikon, the description of Nameko was not at all appealing to me. 'Nameko grow in clusters. A bright orangey-brown, they have a tight little button cap measuring 1-2 cm across that is covered with gelatinous slime... [they] are particularly appreciated for their slipperiness on the tongue, which is unique and worth experiencing.' After a truly horrific experience with Japanese fermented soy beans - Natto, I have become wary of 'unique' food, and have developed a greater aversion to all things naturally slippery (I still don't really fancy okra/lady's fingers). However, dipped into the sauce and served with very finely julienned (my grater could not yield the fine matchsticks of daikon I had envisioned for the dish), I actually found it yummy and could truly appreciate its smooth and slippery texture, which I realised should not be confused with sliminess.

In addition, as a result of my usual tendency of wanting to send guests home in an 'oh-my-god-I'm-so-full-I'm-going-to-explode' state, I also rustled up Chilled Soba with Salmon Roe and Avocado. All it took was some very quickly cooked soba (overcooked soba is quite terrible to stomach), avocada cubes tossed in a wasabi-soy sauce dressing, fresh salmon roe and a small drizzling of soba dipping sauce. As a modern take on cold soba, it was yet another great combination, which my guests also enjoyed thoroughly.

The dishes exceeded my expectations and now I cannot wait to try other recipes from the book, using more foreign ingredients like Gobo/Burdock and Kampyo/Dried Gourd Strips. I've taken chances with other cookbooks before and have been let down numerous times. But this book has renewed my faith that as long as I perservere, I will definitely uncover a few gems once in a while.

Simplicity at its best

Maguro no tororo ae / Diced Tuna with Yam Sauce

Serves 4

Ingredients

275g yam, peeled and grated

450ml dashi stock

5 tbspn soy sauce

1 tbspn sugar

1/2 tbspn mirin

400g fresh tuna, cut into bite-sized cubes

1/2 tsp salt

To Garnish

2 tsp wasabi powder mixed with same amt of water

2 spring onions, finely sliced into rings

1 sheet nori (dried seaweed), finely shredded (which I omitted)

Method

Put the yam into a large mixing bowl.

Add the dashi stock, soy sauce, sugar and mirin and mix well.

Put the tuna in a separate bowl, sprinkle with the salt and pour int the yam mixture. Stir to combine.

Divide the tuna and yam mixture between four serving dishes and garnish with small mounds of wasabi, chopped spring onions and shredded nori.

Nameko oroshi/Nameko with Grated Daikon

Serves 4

Ingredients

110g nameko

200g daikon (Japanese radish), peeled and grated

Dressing

2 tbspn rice vinegar

1 tbspn sugar

1 tbspn light soy sauce

a pinch of salt (optional)

Method

Mix all the ingredients in a bowl, season and serve with a little of the dressing on the side if preferred.

Have you ever forgotten the feeling of....hunger?

For the past two weeks, my colleagues and I have been heading out of the stuffy and virus-inflicted office for lunches to celebrate birthdays, bid farewells or welcome newbies into the department.

Among others, we've had a pretty good Indonesian lunch buffet spread, luxurious pastas from Menotti (at Raffles' City Shopping Centre), sinful but super delicious Ayam Penyet (literally translated: smashed chicken) with Gado Gado, and a fairly wide range of thin-crust pizzas from Modestos.

And to make matters worse, I've had similarly heavy dinners after work too. I used to be busy trying to balance on one leg, while keeping the other suspended in mid-air at unattainable angles ('trying' being the operative work) - i.e. yoga. But when my contract ended, I decided not to renew it as they seemed to have oversold their membership.

I was no longer gaining peace, and instead had to keep battling with people's arms and legs infringing into my little private space demarcated by the often soggy blue yoga mat. If it sounds gross, you should just try it.

So with plenty of free time, plenty of friends eager to try new places with me, and plenty of new places to try, I discovered quite a few gems but also sadly (and quite frighteningly) forgot the feeling of hunger. A friend, S, who also happens to be my colleague, agreed with me and suggested that we have a 'SALAD DAY' this coming Monday. I could not have thought of a better idea to quell our (or at least my) anxieties that we would soon develop sitophobia - fear of food or eating.

While typing out the email to recruit fellow colleagues verging on sitophobia, I was running through the list of possible salad dressings I could contribute. The one tried and tested dressing that I've made quite frequently for different groups of people, is a miso-based one that is light and uber refreshing. The only problem would be making enough of it to go around.

It can be added to almost anything. I've used this with crisp iceberg lettuce, sweet romaine, and lollo rosso. For one version, I included soba (thin Japanese noodle made from buckwheat flour) and my adulterated version of teriyaki salmon - made from salmon, dark soy sauce and golden syrup in equal proportions.

For another, I simply grilled some store bought shishamo (the Cold Storages at Takashimaya and Bugis Junction stock a few of these) and served it with the salad leaves gently but thoroughly tossed through the miso dressing, a wedge of lemon and a sprinkling of bonito flakes (pictured above).

Its great as a tantalising starter, to get the tastebuds moving and eager for more. But double (or in my case, quadruple) the quantity for a healthy, and surprisingly comforting dinner for 1. Just salad, a fork and you're good to go! The following recipe is just a guide, and should be adjusted to taste. To try, just dip a piece of salad leaf into the dressing and taste.

With so little exercise in my schedule these days, I'm only more than happy that I've found such a great tasting dish that won't go straight to my thighs! Woohoo!

Miso Dressing for Salads

Ingredients

1 tbspn miso paste

2 tbspn mirin (omit if you have Muslim friends, though this would affect the taste quite significantly)

juice from half a lemon

2 tbspn sugar

1 tbspn light soy sauce

5 tbspns olive oil (or water, for an even lighter dressing)

Method

Mix miso, mirin, lemon, sugar and light soy sauce until well combined.

If using olive oil, trickle in slowly while whisking vigorously.

Mixture should form a brown, homogeneous dressing.

If using water, simply add in tablespoon by tablespoon until you attain your perfect dressing.

Cooking from Europe

Mozzarella and Prosciutto

The joy of meeting people who are just as crazy about cooking as you are (though I think I am pretty mild) is just impossible to describe. Most of the times, I try to hold my tongue when in fact I wish I could share my excitement at having perfected Creme Brulee (which by the way I haven't, but have to by Sunday), or at having discovered this fantastic waffle recipe that beats any waffle I've ever eaten. That is because I would then very uncontrollably launch into a high-pitched speech on the technicalities of cooking or how I so feliticiously decided on giving the recipe a go.

But to meet someone who doesn't only indulge me by listening intently to my every word, but also tell me that he has been trying various egg tart recipes for the past five days? Now that's seriously insane. Insanely wonderful.

To meet another who gets just about as excited as I am about cooking, and mulls over the potluck theme as long as I do just adds to my happiness. Then bringing these two individuals, GM and P, together and inviting a spunky old friend, SY, at a tiny potluck made for such an enjoyable dinner. This is the precise dinner I referred to in my previous post. The one that was so long, but too short. That knocked me out till the next day when I was meant to shave.

SY and I looking really blur, literally. Courtesy of P.

After much ding-donging back and forth through emails and sms-es (did I mention we were all a little crazy about cooking?), we finally settled on cooking from a single continent. This would give us plenty of leeway to get creative. I decided that SY would do the starter since she is possibly nowhere near as manic about cooking as the other three of us are, though always game to try the latest kid on the block.

It was incredibly heartening to know that since SY returned from US, she had not stepped into the kitchen. And that her first time handling real food, was for us! As she stepped through the door, she bore luscious balls of buffalo mozzarella (alliteration on the wrong words!) and paper thin prosciutto. The combination of which brought back beautiful memories of Rome where I had tucked into a platter of prosciutto wrapped mozzarella. If I'm not wrong, it was drizzled with some olive oil and sprinkled with a special combination of herbs her mom had.

Glorious Moussaka

P decided on a Moussaka, most closely associated with the Greeks or Turks. Moussaka always has eggplant but may contain almost anything else imaginable. The Moussaka P concocted by bringing two recipes together had pork mince, egg plant, onions (all the crying was worth it), tomatoes, yogurt, eggs and cheese. As the sauce bubbled away and spilled over the deep dish in the oven, I couldn't wait to work through the crisp top layer to the soft and oozy mince at the bottom.

Paella with Prawns, Chorizo , Red Peppers and Peas

I'm sure GM hummed and hawed as long as I did to choose what to cook for the dinner. He finally settled on Paella (Spain), for which he used a recipe from America's Test Kitchen (the irony!). This website is pretty cool though, and suits GM's style of cooking to the T. Like a science experiment, he would go through the recipes and stick to the recipe as closely as is humanly and financially possible. So even though I had a paella-like pan that would have passed off almost perfectly as a paella pan, he chose to use my Staub cast-iron dutch oven instead simply because the recipe said so.

Perhaps it was because he used the Dutch Oven or perhaps it was just the recipe. A crunchy layer of paella formed at the bottom of the cocotte, just like what you would find at the bottom of your traditional claypot rice. I really enjoyed that part the best, and found out that GM had to put it over the stove for a little just before serving in order to achieve that effect. So having the patience to allow your food as much time it needs to blossom definitely pays off.

Pour, close till golden brown and serve.

As for my little contribution, I took the easy way out and prepared all the ingredients one would need for some DIY Belgian Waffles. Waffle batter, check. Salted Caramel Sauce, check. Strawberries and Balsamic Vinegar, check. Vanilla Ice Cream, check. And I am not tooting my own horn, but I've really never tasted any waffle as good as that. It was so crisp on the outside (partly because it was eaten straight out of the waffle pan), and incredibly light and airy inside.

Drizzle Salted Caramel, top with ice cream and tuck in.

Certainly helped that the caramel was smooth and not too sweet, that the strawberry sauce was chunky with a slight tang, and that the vanilla ice cream was rich, smooth and delicious. The accompaniments just had to be prepared a day in advance, and the waffle batter in the morning. This would leave you plenty of time to go for a leisurely swim, shine your silverware, set the table and enjoy the rest of the evening.

While scanning the web for waffle recipes, I could not find one that would promise light, crisp waffles. That is until I decided to google yeasted waffles. Deeply embedded in one of the nooks of my brain sat 'yeasted waffles = crisp waffles'. So when I read this article, I couldn't wait to jump straight into it. Though it is a little time consuming, I swear it is worth it. At this time, I am not inclined to attempt any other waffle recipes but this one, over and over and over again.

For Yeasted Waffles click here.

Dinner Munching (Part II) - Fish and Spinach

Sorry for the bad photograph, I'm still learning how to take photos in low-lighting with my camera without it appearing grainy or blur. It certainly doesn't help that no matter how I try, spinach puree cannot be made to look appetising.

However, it was the spinach puree recipe that I spotted first in Damien Pignolet's French. Instead of being enriched with cream and plenty of butter, transforming spinach into something absolutely heavenly but unbelievably unhealthy, it simply required pear puree.

Damien Pignolet recommended eating this with steamed or pan-friend fish, a piece of advice I took up but looked to Jane Lawson's Cocina Nueva for. Her Almond Crusted Hake piqued my interest, but was tweaked to include ground hazelnut instead of ground almond. It was breaded in the afternoon and chilled until just before serving where it needed 3 minutes (and then some) on each side, depending on the thickness of the fish. Even the spinach puree could be made in the afternoon and reheated just before serving.

This was especially useful because it left me plenty of time to prepare dessert, which required much more time, patience and effort.

I quite like the spinach puree and agree that it goes well with fish. Being a little fruity, it was definitely different and possibly a great way to get children to eat their greens by actually making spinach tasty, without negating its health benefits with cream or butter. The fish had the most wonderful aroma while being fried, and a delightfully earthy hazelnut taste.

Unfortunately I have learnt to be a little smarter and informed about my choice of fish for future use. As all the fish were labelled in Chinese, I had no idea what kind of fish I was purchasing and relied only on price to differentiate quality. I would have preferred a more tender, flaky fish to go with the puree. Embarassingly, I still don't know what I had served my girlfriends!

Spinach and Pear Puree

From Damien Pignolet's French

Serves 2-4

Ingredients

100g pear, such as Beurre Bosc or Packham, peeled and cored

400g spinach, well-washed and coarse stalks discarded

salt and freshly ground pepper

a few gratings of nutmeg

2-3 teaspoons of extra virgin olive oil

a few drops of lemon juice

Method

Boil pear until soft (10-20 minutes) then drain.

Boil spinach in plenty of quite salty water for 5 minutes until very soft.

Drain well and press out most of the moisture with the back of a spoon- the spinach should not be too dry.

For the smoothest result, puree the pear and spinach in a blender rather than a food processor.

Add the oil and season to taste, adding the lemon juice to freshen (do this only just before serving if you're preparing this in advance).

This very special recipe is adapted from Michel Guerard's Cuisine Minceur, a book dedicated to 'lean cuisine', as we would call it today. I like to serve it with steamed or pan-fried fish, and it is also excellent with roast partridge or guinea fowl.

Polenta and Onion Relish

When people gather for many rounds of mahjong, food is usually one of the last thing on their minds. Perhaps this isn't true for some of you, but for my relatives and my mum, they would skip mealtimes if only hunger did not bug them enough to make them slightly distracted. I typically do not cook for my mum and her mahjong kakis if I can help it. But if I do, I would work out something terribly simple, that can be eaten from a bowl and with just a spoon.

So when my mum had a mahjong session yesterday, polenta came to mind. I had a bag of polenta sitting around my shelves just screaming to be slowly simmered into a creamy, corny mush. So I did just that, and made a pot of beef stew as well as some roasted vegetables to go with it. Unfortunately, I had grossly overestimated the amount of polenta that I needed, and ended up with an entire tray worth of polenta.

I find that the best way to save extra polenta is to spread it out on a tray, let it cool, harden, then slice it into 2 cm thick pieces. These can be fried with a little olive oil or frozen for future frying. Fried polenta becomes gratifyingly crisp, with incredibly soft middles. Arguably, they are better than their more viscous predecessors.

For a quick dinner tonight, I chose to cube and fry them in a touch of olive oil. Some halved white button mushrooms, a scoop of onion relish, a sprinkle of dried parsley and a splash of white wine vinegar later, I was stuffing myself with spoonfuls of this very, very comforting dish.

The great thing about this meal is that it can be prepared in a flash, on any worn-out weeknight of yours, when the last thing on your mind is having to wait for your onions to caramelise, or your polenta to soften. Just a little planning beforehand, and some leisurely cooking during the weekend, and you'd have created many instant 'TV-dinners' for whenever you really need it.

Surprise Surprise

Ever since Fel and I made the commitment to True Yoga for 7 months, we (sort of) vowed to attend yoga classes as regularly as possible, at least 3 times a week. While there were the highly intensive weeks of daily yoga classes (after which I promptly fell ill for an entire week), there were also weeks where we hardly went for a single class because we kept taking turns to be occupied after work. Still, we both never thought we'd keep up this active lifestyle (in fact I daresay that we are more active now than in Uni) once we started work, so it's really pleasantly surprising.

We also never thought that we'd still see so much of each other after returning from Warwick. I thought I would have to travel to her hometown in Jakarta, in order to see her again. Or perhaps wait for her occasional visits to Singapore. But the one thing I definitely thought I'd NEVER ever do with her again, is to cook with her.

Imagine my shock and horror when she requested to come over my place on Sunday to use my oven. Use my OVEN? I could not believe my ears, did I hear her right?

She explained that she needed to bake cookies for her new colleagues, for reasons I have no liberty to share with everyone. So of course, I did the friendly thing and welcomed her into my home, offering all my tools and 'facilities'.

It was tremendously amusing watching her muddle around with the electric mixer, misunderstanding the recipe, clumsily measuring out the ingredients, moaning about having to sift ('Is it reaaaaally necessary??') the flour and baking powder, and then sighing before she even started any mixing.

Somehow though, she made it through the entire batch of cookies. She must have gone through about 6 or 7 batches of 15 minutes each. Of course, the cookies started out really small and oddly shaped. With each batch, the cookies were more refined and smooth. But they also got visibly bigger, in Fel's attempt to finish the cookie batter quickly.

While she busied herself in the kitchen, I was just a step away roasting peppers and tomatoes for a salad, and making onion relish for dinner. Dinner was decided upon when I was at the butchers at Chip Bee Gardens. While I was tempted by the various steaks, I thought the onion relish I had in mind would go best with thick, juicy burgers.

As usual, and in order to speed things up, I exploited the fundamental carnal connection between men and meat, and got my brother to help out with making the burgers. Before that, he successfully made a batch of one of his favourite dips - Tomato and Chilli Jam (Peter Gordon, from The Cook's Book). Coincidentally, it was also a suitable accompaniment to burgers. So the three of us were cramped in the kitchen, excusing and apologising our way around each other.

Just before dinner (finally) started and everyone tucked in ferociously, I tossed the roasted peppers and tomatoes in olive oil and added them to crunchy greens then sandwiched the many beef patties in a Walnut and Onion Ciabatta. The onion relish, generously ladled over the beef patties, quickly depleted. Truth be told, I had intended to distribute the onion relish to my colleagues as little random gifts. But seeing how my whole family - Fel included- seemed to relish (heh heh) the relish, I decided to keep it for our personal consumption.

I would just have to find another day to go through another 3 kg batch of onions, peeling, slicing and caramelising. It is not something I mind though, as I found it incredibly satisfying watching the turgid green-tinged rings soften into translucency, then slowly caramelising into a deep brown hue. All done within my grenadine-stained, heavy duty oval Staub cocotte, the onions initially filled the entire pot then eventually reduced to less than a third of its volume.

Perhaps because we only managed to get dinner ready by the time it was supposed to be supper, my brother was still in search of something to munch on after the burger and salad. So imagine his delight when I told him that Fel had very generously left a cookie jar of her chocolate chip cookies behind for our enjoyment. Recipe for another day!

Onion Relish

From Donna Hay's 30th Issue

Makes 5 cups

Ingredients

1/3 cup olive oil

2 kg brown onions, peeled and sliced into 1 cm rings

1 cup brown sugar

1 cup red wine vinegar

sea salt and cracked black pepper

Method

Preheat a large deep saucepan over medium-high heat.

Add oil and onions.

Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, for 40 minutes or until the onion is golden and caramelised (Cooking it uncovered but keeping a close watch on it, stirring more than occasionally, sped up the process)

Add the sugar, vinegar (I would be a little conservative with these two components and add more only when necessary after a taste test), salt and pepper and stir until the sugar is dissolved.

Cook for a further 10 minutes or until thick and syrupy.

Happiness is...

... this.

-

And being incredibly contented. To me, contentment is ranked way up there, together with confidence as an attractive.... trait? Characteristic? Knowing my own greedy desires, I never thought there would come a day when I would actually be wholly contented with my life. There's usually always something I'm hankering after, or lusting for. There's usually always something I feel would make me a lot happier if I had or could achieve.

-

But I found that ever since I started work in Feb, I've been slowly engulfed by this warm feeling of joyousness... and contentment. There's nothing more I could ask for in life, nothing more I would need in order to be happy because I was already happy. Work is great (the dynamics in the office is fantastic and tremendously welcoming), my extra-curricular activities are thriving, my family is doing better than before. And very importantly, I felt like my friendships were all thriving. I may not have been able to stay as connected to every single friend I've made, but I have definitely been trying for the ones that matter a lot to me.

-

In case I get misconstrued, I must clarify that it is not in my intention to brag, but merely to share. I feel like happiness is bursting at my seams. Emanating from my pores. Once in a while, I would actually catch my colleagues' attention with a cheerful 'Sarah' or 'Parvee', and give them a huge grin just to let some of my happiness out and to spread the joy. Just like the children in the photo, I am loving my life and I hope that whoever you are, reading this, can always feel this way too (if not more).

My mum rightly said that my family will only get to enjoy my cooking when I get inspired. The weekend was a great time to get inspired, especially after flipping through the gorgeous food photography in Donna Hay's March issue, because I had plenty of time to act on it. While I may not have used any recipe from the magazine for the dinner I planned for my family, it did effectively lure me into the kitchen. I was happy, and wanted to make sure my family was too, by making sure they had happy bellies first. So I got my brother into the kitchen with me and set to work on the various interesting (or easy) recipes I picked out.

From Gordon Ramsey's Secrets, I found two dishes that I decided to combine - Herbed Cauliflower Puree and Caramelised Baby Onions. When I chose the recipes, I already pictured how it would be plated. And to add some crunch as well as colour to the dish, I threw in some french beans. They all went well together, the creamy and smooth cauliflower puree with the tender, sweet and slightly tangy pink baby onions, and the crunchy buttered beans.

The best sounds I heard that night were the murmurs of pleasure especially with the first mouthful of onion and cauliflower. Perhaps not a common pairing, but definitely one that works. And actually way too easy to put together than it might look!

Puree of Cauliflower Scented with Herbs

Taken from Gordon Ramsay's Secrets (serves 4)

Ingredients

1 medium cauliflower, 300 ml milk, 1 small bay leaf, 1 sprig of thyme, sea salt and freshly ground pepper

Method

Trim cauliflower, discarding leaves, and cut into florets.

Place in saucepan with milk, herbs and 1/2 tsp salt.

Bring to boil, cover and simmer gently for about 12-15 mins until cauliflower is very tender.

Drain the cauliflower, discard the herbs and reserve the milk.

Whiz florets in a blender until very smooth, adding enough of the reserved milk to give a very creamy consistency (you'll have to scrape down the sides a couple of times to get it moving).

You may need to blend the mixture for up to 5 minutes to achieve a really smooth, silky texture.

Taste and adjust the seasoning, adding a little pepper if required. Serve piping hot!

Caramelised Pink Baby Onions

Adapted from Gordon Ramsay's Secrets (serves 4-6)

Ingredients

100 g butter, 250 g baby onions or small shallots (peeled), few sprigs of thyme, 1/2 tsp sugar,

3 tbspns of juice from bottled beetroot, 100 ml chicken stock, sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Method

Heat butter in large saute pan, adding baby onions/shallots with thyme and sugar when it starts to foam.

Cook for 5 mins until lightly caramelised (should turn translucent and slightly brown), seasoning with salt and pepper as they cook.

Add beetroot juice and stock, bring to boil then cook uncovered for a further 5 mins, stirring occasionally until onions are just tender but still retain a bite.

Transfer onions to a dish and bubble up the pan juices until reduced to a syrupy glaze.

Return onions to the pan to heat through and coat in glaze.

Discard thyme and serve.

Nouvelle Lo Hei

Lo Hei has evolved over the years since the first time I was allowed to hold a pair of chopsticks and join in the vertical aerobics over a big dish of raw vegetables and fish. Now, the fish used may be raw salmon, or even smoked salmon. Lo Hei condiments are now also sold in a variety of packaging, even bringing in Thai influences that smelt heavily of fish sauce. And the icing on the cake for me this year was how we did our Lo Hei on the marble table top instead.

My father suggested it, then proceeded to scrub, rinse and wipe the table top so that it'd be impeccably clean to eat from. While initial responses included shock, horror and disgust, everyone started to embrace the idea and have fun arranging the ingredients on the table once it was declared sane to eat from.

And for prosperity, happiness, and pure superstition, we shaped it all into a figure of eight.

Then the aerobic exercise commenced alongside random, well-wishes for the new year ahead.