The Ultimate Bean

Wao, has it seriously been 2 months? I cannot believe how fast time has passed. And for all that time gone, I have little to show for it. Except a rather horrid trip to China where I unknowingly drank Starfish and Seahorse Soup, and saw the grey foggy skies of Guangzhou (Beijing was still benefitting from the major clean up pre-Olympics) among other things which are better left unsaid.

In the meantime, I haven't been able to spend as much time as I would like in the kitchen (how many times have you heard that from me already?). The parties and gatherings I used to organise, it seems, have become a thing of the past. Though of course this depends on the definition one chooses to subscribe to for 'past'.

Anyway, I managed to dig up photos I had stowed away for dryer months such as this, and found these two photos that immediately triggered beautiful memories of never-ending beaches and mountain ranges in Mauritius.

I almost never fail to visit the market, whichever city I visit - La Boquiera market in Barcelona; Borough market: London; and Central market: Port Louis (Mauritius). It was at the Central Market that I picked up a couple of packets of super plump vanilla beans (bottom left). Far from the dried, shrivelled up vanilla beans (bottom right) that I bought from the local baking supplies store, these plump beauties yielded eagerly under the knife tip to reveal an abundant supply of thick, syrupy seeds.

I enthusiastically used them in some ice cream, cake, and my latest and probably longest project ever - vanilla extract. So many recipes are available on the internet, but they all point to the same combination of ingredients: a bottle of alcohol (vodka, brandy or rum) and some vanilla beans for about 3 months and more.

I've put all my spent vanilla pods (i.e. shell without the seeds which would have gone into the ice cream/cake) into a bottle of dark rum and left it in a dark cupboard. It has been there since late August and I can't wait to use some of this homemade vanilla extract perhaps in some wicked ice cream - uber rich Rum and Raisin Ice Cream. Till next time!

Homemade

I fervently believe that the best things are homemade. Small diced pumpkin cubes, celery and carrots with brown rice and a sprinkling of sesame seeds. Now that my mum has time on her hands to pamper herself, spend time with our not-so-little bunny Moka and spend more time in the kitchen which used to be almost solely my domain, she has been preparing soups with plenty of healthful properties and cooking dinners for the whole family.

One delightful morning, I woke up groggy-eyed and was typically slow to start on my morning routine. I opened my room door only to find my mother, ladle in hand. She asked if I would like to pack some fried rice for lunch, and I flippantly responded to the affirmative. Just before I left home, I noticed a carefully wrapped green Tupperware container snuck into my oversized carry-all bag, together with a sturdy little bowl (for reheating the food in the microwave oven, she says) but did not give much thought to it.

When lunchtime came, I bashfully unveiled the delicious jeweled grains much to the envy of my colleagues. I felt transported back to my secondary school days when my mum packed lunch and snacks for me. When carrots were particularly cheap, I was given a stick of carrot almost everyday as a snack for the 10 minute breaktime at 950am on schooldays. Until I turned slightly orange and stopped. My night vision at that time was however, par excellence.

But I digress.

As I savoured every spoonful of fried rice, grains of brown rice milled about on my tongue dancing around with its herbivorous friends. It was tasty alright. My mum had outdone herself again. More significantly, I could taste the effort my mum put into ensuring the pumpkin and celery were diced into tiny cubes, scrambling the beaten eggs briefly before tossing the cooked brown rice through the half-cooked eggs, and adding her signature finishing touch of sesame seeds (she adds it to almost anything, you name it, she's done it) before packing the container into my bag.

That has got to be one of the best meals I'd ever eaten in my sad little office. Ever. I'd typically jump at any chance to lunch outside, but for home-cooked fried rice, I'd stay in anytime.

Tender Tentacles

The other is simply boiled and served with a gentle squeeze of lemon. This was not the first time I tried the recipe for Galician Octopus, and it was even more delicious than I remembered it to be. Soft, tender octopus with just the right amount of bounce in its meat; tossed through a scrumptiously tangy and sweet dressing; what's not to love?

I made a little extra and spooned it over cruncy baby spinach, but alas it was still not enough to satiate my guests. They wanted more! They wanted bread to soak up all the juices!
The recipe for the dressing is reminiscent of the usual salad dressing I concoct for lazy/fat nights. But who would have known that jazzing it up with some smoked paprika and thinly sliced red onions would have made that much of a difference?

I'm adding red onions to my list of staples!

Yummy and good for you

I don't know when or from where my mum got this idea of mixing honey with lemon, but for a period of time she'd make it for me every morning before I have to practically run out of the house to work. Whenever I have the sniffles or an itchy throat, she'd prescribe that to me as well. It was either that or some horridly bitter and ominously dark liquid that had been boiling for a couple of hours.

Bless her heart, but when she concocts these things she believes in economies of scale and boils a large potful of them so that it can last me a few days. Of course that means instead of being able to spread my agony over a couple of weeks, taking ample time to recuperate from the not-so-pleasant taste in between each dosage, I usually have a glass of it plastered to my hands as long as I am at home. And this would happen for many days at a stretch. Sometimes I even discover a bottle of it snuck into my handbag! Still, I gulp it all down and pop something sweet into my mouth immediately after.


In light of the dark liquid that is always the alternative to sniffles or itchy throats, I never fail to jump on the offer of a big glass of honey lemon. And now, it has joined my repertoire of drinks I would depend on if in need of something pleasant and refreshing to serve guests. This is especially crucial since my home is one of those where you’re more likely to find lemons and honey than Coke or Sprite.

For planned dinner parties, I am usually well prepared with a couple of vino or bubbly in the refrigerator just hanging. But when unexpected guests arrive and are thirsting for something sweet and soothing, I'd whip up a big batch of this in a couple of minutes and it’d be better than your store-bought carbonated drink overloaded with sugars and preservatives.

Simply mix your preferred proportion of honey, water and freshly squeezed lemon juice then top with a slice of lemon and a sprig of mint (optional). I always add some hot water to the honey first to get it all to dissolve then mix in some room temperature water to dilute it further.

But friends, be forewarned. Do not, I say DO NOT pour hot water directly into a glass jug, especially those with thick glass walls. It will crack, oh yes it will crack. I had to learn this the tough way. Colleagues and friends looked at me in horror as I recounted the incident, exclaiming that whether one could pour hot water directly into a thick-walled glass jug was a primary school Science question!

I cannot be more sorry for not paying attention in class.

Mid-week meals

Whenever I lack the motivation to cook, there are a couple of sure-fire ways I usually seek to get inspired all over again.

1. Travel to an exotic country with a national cuisine vastly different from what I'm used to.
2. Read incredibly food blogs like The Travelors Lunchbox, Orangette, Kuidaore, Delicious Days, and Chubby Hubby just to name a few. One day, if I don't get inspired by the stunning photos or the delicious writing, I'd know I'm a gone case.
3. Equally peppered with beautifully inspiring photos and prose is Donna Hay, a magazine I'd almost kill myself if I somehow miss out on buying the last season's copy.

The latest issue has plenty of recipes for special days - tiny morsels of food as part of a larger grazing menu, or a more elaborate sit-down dinner comprising main courses that you can choose to spend anywhere between an hour to 3 days laboring over .

My favourite section though, is one for the everyday. They gave a recipe for osso buco and 3 accompanying quick recipes that uses osso buco in different ways. Great as a weekend project for sure. They also have a number of recipes for mid-week dinners meant to be casual and put together almost in a flash. There, I found the perfect getting-back-into-the-kitchen recipe.

Thai-style sweet and sour barramundi. It looked like all I had to do was clean and boil (the vegetables), fry (the fish), and mix (the dressing for the fish). The only laborious part was the cleaning and chopping of the vegetables (snow peas, but I added french beans and baby corn). After that, everything was a breeze. This iss presentable and satisfying enough to be served during mid-week casual dinners at home with close friends, but easy enough as a tasty mid-week dinner for yuppie-couples.

I made this for my brother and I this weekend, and substituted the barramundi with salmon. I enjoyed how the tartness of the thai-style dressing cut through the usually rich flavour of salmon. Simply blanched snow peas, french beans and baby corn were drizzled with some Japanese Roasted Cashew Salad Dressing that I bought at the Japanese fair recently. Okay, I cheated, but it is meant for a mid-week meal you know.

It is great getting back into the kitchen!

Thai-style Sweet and Sour Salmon
Recipe adapted from Donna Hay
Serves 4

Ingredients
1 tsp chiili flakes
1 tbspn sea salt flakes
4x200g salmon fillets, skin on
1 tbsp vegetable oil
300g snow peas, blanced and thinly sliced (or 100g snow peas, 100g french beans and 100g baby corn)
1/4 cup (60ml) lime juice
2 tsp brown sugar
1 tsp fish sauce

Method
To make the sweet and sour dressing, place the lime juice, sugar and fish sauce in a non-metallic bowl and stir to combine. Set aside
Combine the chilli flakes and sea salt and rub onto the fish skin.
Heat the oil in a large non-stick fying pan over high heat.
Cook the fish skin-side down for 3-4 minutes or until skin is crisp, turn and cook for a further 1-2 minutes then turn off the flame.
Serve with the dressing spooned over, and the side of snow peas, french beans and baby corn - blanched, drained and tossed in your favourite salad dressing (preferably not something tart like the sweet and sour dressing).

A long break, a new life...

Crocodile Park in Mauritius with Stella and her parents

Instead of running up a tall tower like that shown in the video in my previous entry, I did something else - I ran away to Mauritius.

I had been feeling so out-of-sorts and knew I needed a proper break. Ever since I started work, I had not taken a break for myself. So it didn't take me long to book the cheapest return airfare to Mauritius I could find.

I spent about 10 days there resting and going to more beaches than I had ever visited in my life. That was a must, according to Stella. Looking at the crystal clear waters, and feeling the fine floury sand between my toes, I understood why. Stella, for the uninitiated, is my long-time toilet-mate from university who put forth an open invitation for free accomodation in Mauritius anytime I was disposed to fly over.

Mauritius is a beautiful place with plenty of sugarcane plantations to sweeten honeymoons. Mountain ranges are in sight virtually everywhere, no matter where you stand in Mauritius, thanks to low rise buildings. The first part of my trip experienced temperamental weather of strong winds and transient rain, but Stella and I prayed and prayed. Her friends and family showered warmth and hospitality that gave me all I needed to withstand the cold until the sun finally sauntered out from behind the clouds.

I was incredibly blessed to have Stella host me during my entire stay in Mauritius. Her family brought me to the Crocodile park that not only had giant tortoises I could sit on, but also served (surprise surprise) crocodile steak as pictured above. It had the tender chewiness of medium rare beef, but looked almost entirely like perfectly grilled pork steak. It tasted however, milder than I expected - a cross between chicken and fish. It was a thrill simply to taste crocodile steak.

There was so much Stella brought me to see and do in Mauritius that covering it all in one entry would do the trip little justice. Instead, I will share with everyone in later entries, specific (food) items I really enjoyed that left a deep impression in me.

Shortly after returning to Singapore, I spent the past week in Bangkok nursing a flu while trying to make sure I brought home some new clothes for my tired wardrobe. It was tough trying to stay chirpy and lively while my system threatened to breakdown with each hack or sniffle, but my beloved friend nursed me to health with many rounds of warm water, cough medication and Strepsils.

Am I refreshed and raring to go back to work tomorrow (actually, today since it is now 1.35am)? Not really. That I am typing this at 1.35am in the morning also means I'm probably going to feel lethargic at work while battling the thousands of emails in my inbox.

One good thing that came out of this break however, is that I have found energy to bake/cook again! I spent a good part of the last 24 hours in the kitchen playing with custards and batters. I am also very inspired to cook one of my favourite dishes from Mauritius. The problem is simply finding the key ingredient whose name I do not even know.

This long break was also meant to symbolically mark the closure of one big chapter in my life, and the start of a new one with a brand new, clean slate.

Sharing my latest favourite quote:
"Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the present." - Wugui master from Kungfu Panda

Good Days, Bad Days

I have been feeling totally out of sorts.

Have you ever felt like every little thing you try to do right, is just turning out wrong? No matter how much you resolve to do things better the next time, when next time comes, somehow you still screw up? Work sometimes seems senseless and when the meaningless of it all hits the bone, it just feels crap. Somewhere inside, you know it shouldn't affect you so much but it just does. It consumes you, your every breath.

You've always tried to take things easy, to be positive and cheerful regardless of things happening around you. But when the tiny raindrops beat relentlessly, for what seems like forever, even the toughest of exteriors would finally break down. You let the raindrops fall deep inside you. You let them get the better of you.

Yet even this awareness can't help you get out of your funk. Talking to friends about it usually helps, but it hasn't this time round. Instead, they get increasingly concerned at your attitude and you fear the more you talk to them, you might somehow even screw up your relationships. One by one.

Have you ever felt this way? Anyone?

I think about better days, when spotting and eventually consuming a gigantic Anadara Cockle ( I think that's what they call it) at a small, discreet Japanese restaurant made me grin with glee for the rest of the day.

But today, I just feel like running to the end of the world and screaming my lungs out then collapsing in a heap.

And this video is giving me some ideas. If not the end of the world, then somewhere high, high up would do too.

Simple Pleasures

How many times have I said 'Alright, today I shall bake a tart!'. Just in the past week alone, I must have said those 7 magic words at least 50 times. Ever since I became the proud owner of a gorgeous cookbook all about tarts (Eric Kayser's Sweet and Savoury Tart), I keep telling myself I really have to get down to baking the handsome Parma Ham and Pear tart. Or even the Bacon and Mushroom Quiche.

Unfortunately, I STILL haven't gotten down to it.

Instead, I succumbed to preparing far simpler dishes. None of the fiddly-diddly dough-kneading, even though the tarts seriously look finger-licking good. Perhaps tonight, tonight!

Many people overestimate the amount of work that is needed for cooking in general, and especially for food that looks fit for the cover of Donna Hay. Alas, it is not true! The effortlessness of wrapping bacon around a piece of chicken thigh, baking it at 180 degrees celcius for about 20-30 mins or until the middle registers 70 degrees celcius then garnishing it with chopped parsley, cannot be ignored.

The bacon bathes the chicken in its flavourful juices and protects it from the harsh heat in the oven hence keeping it moist. Pair it with a big serving of salad tossed in balsamic vinegar and olive oil, and it'd be a meal fit for... well in this case, me.

On another gloriously bright Saturday morning, the day called for something humbly plain. A pack of pork sausages, onions, hotdog buns, strawberries, lettuce and haloumi cheese later, I put together one of my all-time favourite salads, and made some sweet onion relish to complement a couple of hotdogs. 'Delicious' wouldn't even begin to describe it. Beautiful company with such a pure meal made that Saturday one of my most memorable Saturdays ever.

On the single rare occasion I actually bothered to put in just a little more effort, I had 8 spectacular pieces of lamb cutlets to thank for the blast of inspiration. Spotted in the meat section of Cold Storage one very innocent Sunday morning while grocery shopping, I could not peel my eyes off them and found my hands inexplicably wrapped around them shortly after. Somehow, somewhere, they ended up in the chiller section of my refrigerator, coated in a mixture of cumin, mustard seeds and black pepper all freshly pound in my under-used mortar and pestle.

After spending some tender-loving time in the frying pan with just a spot of olive oil, they were served with couscous (dried mint, lemon juice, salt, pepper and dried cranberries soaked in some hot water) and baby spinach salad (balsamic vinegar, olive oil, sugar, raisins, haloumi cheese).

The lamb cutlets (at about 65 degrees celcius on the meat thermometer) had only the faintest hint of pink and were succulent to the last bite. The combination of spices also fortuitously worked marvellously well with the lamb. It imparted an earthiness that complemented the natural gamey flavour one would find in lamb. The tangy and crunchy salad, together with the fluffy couscous grains were side dishes the lamb cutlets were certainly most proud to be placed next to. Or actually, sandwiched between.

Perhaps all I need is to make more grocery shopping trips, and wait for the inspiration to come. But in the meantime, I don't see much wrong with simple pleasures, or pleasures simply put-together.

Alright, today I shall bake a tart!

Muffins that go pop

I found poppy seeds!

In my 3 years of study in Warwick, I arguably spent 1 full year in all browsing the aisles in Tesco, Costcutters, Sainsbury's and Marks and Spencers. Another year might have been spent travelling, half a year in one kitchen or another whipping up something for the next potluck, and the remaining half a year trying to cram bits and bobs of facts, dates, names and theories only to regurgitate them at the year-end exams.

In that 1 year I practically lived in the grocery marts, I got spoilt by high accessibility to fresh basil, easy-peel clementines and cheap booze among others. Of course, it was difficult finding for asian produce. And when I did, cooking a full chinese meal would burn a hole in my pocket.

Coming back home to Singapore, I felt like I had to (almost) travel across the island just to get fresh herbs at not so astronomical prices. Easy-peel clementines/Mandarin oranges would only be available around Chinese New Year. Booze, well. Nuff said.

So when I find ingredients I hardly see, I usually just grab a bottle/packet of it and start planning a dinner around it for the coming weekend. Or, if like in this case the expiry date is very forgiving, I buy the bottle of poppy seeds, keep it in my cupboard and just wait. And wait. And wait.

I can't remember the number of times I'd bought a pack of lemons thinking 'Today will be the day I bake some lemon poppy seed muffins.' Lets just say there were many cups of honey lemon drinks, water spiked with many slices (and in some cases, halves) of lemons and squeezed lemon halves peppering my refrigerator because my mum believes it helps remove odour.

One fine day, I finally took out the well respected tome for baking to search for a lemon poppy seed muffin recipe. Of course, I had no idea how poppy seeds taste, I simply followed the scaled down recipe and baked away. Judging from the amount of eggs and cream that was needed for this muffin, I had no doubt it would still taste delicious even if I managed to somehow screw it up.

In the end, this was all I had ever wanted in a muffin. Soft. Fluffy. Dense. Bouncy. With a gloriously cracked tophat. The taste of the poppy seeds? They don't seem to add any flavour, but these certainly added some interesting crunch to the muffins.

Unfortunately, I added too little lemon zest, having gotten frustrated at my not so effective zester. (I highly recommend the microplane to anyone looking to invest in a good zester. Initially made as a woodworking tool, these blades last forever and give you the thinnest shavings of zest, chocolate, cheese. ) It ended up tasting like... eggy muffins? Still, this was a great muffin recipe that I would adapt as the mother-of-all-mothers muffin recipe.

Trivia: Did you know that if you ate enough poppy seeds, you would test positive for opiates in a drug test? A loaf of poppy seed cake or a few poppy seed bagels later, you'd be a certified druggie.

Lemon Poppy Seed Muffins

Recipe from Baking and Pastry (Culinary Institute of America)

Ingredients

369g All Purpose Flour

1 tbsp baking powder

293g sugar

248g butter

142g creme fraiche (I used whipping cream)

255g eggs

60ml vegetable oil

30ml orange juice

43g lemon/orange zest

50g poppy seeds (I used way less than that and it was still beautifully crunchy)

1/2 tsp salt

Method

Sift flour and baking powder together into a bowl.

Cream the sugar and butter in a separate bowl with 1/2 tsp of salt on medium speed until batter is smooth and pale.

Blend in the cream.

Whisk eggs, oil and orange juice together, adding to butter-cream mixture in 3 batches, mixing well after each addition.

Blend in zest and poppy seeds.

Add flour in 3 batches, mixing on low speed after each addition.

Fill muffin cups up to 3/4 full. Tap them onto a table gently to help the batter settle into the cups.

Bake in a preheated oven at 191 degrees celcius for 30 minutes or until a toothpick inserted emerges clean.

Leave to cool then serve with a cup of hot tea.

Good Chocolate Loving

Just a couple of weeks ago, I attended a talk on Pho. In my quest for more food knowledge, I eagerly signed up for another talk on Chocolate (An Enlightened Age: Chocolate in the 18th Century), and managed to tempt 8 other friends and family along.

Vincent Bourdin, the regional pastry consultant of Valrhona, spoke about how chocolate moved across the seas, how it evolved from a drink into a food, and how chocolate had been deeply intertwined in societal changes.

It was rather amusing when he whipped out a long stick to point to parts of the map in question. Very old-school and somewhat sexy, especially with his thick, black-rimmed glasses and tres strong French accent.

Things started getting sweet when some hot chocolate was served. Chef Bourdin had used a recipe that he felt best reflected the way it was made in the 18th century, which meant infusing cinnamon, pepper, cloves and adding orange blossom water to melted chocolate and just a touch of sugar.

What resulted was a strong, spicy hot chocolate, not like anything I had ever tried before. If you can imagine the heady, earthy chai tea meeting and falling in love with deep, rich and slightly bitter hot chocolate, Chef Bourdin's version of hot chocolate would be their love child.

While my friends and family finished their portions down to the last drop, even going back for second servings after the talk, it wasn't popular with everyone. My neighbour hardly touched his and offered his share to me, which I regret not taking now.

These talks have been pretty fun, and at merely $10-$25 per session, it's really a steal especially because of the big names that have been pulled in to conduct these talks. It shouldn't be surprising then, that a couple of my friends and I have already signed up for an upcoming one where we'll be eating out way through Austrian desserts. Sounds like pure bliss!

And now at a street near you!

There are days when all you want is a big bowl of meepok, extra chilli, extra black vinegar. There are days when you know you wouldn't make it through the day if you don't get your hands on some chocolate fudge cake within the next half hour. And then there are those days when you're really looking forward to winding down the day with a big, huge bowl of crisp leafy salad tossed in some ultra-light but tasty dressing. Something 'light, plentiful and delicious'.

I had been searching for this elusive bowl of salad, a bowl that would be substantial enough to be an entire meal in itself. But more often than not, the salads I found were tiny little pretentious fistfuls placed in the middle of a big plate. In the worst of occasions, they were not well-dressed having been tossed in some oil-based dressing when the salad had not been completely dry, causing the dressing to slip off callously.

By sheer accident however, I chanced upon the ONE. I was with a couple of friends for some drinks after work one day and wasn't in the mood for the usual pub grub of ribs, sausages or mash. So I ordered a healthy sounding Soba Noodle Salad despite the seemingly hefty price tag on it. It arrived with great aplomb, and upon the first bite convinced me to willingly part with every dollar I forked out for the bill.

Soba Noodle Salad Takeaway

Such a contradiction of worlds, to have found such a fantastic bowl of salad in Brewerkz of all places. Before then, I would never have stepped into it because of the wanna-be vibe I got just from itz name. But I've been a faithful customer, bringing groups of friends there for 'drinks', however only ordering salad and water. Sure, I felt a little out of place, but it's that good. Even my mum raves about it now.

I was over the moon when I found out Brewerkz opened another outlet along Bukit Timah Road. Among the other outlets, this is its smallest, which explains a more limited menu. But all the westies would be happy to know that the Soba Noodle Salad is on the menu.

Lately, I discovered a couple of new, wonderful eateries near my home in the western part of Singapore. One of which has been blogged about by CH recently, that I've become a regular at together with my family. It's always nice to know that the ride home after dinner is a mere 5 minutes away, and not a 10-minute-walk-to-the-carpark-then-a-30-minute-drive away. More good news to come for all the westies out there!

Update (May): I visited the Bukit Timah outlet recently and ordered what else but the soba noodle salad, but was disappointed by the portion and the dressing that lacked oomph. I hope it's a teething issue!

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

I Heart Fer... Pho.

We all have various places we HAVE to visit when travelling. While some look for beautiful scenery, others might aim to cover all the museums in that country. My dad happens to be one of those museum buffs who would drag his poor daughter through the Louvre as he literally inches his way through the many, many rooms.

I have had terrible impressions of museums. They either had paintings or sculptures that look more similar the more I stared at them, or (in more contemporary museums) had odd installations that I could not make head or tail of.

I on the other hand, am almost always guided by my stomach when travelling. So while I popped into a couple of museums here and there, they're never on my priority list. I hardly even visited local museums except on school excursions countless years ago.

So I thought it was extremely clever of the National Museum of Singapore to put together a Food & Culture Series last year. I managed to attend just one of the talks on Mortar and Pestle, given by a very engaging Christopher Tan. Not only did I enjoy the session, it included a tour of the very stunningly renovated National Museum, and effectively changed my view of museums.

This year, the National Museum has organised a second Food & Culture Series. I was fortunate enough to snag a seat in the first of the talks on Vietnamese Pho (pronounced as 'fer'). When I arrived at the rotunda, I was welcomed by an awe-inspiring replica of David wrapped in a beautiful brocade textile (see picture above).

'The Story of Pho, The Story of a Nation' was a short talk on the history of this popular Vietnamese Beef Noodle dish, covering everything from the wars in Vietnam to the height of Pho in the 1940s. While a little heavy going, there were certainly illuminating and light-hearted moments. Perhaps the best part, and the part that everyone was probably waiting for, was the Pho tasting we were all served at the end of the talk, washed down with sweet mint tea.

It's great to know that as part of this second series, the course on chocolate is back by popular demand. Most exciting for me though, is the discussion on whether Food is Art where prominent chefs and artists will be brought together to battle it out. What's really unbelieveable is that it is free! The National Museum really knows that the way to many of our hearts (or at least mine) is through our stomach.

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.

Waffles that truly kick ass

Search no further for the lightest, most crisp waffles you'll ever find. There are times when you want something dense, chewy and comforting - like a deep, dark chocolate cookie, or a thick slice of chunky apple pie. But if you, like me, are concerned about packing on the kilograms with a mostly sedentary lifestyle that is inevitable when the going gets tough at work, then the last thing you would want after a heavy meal is another super heavy dessert.

These waffles, which I have blogged about before, comes out high on the list of desserts I'd serve friends during dinner parties. They should be made ala minute, and even better if everyone could make and decorate their own waffles.

Not only are they super delicious with just a little maple syrup or chocolate sauce, my friends somehow get a kick out of being able to play with their own food - even those who just don't think cooking or baking is as fun as I make it out to be, and who probably won't ever hold a whisk till the cows come home.

These yeasted waffles have a way of bringing the little kid out in everyone. A waffle party sounds like a damn super good idea now.

Hip Tastes

How many times have you picked up a book on wine, only to either get lost within the first few sentences, or get droopy-eyed and regret ever wanting to learn more about wines. No matter how thin the book, how big the font or how many illustrations there were in the countless books I'd picked up at the book store, I would always slot it back into the shelf.


So when I received 2 books last Christmas, 1 about food and the other about wines, it was a natural choice to get started on the food book first. But when I finally got down to the book about wine - Hip Tastes, I was blown away by how easy it was to digest the information and instantly felt silly for ignoring it for so long.


While I'm not saying that I am now able to tell you which vineyards in Australia produce great Rieslings, at the very least I know how wines are made and the various major varieties of wine as well as their typical characteristics. The greatest part of the book? It kept me engaged from page to page. I was always reluctant to put it down for the night, something that only happens to me when I'm reading a novel with a gripping plot.

This would be THE book I'd recommend to wine novices like me, not know where to start and apprehensive about going for wine appreciation classes because of the potential of looking like a fool among those with far more sensitive palates, who can sniff out notes of tobacco and vanilla.

Inspired and raring to start experiencing wines, I organised a late-afternoon wine-tasting session with a couple of friends. I prepared some scallops and tomatoes while my friends contributed cheeses, grapes and sausages, all great fodder so that the alcohol wouldn't go straight to our head.

Using information from the book, I wrote interesting facts and common descriptions of each wine we had. We used these descriptions to guide our sniffing and swirling, trying to pick out aromas and flavours from each wine. We then each had to guess whether wine number 1 was a Muscadet, Pinot Grigio or a Sauvignon Blanc. It was really fun, and while we didn't emerge from the session as wine connoisseurs, it was a great way to spend the afternoon.

Or night, for that matter. We had a huge interlude after the reds and whites, played a couple of hours of Wii before carrying on with the dessert wine, ice cream and fresh strawberries. Oddly enough, you'd think that after all that wine I'd be smashed the next day. But I was more sore from the frantic punching movements for Wii than groggy from all the wines. Yet another great way to spend the weekend in. If you can't go out and join your friends, lure them to your home!

Chocolate-Toffee Cookie

I've been stuck at home the whole weekend, or more accurately, I've been bound to my laptop because once in a while I'd receive an sms asking me to check my email as soon as possible. It's no fun, so I'm glad this won't last for long.

Given lemons, we should make some tangy, refreshing and spunky lemonade. Given bittergourd, we should stir-fry them with deliciously salty black bean sauce and pork ribs until meltingly soft. So I stopped whining about not being able to visit my favourite shopping haunts, and did something I had not done in a while - bake.

As easy as 1, 2, 3, 4.

Epicurious recently did an article about their most popular recipes on their website. Among a Three-Cheese Fondue with Champagne, Creme Brulee French Toast, and a Double Chocolate Layer Cake was a Giant Chocolate-Toffee Cookie that looked like all the elements of a great chocolate cookie rolled (or in this case, baked) into one.

Thinking it'd be a great idea to bring a big jar of chocolate cookies to work to help everyone cope with the Monday blues, I went out to buy some chocolate-coated toffee bars and eggs. When I settled into the whisking, stirring, scraping and chopping in my kitchen, I was reminded how much I really enjoy baking, cooking, preparing food. I literally stood in front of my oven, unable to peel my eyes away from the beautifully bubbling batter.

True enough, all elements of a great chocolate cookie - chewy, intensely chocolate-y and yummiliciously rich. Not to mention that these are not difficult to bake, and do not require any fancy equipment or ingredients.

I think I could get used to this. Not that I want to get stuck at home during the weekends, virtually chained to my laptop. But if this ever happens again, I know just the thing to do to help ease my pain.

Kim Bak Soon

If not for my younger cousin who has a liking for all things Korean, and has just returned from an exchange programme in Seoul, I would never have thought of preparing kimchi (Korean appetisers usually served in tiny portions at the beginning of every meal) or anything from that land of abusive girlfriends and chauvinistic men.


Like a fish out of water, I scrutinised every item on the shelves in the Korean mini-mart baffled by the unfamiliar strokes, trying to find for Jajangmyeon noodles and other things like Shin Kimchi or the hot, red pepper powder that I'm certain has another tongue-twisting Korean name for it.

Surprisingly however, the preparation in the kitchen is not as complicating as shopping for the ingredients. It was terribly easy once all the ingredients were at hand. To make Bak Choi Kimchi it was just a matter of soaking the vegetables in brine and rinsing it before mixing it with the homemade Kimchi paste that was put together in a flash the blender. Other Kimchi-s such as the Poggi Kimchi (Napa cabbage) or the Kaktugi (Radish) followed almost the same steps.


Making the Kimchi Jeon (Kimchi pancake) or Pa Jeon (Seafood pancake) was even more brainless. Flour, egg, water, whisk, add filling, fry! According to my little cousin, only the most sour type of Kimchi that is generally used for cooking and not eating (very much like cooking chocolate vs. eating chocolate) should be used for the Kimchi Jeon. Unfortunately there was no Shin Kimchi in the mini-mart, but I settled for what the store owner pointed to as the more sour version of all the kimchi-s she had.


Our Kimchi Jeon turning out hilariously thick as I had poured too much batter into the tiny frying pan, resulting in it having nowhere else to run but upwards. But it was still incredibly tasty and satisfying. The kimchi provided enough saltiness to allow it to subsist without the usual accompaniment of light soy sauce.










Being adventurous and perhaps overly ambitious, we also made JaJangMyeon (Zha Jiang Mian, Black Bean Paste Noodles) and rice balls using recipes from my latest cookbook purchase: 'Discovering Korean Cuisine - Recipes from the Best Korean Restaurants in LA'. We also made pork nuggets using a recipe my cousin picked up from Seoul.


The following morning I decided I'd use some leftover cooked crabmeat to make a Pa Jeon. I added sliced squid rings and fresh prawns and attained a more delicate tasting pancake whose flavours were accentuated with a touch of light soy sauce.


If I had known it'd be so easy, I would have started much, much earlier. Of course, now the problem would be figuring out which of the 20 varieties of roasted, seasoned seaweed staring at me blankly in the mini-mart the recipe is asking for! And if I can single-handedly finish all the kimchi my cousin and I made that is now sitting pretty in huge containers in the fridge, I will turn into what my brother calls 'Kim Bak Soon'. Very bak (meaty) indeed. If anyone would like to challenge how one can get bak purely on vegetables alone, one look at my perfectly rotund bunny who eats hay, hay and more hay, should put an end to that conversation.

Chinese Take-outs

Ironically, but perhaps unsurprisingly, when I saw these tres cute Chinese take-out boxes, it reminded me more of America than of China. The first time I saw these was on an American television programme, thanks to globalisation, where a fair-skinned, pale-haired couple was eating noodles clumsily with a pair of wooden chopsticks.

Ever since I spotted them at 'Baguette' at Raffles City Shopping Centre (they use it for their salad takeaways), I have been hunting them down. Lo and behold, where else would I spot it but at Spotlight, the one-stop place for arts and craft that also stocks random home-ware.

It was also extremely timely and felicitous that I spotted them just a day before a scheduled American-Diner-themed potluck party with a couple of friends who studied or have visited America at some point or another. They had no problems coming up with items to bring, we had gherkins, burgers, tater tots, crinkle-cut fries, coleslaw, pancakes, milkshakes... the works.

And because I don't like sending people home empty-handed, I decided to get the take-out boxes to use as a simple packaging for some cookies. Or more specifically, homemade Butter Shortbread Cookies made with love and vanilla beans that imparted delicious scent and flavour. I spiked half of the batch with lemon essence and a touch of cinnamon, while I added dried cranberries and raisins to the other half batch.

I used to have to take a whole day just to fill up my cookie jar. Well I bet you would too if you were using a tiny convection oven, that doubled up as a microwave oven, too small to bake more than 6 muffins or a batch of 9 cookies at one time. Agonising would be too mild a word to use and everytime I baked cookies they were truly a labour of love. More labour than love though. Thankfully a built-in convection oven solved all that. I can now bake 2 sheets of cookies at one go, each holding up to 40 cookies each.

And so within just two hours, after placing the big bowl of coleslaw in the chiller and putting a lid on the saucepan of freshly made barbeque sauce, I had about 100 shortbread cookies filling the home with the irresistible aroma of butter and cinnamon.

Ever since my alma mater - SCGS - introduced me to the wonderful world of baking with cheese twists and scones, I have baked countless cookies using countless recipes. And only a handful of these cookies have stood out, for their amazing crumbly texture, their oat-ful chewiness (even if they don't look appetising at all), their incredibly nutty flavour, or simply for how cute they look.

What this cookie stands out for is in its slight touch of saltiness, that while may sound odd, definitely tastes unique. But not unique the way one would usually say, 'Hmmm, this Fennel Cheesecake certainly tastes... *gag*... unique.' On the contrary, the mildly perceptible saltiness of the cookies seemed to help accentuate the lemon essence and the amazing vanilla.

Admittedly, the cookies are more crunchy than melt-in-your-mouth crumbly, the way I expect shortbread cookies to be. I would lower the temperature a little in future and bake them only until the very moment their edges turn sun-kissed. But I'm sure that even if the cookies had turned out rock hard, my friends would have appreciated the gesture. Who can resist such cute Chinese take-out boxes?!

Click here for Ming Tsai's recipe on Epicurious, for the Butter Shortbread Cookies.

D.I.Y.

I'm so terribly ashamed of myself. That for as long as I have not blogged, I have not touched a pan, or a whisk. Nor the pale yellow skin of a bulb of fresh, raw garlic. Or heard the sizzle of the garlic as it touches gently heated olive oil.

In the past few weeks, when people talked about food, my eyes didn't sparkle the way they usually would have. Even more blasphemous, I caught myself, on multiple occasions during lunch, buying a tuna sandwich that was evidently hastily put together a good 4 hours ago, rather than queueing up for a delicious bowl of Wanton Noodles at the store next door. Of course, that tuna sandwich would not be able to fill me up, and I would resort to crackers or biscuits at half-hourly intervals.

Each weekend was burnt paying back my sleep debt that I had accumulated at an alarming rate through the week. I spent my few waking hours putting some food into my tummy just so that I would not be disturbed by a growling tummy while I was asleep.

I wasn't sulking my days away of course, but I must admit rather embarrassingly that my kitchen apron has been very much neglected. Of course, this blog included.

I have however, much fodder to last me a couple of blog entries to come, just simply no time to blog about it. And so it is, that I am at my desk now, taking a much needed break while waiting for my bosses to reply my emails, blogging about homemade ricotta cheese.

Making cheese is possibly among the ranks of making ice-cream for most people - incredulously impossible. Yet both are, like the violin or the guitar, so deceptively simple to pick up, though perhaps difficult to master. While I approached the recipe that I had spotted in Donna Hay's magazine on making my own ricotta cheese with much trepidation, I am extremely delighted to report that it is incredibly simple.

My friends who had arrived early for a party, were eager beavers and asked to help. So they got into an assembly line to dish out little table water crackers of homemade ricotta cheese, oven roasted tomatoes soaked in olive oil (yes, the same ones from the previous post), diced ham and parsley. Season and serve, tres simple.

It helped that the ricotta cheese could be made up to a week in advance so I didn't have to worry about the ricotta cheese draining in time for the finger food to be served. A word of warning however, is that starting out with just a little milk will yield a pathetically measley portion of ricotta cheese. So be daring and just pour the whole darned carton of fresh milk in!

Ricotta

Makes 1 1/4 cups (287g)

Donna Hay Issue 35

Ingredients

6 cups (48 fl oz) full cream milk

2 tbspns white vinegar

Method

Place milk and a candy thermometer in a saucepan over medium heat and heat to 80 degrees celcius.

Remove from heat, add vinegar and allow to sit for 5 minutes or until curds form.

Line a colander with fine muslin and place over a deep bowl.

Use a slotted spoon to carefully spoon the curds into the colander.*

Allow to drain for 5 minutes.

(I improvised with some coffee machine filter paper instead.)

Spoon the ricotta into a glass or ceramic dish and loosely cover with plastic wrap.

Store in the refrigerator for up to 1 week.

* The reason the curds need to be carefully spooned is to ensure they hold their shape. Pouring the curds straight into the colander will result in the cheese becoming dry and grainy.