salt & sage

♥ finding peace in the kitchen.

[thequietcooks]

"In part, the mortar and pestle remain timeless because their design still works, but their appeal in the kitchen extends beyond usefulness and into ritual. (...) by applying muscle to transform ingredients into paste or powder, the mortar and pestle help the cook form a bond with his or her food. These two tools on the shelf, inseparable partners, promise work, intimacy, and an elegant testament to the staying power of simple things." there always seemed to me to be a degree of mysticism associated with the mortar and pestle. maybe it's their natural longevity.. their tendency to be passed down as an inheritance, carrying the history of a family just as much as they do the memories of all the food they've ever contained.

[thequietcooks]

"Following the instructions in a recipe is like parroting pre-formed sentences from a phrasebook. Forming an understanding of how flavours work together, on the other hand, is like learning the language: it allows you to express yourself freely, to improvise, to find appropriate substitutions for ingredients, to cook a dish the way you fancy cooking it." - Niki Segnit

[thequietcooks]

getting back into the routine of cooking is difficult, especially when you have broken it for a while in a cycle of work-big live event-work-coming home late-spatial issues with kitchen-etc. it has been a struggle for me for months. the kitchen is not in order, and while we tried some workarounds, it has been a long struggle. (a two year struggle.)

and then came the festive season. thanksgiving and christmas. the season where you have the opportunity to cook and cook and cook, and maybe with that form new habits, savor little wins, and feel like you can finally get back on track again. 

for the holiday season, my partner and i cooked at other people’s houses, which provided us a glimpse at what other “work spaces” can look like, which helps us inform what’s wrong with our own space, and what we can do better to help organize our workflow.

we like organization - mise en plase. we like game plans for big meals. we like a good flow from storage to prep to cooking to plating to delivery to cleancleanclean all the way. we like the idea of composting so every part of your food is accounted for. we like good ergonomics. we like music while cooking. 

i like small tongs (8″ ones, with steel ends) to plate food. i like kitchen scissors for they are multi-purpose. i like having my iPhone nearby so i can bark “set timer for 10 minutes” and be reminded to check my roast vegetables in the oven. (or to ask Siri to “tell me a haiku”.) i like ramekins and small bowls for prep work. i like the right-sized whisk to make vinaigrette. i cannot imagine living without a mortar and pestle (but in a pinch, i’ve channeled my inner MacGyver and turned the end of a heavy stirring spoon into a pestle). 

now that we are back in our own space, on a weekday, with days left to the new year. i just cooked us lunch from the random things we have left in our horribly dysfunctional apartment space. from the odds and ends i found, i’m pretty proud i cobbled together a meal that was reminiscent of something my mother would make us kids - baked beans with canned dace, served with rice and topped with a fried egg. (except in my MacGyver version, i used aduki beans to take the place of regular canned baked beans.) i even got the egg done beautifully, it made my heart ache in joy (non-stick pan, pour oil in high heat, crack an egg into the hot oil and count to ten, put on a cover over the pan and turn it down to medium and count to sixty, and when you open the pan it should look pretty. should.) 

i am terrified of losing this routine - to cook, to have control over what i eat. but i think this is a little victory that i should celebrate... where i had chosen to cook us a quick lunch instead of giving in to going out. (perhaps the weather warning of an impending winter storm has a lot to do with making me feel like i don’t want to step out of this space. or perhaps i have other fears i battle.) 

but one never knows. 2015 has been quite the year for me, personally and for my food-and-cooking-related adventures. perhaps this is becoming a routine. 

but if all else fails, i will remember the little victories, and remember that it’ll get there. 

- sook jin.

[thequietcooks]

There's the present, there's the past. And on a certain rainy morning I had the feeling that I went beyond time to find a spot in the continuum just for myself. They was how the tea made me feel at that moment, its sweet, unruffled smell which seemed to sink into everything.

Banana Yoshimoto, in 'Amrita'

[thequietcooks]

When we cook things, we transform them. And any small acts of transformation are among the most human things we do. Whether it’s nudging dried leaves around a patch of cement, or salting a tomato, we feel, when we exert tiny bits of our human preference in the universe, more alive.

Tamar Adler, in An Everlasting Meal

[thequietcooks]

Jeong Kwan, the Philosopher Chef

The most exquisite food in the world, say many celebrated chefs, is being made not in Copenhagen or New York, but in a remote temple complex south of Seoul by a 59-year-old Buddhist nun.

“Kwan believes that the ultimate cooking — the cooking that is best for our bodies and most delicious on our palates — comes from this intimate connection with fruits and vegetables, herbs and beans, mushrooms and grains. In her mind, there should be no distance between a cook and her ingredients. ‘‘That is how I make the best use of a cucumber,’’ she explains through a translator. ‘‘Cucumber becomes me. I become cucumber. Because I grow them personally, and I have poured in my energy.’’ She sees rain and sunshine, soil and seeds, as her brigade de cuisine. She sums it up with a statement that is as radically simple as it is endlessly complex: ‘‘Let nature take care of it.’’

[thequietcooks]

cooking at its most peaceful.

[thequietcooks]

popping in to share something i saw at a small homely restaurant tonight. - yi-di

[thequietcooks]

I grew up eating Malaysian food, so I'm a little biased. But I think because I spent so much time away from Malaysia and seen how people eat in Australia and elsewhere, I realise that the strength of Malaysian food has always been its multiculturism.

Adam Liaw, winner of Masterchef Australia 2010

[thequietcooks]

The most important thing in raising food to the level of an art form is to touch the hearts of those who eat it. And the only thing that can touch an person's heart is another person's heart-- you can't fake it by relying on good ingredients and techniques!

Oishinbo, Tetsu Kariya

[thequietcooks]

In the business of harmonious blending, one must make use of the sweet, sour, bitter, pungent and salty. Whether things are to be added earlier or later and in what amounts-- their balancing is very subtle and each thing has its own characteristic. The transformation which occurs in the cauldron is quintessential and wondrous, subtle and delicate. The mouth cannot express it in words; the mind cannot fix upon an analogy. It is like the subtlety of archery and horsemanship, the transformation of Yin and Yang, or the revolution of the four seasons.

attributed to the chef I Yin in Master Lu's Spring and Autumn Annals, 239 BCE (transl. Donald Harper and H. T. Huang)

[thequietcooks]

(a/n: i wrote this post last week-- a rather harrowing one tbh. i'm feeling a little better now, getting through the days at least (and cooking!), and hope to start posting on the regular here.)

last night, before going to bed, i macerated strawberries and brined a kilo of pork shoulder in shio koji. (shio koji is my latest obsession that i must talk about in another post. briefly, it's rice and salt inoculated with a breed of fungus that breaks down the complex molecules in your food and makes it taste magical.)

i haven't written much here because i'm going through a rough time. it's common to hear that doing small things, carrying on with the mundane in life helps during times of trouble. but in truth, when the world is pressing down on you like that, it's so hard to even get started on the simplest tasks.

but once you do, once you push past the fugue in your head, you have a few seconds of peace, a small escape from the world. you slip into a wonderful sort of meditative state-- slicing strawberries, tossing them with sugar and watching them turn plump and ruby-red. almost immediately the sugar intensifies that beautiful strawberry smell, and you just have to breathe it in and smile. wash your hands, and move on to the pork. in its container, the pork starts to gleam as you lovingly rub the shio koji into it. it's beautiful to watch.

i talk to my ingredients here; i wish them a good night and tell them to get as tasty as possible. there's something peaceful about overnight food treatments; something comforting about knowing that they'll greet you the next day better versions of themselves.

and then i go to bed too, and tell myself that maybe tomorrow i'll emerge better too.

- yi-di

[thequietcooks]

31 august 2014

happy 57th, malaysia.

it’s been a hard year for us. it’s harder still being so far away in a country that reminds me so little of my own.

you can’t really talk about malaysia without talking about its food. that malaysia is a nation of devoted food-lovers is a topic that has been discussed to death, but it’s the truth. our food has become so embedded in our identity, and we love it passionately and without question. it may seem a trivial joy in comparison to the scandals and disasters and flaws of our country, but it’s a joy and a pleasure all the same.

my fondest memories almost inevitably center around food. i remember my father taking us to breakfast every weekend, and how we’d complain about the heat and the discomfort of sitting in a shabby coffee shop but still happily devour our bowls of pan mee when they came. i remember nasi lemak bungkus - oddly enough the ones from the wet market near my grandmother’s house - the smell of sambal, coconut and banana leaf, and the sound of the plastic spoon as it scraped against the waxed brown paper. the squeak of a styrofoam container as you crack it open to get to the perfect single portion of chicken rice, undoing the small packets of chilli sauce and soy sauce and pouring them into the top half of the container. i remember so many conversations with family and with friends around tables that seemed to sag under the weight of the dishes we’d ordered. i remember that the sweetest reminder that you are loved is to be brought back gifts of food - whether it’s kuih for dad’s afternoon tea, a favourite fruit suddenly in season, or soya bean pudding from a night market too far to visit yourself - this is how we say “i’m thinking of you”.

the food of malaysia is like no other. have you seen anything else like it? i think the food of a nation goes hand in hand with its history. when i think about malaysian food, i think of home-sick immigrants trying to cook the food of their fathers in this alien tropical land, adapting and fluorishing and making the best of what they  had. i love how we’ve grown up, this young ex-colonial country of immigrants, so wonderfully aware of all the different cultures around us, and how we’ve assimilated together and turned disparate identities into our very unique own. i love these photos because they show the wealth and diversity of the food we eat and who we are.

[thequietcooks]

merdeka day post part 2: food from penang

penang is usually one of two things for most people: a beachside resort or a bustling food paradise. for us it was both. to an extent, our trips to penang are incredibly ritualistic. we would spend our days by the pool and the beach (quite pathetic really as far as beaches go), and then make the winding drive down to the lowlands to buy the famous penang tau sar pneah biscuits, eat cendol and assam laksa from the same store we can never quite remember the name of, then drive back up to batu ferringhi and have dinner at the same lovely mom & pop owned restaurant every night. once again, the association with food is so powerful, it's impossible to think of penang without thinking of all these wonderful warm food memories.

(click for captions)

[thequietcooks]

it’s a nice chilly saturday, so i made a little apple crumble tarte tatin ♪

this is a funny recipe because it is a conglomeration of three different recipes and techniques— the apple filling is lifted from my trusty old apple pie recipe, the topping is a basic crumble recipe, and the caramel is adjusted from a tarte tatin recipe.

i started with the apples. i just wanted something small and easy to bake and eat out of my small cast-iron pan so i began the morning by toasting some pecans and peeling and slicing two apples— one granny smith and one pink lady. i let them marinate in cinnamon, sugar, lemon juice and a bit of salt while i carried on with my day.

a couple of hours later, i drained the apples, saving the juice that they had released. dry apples make for a good tart. i also made a crumble topping, because i didn’t feel up to making a shortcrust or a puff pastry. the crumble is any easy yummy option: 35 g each of flour, oats, diced butter, sugar, and chopped toasted nuts. stir, then squish it all up with your fingers till you get a nice crumbly mix.

i left the apples to drain for as  long as it took for me to do my things, then it was time to make the caramel, something i’ve never done before! i started by mixing 100 g of sugar with 25 g of water and the reserved apple juices directly in the pan i planned on baking the tart in. (I might half this or double the apples in the future) let it sit, then put it over low heat, stirring all the while till it turns brown and toasty. i enjoyed this part a lot— feeling the change in the consistency of the gritty sugar-water mix to a smooth, bubbling syrup was incredibly fun and made me think of my time in the lab. if you dare, increase the heat and keep stirring. otherwise, keep going low and slow. the best advice i’ve read regarding the making of caramel is: hold your nerve. you don’t want to burn it, but undercooking isn’t good either. there were times i began to doubt the suddenly opaque, thick, pasty thing in my saucepan but i held my nerve. add 25 g of butter and some salt, and stir well. pull it off the heat as soon as it starts to darken; it will continue cooking for a bit longer even off the heat, so err on the side of caution. let it cool for a bit.

assembly time. arrange the apple slices in the caramel, return to heat and simmer for about 5 minutes. then cover it with the topping (i thought i had made a little too much, but it was just right! apparently you can freeze extra unbaked crumble topping, and use it whenever you make stewed/baked fruits in the future), and bake at 180C for 20 minutes, until the caramel comes bubbling out the sides and the the crumble is nice and golden.

verdict: it was REALLY good!! i’m glad it all fit so perfectly in my little cast iron pan, and that the adjusted ingredient quantities worked out! i served it with vanilla ice cream and it was perfect. the apples were perfectly tender and warmly fragrant with cinnamon, the caramel held it all together, and the crunchy mellow topping was absolutely delicious with the toasted pecans. all in, it was a very nice satisfying way to spend a saturday.

- yi-di

[thequietcooks]

this is one of my favourite commercials ever. i'm not the kind of person to even have a favourite commercial but this one by lurpak butter (also my favourite butter so far) is just wonderful and charming and so beautifully captures the essence of a home cook. it's like something out of amelie with the charm of pushing daisies, i can't describe it but it's lovely, trust me.

speaking of butter, there's something quite irreplaceable about bringing home and trying a perfect pristine block of butter for the first time. something about the very first smear on pure white bread, just bread and butter and nothing else. all butters are not made equal and i love tasting and trying my way through each one.

[thequietcooks]

i have been inspired by yi-di's beautiful post on fried rice, and i am pleased that i finally have the time to cook that today. i was struck particularly by this quote from her, "no other dish shows such individuality or love". fried rice is one of those dishes that i've always loved as a child, and has been one of my go-to reminders that cooking can be fun, simple, and still wholesome in a plate.

i tend to experiment with what i put in it, but lately whenever i make fried rice, it is often inspired by the nasi goreng kampung (loosely translated as 'village fried rice') variety found in Malaysia. the key differentiating ingredient here is sambal, an aromatic chilli paste that is used as both a flavor and color in this version.

my take on making this fried rice today includes:

home-made sambal: with a few simple ingredients, one can make sambal from scratch. (caveat: i tend to stock these ingredients, and i know not all kitchens do.) today mine consists of a mix of dried chillies (i used the regular dried kind bought back home in Malaysia, in combination with guajillo and cascabel varieties that are often sold in mexican stores), chopped garlic, tamarind paste, ginger, and brown sugar. usually i would have onions or shallots, but i compensate by using more garlic than i usually would. (note: do soak your dried chillies prior to using them!) all these ingredients were sauteed over medium heat. i added dried anchovies into the mix towards the end. (this is optional. also, the anchovies i used were from japanese snack packs, so they're already pre-cooked, saving me the hassle of frying them beforehand.)

stir-fried baby bok choy: did this by itself - just a simple stir-fry of vege leaves and stems with garlic and oil. put aside when done.

sausages: oh the delight of using one of seward co-op's inventions. for this iteration, i used the vietnamese giosong pork sausage variety. it has flecks of rice and cilantro in it, with other beautiful spice combinations. yum!  quick trick: so, as a person who works full time, i can get quite forgetful when it comes to defrosting meat before i leave for work. fortunately, sausages are quite forgiving that way. cut them up the way you want (while they're frozen), put some liquid into the pan, put them in it, and let it sizzle on gentle heat. please don't make the mistake of putting them in hot oil. the water from the frozen sausage bits will cause the oil to splash, or worse, jump out at you. (SCIENCE!)  for this iteration, the liquid i use to defrost the sausage bits was magic hat's #9 not-quite-pale-ale. just a quarter of the can... because the rest's mine. 

rice: self-explanatory. make rice. will fry. preferably overnight. yi-di gave a great reason as to why you should use overnight rice,... but say if you ever, ever find yourself in a situation where you just have to have to have fried rice, i would recommend making the rice, then whip out a clean pan, put some butter in it, and put the rice in... and stir vigorously as if your life depends on it. do. not. fail. this. task. and perhaps you'll come close to the perfection that is leftover rice. perhaps. at least you've tried. right?

i combined all of these ingredients together in the end, and gave it an epic stir over small-to-medium heat. here, you have to move fast, because you don't want your rice to stick to the bottom of the pan.

and then you witness the beauty that is my dinner today.