A Tiger In The Kitchen

Pfeffernüsse: Victory Sweets

 

My mother called the other day, saying she'd been thinking it was time for a change.

Time, specifically, to take down the massive German flag that's been hanging in my girlhood bedroom in Singapore since the 1990 World Cup. (And the discovery of the wonder that is Jurgen Klinsmann.)

There were protestations, of course -- the Germans were doing well in this year's World Cup. They might win it all again! Why jinx things by folding up my precious flag?

That point, of course, is moot right now. After getting trounced by the Spanish earlier this week, the Germans take to the field today -- not to fight for the World Cup. Instead, third place is theirs -- if they're lucky.

Now, when I'm stressed or depressed, I tend to storm the kitchen. So, what to make for this occasion?

"Time to write about some octopus recipes!" my friend Kevin suggested. (Given that I don't sanction the rallying cry to grill Paul the Psychic Octopus, who predicted, to his German aquarium's dismay, that Spain would knock Germany out of the semi-finals, I decided to ignore this.)

Something more humane, perhaps. Cookies, for example, seemed harmless enough.

And Martha Stewart had just the recipe ...

Pineapple Tarts: The Start Of The Journey

 

In the beginning, there were pineapple tarts.

These buttery, crumbly, bite-sized marvels bewitched me as a child in Singapore. My paternal grandmother made the best ones, of course -- every Chinese new year, she would hit the kitchen to churn out her tarts, pushing me to eat as many as I wanted as we sat in her living room, unhurriedly passing time.

I never learned to make my grandmother's tarts as a child, unfortunately.

When I was 11, she died. And the chance for her to teach me anything suddenly vanished.

After many years of mourning this lost opportunity, I traveled back to Singapore in early 2009 to learn how to make these tarts from my aunts. My grandmother had taught them how to bake the tarts when she was alive and they were now the keepers of her prized recipe, which I've included below.

The experience was enlightening -- but it also generated a spark. I now knew how to make the tarts of my grandmother, a legendary cook in our family and to all she knew.

But still, I wanted more.

Thus began a journey of discovery -- one that would take place in the kitchens of my Singapore family. Over the next lunar calendar year, the women of my family would gather over hot stoves to laugh, tell stories, shake our heads and, above all else, cook.

The story of my journey will be shared very soon. (Hyperion's Voice is publishing "A Tiger In The Kitchen" in January 2011.)

But first, it must be written -- and so I must bow out of this blog for a while. Seven weeks, to be exact. (Special thanks to Yaddo, the artists' colony, for generously offering me a nook in the woods to think and create.)

I hope you'll forgive this absence, but you must admit, it's for a rather good reason. 

When I return in late April, I'll be looking for all of you. My year of cooking in Singapore is over but the journey continues here. And I hope you'll be coming along with me.

Until then, buon appetito and enjoy ...

Prosperity Cakes (Fatt Gou): Ushering In A Rich Tiger Year

You will have to excuse the radio silence on this blog. 

Between stuffing myself with pineapple tarts and cooking up a storm in Singapore, there simply hasn't been a spare moment since the Chinese year of the Tiger began on Sunday to sit down and pen an intelligible sentence.

Amid the bacchanalia, however, some lessons have been learned. The deeper ones -- about family, love and the enduring power of ancestral lore -- I won't go into. (You'll just have to buy the book.) 

But the Chinese new year recipes -- usually designed to conjure success, prosperity or love -- now those, those I'm more than happy to share.

Over the last few days, I've had the good fortune of spending quality time in the kitchen with Auntie Hon Tim, the Colorado-based mother of my dear Auntie Donna in Singapore. Now, Auntie Hon Tim used to own and run a Chinese restaurant in Lakewood, Colo. -- so she's got some serious cooking chops. 

Besides teaching me the quickest way to skim fat off a pot of stew and how to rapidly chop carrots without slicing off my fingernails, Auntie Hon Tim has been showing me how to make some of her favorite lunar new year recipes.

On her must list every year is fatt gou, or prosperity cakes -- cupcake-sized desserts that she makes to send friends wishes of riches and sweetness in the new year. 

Panettone: The Seven-Day Bread

 

If you are among the people who believe that nothing says "The Holidays" like a festive loaf of panettone, let me just say this: You are mad.

This bread, it is evil.

It will drive you insane, make you tear your hair out. You may find yourself repeatedly staring intently at an unrising bowl of taupe glop, thinking, "Just, why, God, WHY?"

I mean this for the folks out there attempting to bake it, that is. (If you're the sort who buys panettone in a store then, sure, go for it. I'm sure that's pretty harmless.)

The problem I had here was holiday spirit.

Recently, I found myself so infused with the stuff that I decided to tackle panettone for the Bread Baker's Apprentice challenge. 

Leftover Turkey Hash Brown Quiche: Dieters Beware

As much as I love Thanksgiving, I may adore the days after the holiday even more.

One word: Leftovers.

Sure turkey dinners with stuffing and corn pudding that have been doused in so much gravy that you have a thick, glistening brown moat on your plate are unbeatable. But this is also a great time to rev up your creativity in the kitchen.

What to do with your mounds of leftover turkey? Our Let's Lunch bunch -- a group of far-flung home cooks who have a monthly lunch date on Twitter -- decided to tackle this question for December.

My answer? A garlicky turkey hash brown quiche.

Apple-Cornmeal Cake: A Reason To Celebrate

A dear friend recently asked me what my ideal birthday cake would be.

My immediate answer was a pure pipe dream (in the U.S. anyhow) -- a durian cream cake in which the sliver of cream wedged between two layers of pound cake is flecked with hefty chunks of creamy durian, a pungent, Southeast Asian fruit that's hard to find in New York.

Now, if I can't have durian cake, my second choice would be a vanilla cake coated with a creamy guava or passionfruit icing.

I know, I know.

I have been told I can be hard to please.

Having no durians, passionfruit or guava at hand, however, I set about making myself one of my absolute favorite fall cakes -- an apple-cornmeal upside down cake that is so simple and can be assembled so quickly that I've set it out for more Thanksgiving and autumn meals than I can count. 

In fact, it's what first came to mind when my Let's Lunch group, a bunch of intrepid cooks around the world who have a standing monthly lunch date, decided to do a fall dessert for November.

Mooncakes: The Taste of Sweet Rebellion

 

You know you're walking into a hardcore kitchen when the first thing you see is stacks upon stacks of boxes filled with gorgeous home-made mooncakes.

The women on my Dad's side of the family in Singapore -- they're fearless cooks.

Pineapple tarts, bak-zhang (glutinous rice dumplings wrapped in bamboo leaves), black vinegar-braised pig's trotters? They could whip those together with their eyes closed.

Recently, however, the task at hand was Chinese mooncakes, eaten to mark the Mid-Autumn Festival, which falls this Saturday.

Now, there are a few old stories that explain the reason for eating these little cakes, which usually are filled with sweet lotus-seed paste and come either with a thin, baked crust or a soft, pliant dough skin that's scented with pandan, a vanilla-like flavoring used in many Southeast Asian desserts. My favorite is the one of Ming revolutionaries planning to overthrow the Mongolian rulers of China during the Yuan dynasty and spreading word via letters baked into mooncakes. (Julia Child would've been so proud!)

During my Singaporean girlhood, I'd known the stories, I'd eaten the cakes. As for making them? That seemed so laughably difficult it never once crossed my mind.

It turns out, however, they're incredibly easy to make -- you just need the right teachers.

Cranberry-Walnut Celebration Bread: A Matter of Balance

Earlier this week, I found myself obsessing over balance.

Specifically, how on earth was I supposed to piggyback one braid of cranberry-walnut dough atop another and expect it to be balanced enough to stay on?

I'd heard of difficulties in this area; I'd even seen one picture of a mutant cranberry-walnut celebration bread in which the top layer of this double-decker braided bread had slipped off, forming an "Alien"-like doughy growth.

Given my recent mishaps while baking my way through Peter Reinhart's bread bible, the Bread Baker's Apprentice, I was certain that Alien bread was in my very near future.

But if this weekly baking challenge has taught me anything, it's that the trying is what's important.

So I pulled out the bread flour and let the baking begin ...

A New Red, White And Blue

I've often said that when life gives me lemons, I make lemon thumbprint cookies.

For years now, this Bon Appetit recipe has been a source of comfort and relaxation -- the process is so easy that these cookies are truly therapeutic to bake.

I suppose my friends may know by now that these tend to appear when I'm under some stress. There's no stress in the air this July 4 weekend, however. (Unless you count my mammoth struggles with baking ciabatta for the first time -- more on that later.)

Just a desire to create sweets with somewhat festive hues -- yellow, red and sort-of-purplish blue come close enough for me.

Hey, I wasn't about to whip out the food coloring.