Asian – Food Woolf

Sriracha Chicken

This city has taught me a lot about food, but one of the most important food lessons came in the shape of a plastic bottle with a green cap and nozzle. Sriracha–a sauce created by a Chinese immigrant from Vietnam who relocated in Los Angeles–has flavors that are warm and spicy–like ketchup mixed with garlic and smoked jalapeno. It’s a magical sauce that can transform anything into something spicy good.

During those formative first few months in LA, I spotted the rooster sauce on restaurant tables all over LA–from the Mexican taco stand, late night diners, Chinese restaurants, and an all night Thai place in Hollywood where a Thai man with thick black hair dressed up like Elvis and sang between courses.

I was hesitant to try the spicy red sauce. Before I became a citizen of a multi-cultural city, I had never been exposed to a food city where Mexican, Guatemalan, Thai, Japanese, Korean, Chinese, and Middle-Eastern dishes could be found within miles of my home. I was brought up on simple foods and avoided spice wherever possible. But once I took my first taste of Sriracha sauce I was hooked. I bought a bottle at a Thai market not far from my home and began experimenting with it. Sriracha perked up my scrambled eggs, made the cheap frozen pizzas a I survived on more palatable, and took my Thai cooking up a notch.

In the years since my discovery, I have figured out a way to work Sriracha into many of my mainstay recipes, including sauteed kale, chicken banh mi, caramel pork banh mi, and edamame dip. So when one of the food-loving employees at the restaurant I consult at, told me a story about the Sriracha marinaded fish she cooked the night before, I got inspired. Rather than make my usual roasted chicken for dinner, why not make Sriracha chicken instead? Rather than making things complicated, I kept this recipe really simple. Continue reading “Sriracha Chicken”

September 25

Jook, Love at First Bite (a Project Food Blog Entry)

Project Food Blog congee — Project Food Blog's Second Round Entry

When you move to Los Angeles from small town USA, the culture shock is great. The weather, the cultural diversity, the dominance of the entertainment industry, and the abundance of revealing clothes is all quite astonishing. What’s more, if you want to know anything about food and are curious by nature, every day in Los Angeles can be an opportunity to move outside of your culinary comfort zone.

For this week’s Project Food Blog Challenge (more about that in a bit), the contestants were asked to create a classic dish from outside their comfort zone. What better dish to make than Jook, a rice porridge comfort food from a culinary culture I know very little about.

I first learned about Jook from Jonathan Gold, one of our city’s most famous culinary journalists (and the only winner of the Pulitzer for food writing). Gold is what you’d call L.A.’s poster boy for strip-mall ethnic food. His craft for sculpting words and ability to describe uncommon meals in the most mundane locations has created something of a culinary fad where LA food lovers seek out the most unusual, ethnic eats across the city in our city’s trashiest of locations.

All this is to explain how it came to be that this white girl from Massachusetts has been craving a Korean comfort food I’ve never even tasted before.

congee bowl — The first bite is the greatest

Rice porridge, or Jook in Korea, Congee in China, Okayu in Japan, is a popular comfort food throughout all of Asia. Known for its restorative powers for both the sick and the hung-over, the slow-cooked rice dish is a savory oatmeal that’s eaten for breakfast, a late night snack, or during the lean times. Jook is a creamy porridge that’s both comfort food and a kind of blank canvas for all sorts of great flavors and textures. Slow simmering short grain rice for several hours in water or chicken stock results in a creamy pap that is the perfect food delivery device for the flavors and textures of sesame oil, fish sauce, crunchy pickles, spicy condiments, herbs, meat, seafood, and even a fried egg.

Eating a dish for the first time on a very empty stomach is often the best way to imprint a taste in your memory. I’ll never forget that crusty French bread slathered with rich butter that time I was a starving student in Paris. Nor will I ever forget the flavor of Congee after a day of shopping at the Korean market and rushing around to be ready in time for this Project Food Blog Challenge.

But oh! The jook! It was just beautiful the way the soft fried egg oozed onto the porridge. Or how the sesame oil pooled onto my spoon with a drop of salty fish sauce, creating a fishy vinaigrette. And the salty crunch of the bacon and pungent hit of chopped scallion gave every bite a satisfying texture. The soft porridge is the kind of comfort food that–regardless of your cultural heritage–you immediately want to adopt once you’ve tasted it.

Continue for the easiest Congee Recipe Ever! »

September 13January 3

Vietnamese Cocktail

Some chefs will tell you that there is not such thing as leftovers in a well run restaurant. Everything that isn’t used should be reused for something else. Scraps of vegetables and chicken bones become stock. Left over meat from a special might become that day’s staff meal. And so it is with cocktail making. Whenever I come up with a cocktail—whether it’s for myself at home or for the restaurant I work at–I try to limit my ingredients to those on hand and don’t require an extra purchase or visit to the market.

My recent culinary foray into Vietnamese cuisine and Banh Mi making had me with several extra ingredients that begged for repurposing. The result: a refreshing Vietnamese cocktail made with complimentary ingredients of muddled mint, sweet tangerines, bittersweet Vietnamese caramel (Nuoc Mau), Plymouth Gin, and a splash of rice wine vinegar for balanced acidity. This is a show stopping cocktail for any dinner party or Asian-inspired meal.

Continue for the details on my Vietnamese Cocktail!»

September 6

Caramel Pork Banh Mi

Certain foods elicit recollections of childhood, others conjure up the essence of loved ones. Rare though, is a flavor so particular and influential, the act of consuming it has the power to alter the course of the eater’s life. Turning point foods are those that not only evoke an eater to remember, it defines the eater. So it is for me with Banh Mi.

I never expected a spicy Vietnamese sandwich called Banh Mi, would have the power to delineate my life. And yet, the simple and ultimately complex sandwich—the result of a tumultuous relationship between the French and the native Viets—has lead me to a whole new culinary realm and brought me significant friendships I will cherish forever.

My first taste of Banh Mi was a wake up call from the fiery spirit of a Vietnamese muse. I was living in New York City during a sweltering summer and working as a General Manager and consultant for a soon-to-open restaurant under construction in the Lower East Side. Despite the fact that I was new to the vibrant city, and lived in the heart of a new food mecca (Katz’s Deli, Russ and Daughters, Stanton Social), I lost myself to 16-18 hour work days. Rather than cherishing the opportunity to experience a new city, I poured myself into every passing minute at the restaurant. I was missing everything.

That’s when Banh Mi stepped in to kick my ass.

Continue for the full Vietnamese Caramel Pork Banh Mi Recipe »

September 2

Nuoc Mau: Vietnamese Caramel Sauce

It takes a lot of faith and trust to let something—or someone—change before your eyes. It takes a lot to stand by and watch the process happen, even if you know the final outcome. You can observe, be ready to assist, and offer positive thoughts and well wishes, but ultimately the changing process is up to that person or thing. Some things are just out of your hands.

Take for example Vietnamese Caramel Sauce, or Nuoc Mau. This is a simple syrup made from sugar and water that requires a few seconds of stirring and then fifteen minutes of mindful watching.

What? No stirring? No touching? No manipulation of outcome? Gasp!

It took several failures to learn my lesson in resisting the urge to control the sauce. I had no idea how hard it would be for me to stare at a bubbling pot of hot sugar without manipulating it. I mean, one stir of a spoon and you can ruin the whole thing. An entire batch, ruined because of the need to control the cooking process of sugar and water?

Making Nuoc Mau opened my eyes to just how far my control issues go.

Continue for my Vietnamese Caramel Recipe »

April 12November 14

Easy Late-Night Ramen Recipe

When you work in a restaurant you must be fast thinking, quick on your feet, a skilled multi-tasker, and able to ignore hunger for long periods of time. As a waiter, it’s your job to serve food, not eat it.

Unlike a traditional day job that allows for 30 or 60 minutes for lunch, most restaurant workers don’t get meal breaks. Though there may be a staff meal–a pile of something that’s cheap and easy to make–at the beginning or end of their shift, most restaurant workers are required to work without stop from late afternoon until midnight (or later). Stopping for a bite of bread in some restaurants is an offense worthy of termination.

So when I finish work and the grip of hunger is too strong to deny, I ignore my desire to indulge in delicious high-fat foods (a double double at In-N-Out or poutine at Animal) and head straight home for a satisfying cup of noodles.

Continue Reading for a Fast and Easy Ramen Noodle Recipe »

March 5

Raw Fish Revolution: A Recipe

The Italians call raw fish crudo and the Japanese, sashimi; even the Spanish have a word for their citrus soaked raw fish preparation, ceviche. But what is the word for the dishes that American chefs create with uncooked fish? Naked fish? Raw appetizers?

Here in LA, a broad range of award-winning chefs serve raw fish on their menus every night. There’s a a raw fish trend spreading through fine dining American restaurants, Baltimore fish joints, Cal-Euro bistros, and even Cal-Mex-Spanish fusion eateries. What’s so appealing about eating a barely adorned piece of raw fish? Simple. The fresh flavors of the sea mixed with oil, citrus, herbs, or salt is a wonderful way to engage the palate and awaken the appetite.

Though one must be careful when consuming raw or undercooked fish, a thinly sliced piece of fresh-from-the-sea fish prepared with a handful of ingredients is—without a doubt—an understated show stopper. I’ve sampled Chef Quinn Hatfield’s of Hatfield’s Restaurant’s version of crudo: fresh fluke that’s marinated in beet juice and finished with sea salt, oil, and micro-greens. I’ve gorged on raw fish at Hungry Cat with Chef David Lentz’s raw snapper on a puree of edamame with blood orange supremes and shiso leaves. The flavors of raw fish mixed with citrus, flavored oil, and salt results in delicate, poetic starters that leave me hungry (and inspired) for more.

Continue For an Easy To Make Crudo Recipe »

December 10

No Drip Vietnamese Spring Rolls: Gourmet Airplane Food

It’s December, the month of holiday travel, and I’m here to tell you that before you step foot onto a plane (or car for a long road trip), you really ought to take a few minutes to plan what you’re going to eat while your traveling.

Because, bottom line, you love good food and the stuff they serve on airplanes is terrible. What’s worse, they make you pay a handful of dollars for food you would otherwise walk right past–had you not been stuck in your seat with no food options. Even if you took the time out to buy a snack from the airport terminal, the food is downright overpriced and unhealthy.

So why aren’t more people obsessing over packing their own meal for their trip? Maybe the new baggage requirements have something to do with why travelers aren’t packing their own airplane meal; but planning a simple meal for your flight doesn’t have to be difficult. As a matter of fact, packing a lunch for a trip can be downright fun.

Granted, menu planning at 3 a.m. before leaving to catch an early flight isn’t ideal. So I recommend putting together your snack the night before while you’re making dinner. That way you can get all of your prep and clean up done in advance of any bleary-eyed wake up call.

Continue for a Terrific, No-Drip Spring Roll Recipe! »

March 4March 14

Five-Spice Chicken Banh Mi Recipe

All it took was one bite of Vietnamese food to turn me into a hungry student of the cuisine. That first mouthful inspired me with its hot, sweet, and spicy. Rice paper was a revelation. Fish sauce was a pungent wake up call. The perfume of a fresh kaffir lime leaf and lemongrass enchanted me and filled me with a desire to learn.

My first encounter with the cuisine of Vietnam was in the kitchen of a rocket scientist who lived in the neighboring town of Cambridge, Massachusetts. My friend Mark was a smart guy who loved to travel the world for science and food. The aromas emanating from Mark’s kitchen were unfamiliar. The pot on the stove—the source of all that I smelled—was covered to hide its contents. There a book-marked copy of Mai Pham’s “The best of Vietnamese and Thai Cooking” perched on the nearby counter.

I was in my mid 20’s, living just a short drive from my small town, and knew almost nothing about Asian food cultures. My knowledge went as far as what to order at the local sushi restaurant and Chinese take out spot.

“Close your eyes,” Mark said. He spooned a bit of the soupy broth from the splattered stove top. “Taste.”

The high-note spices, the sweet aromatics, and the delicate textures left me speechless. What was that flavor? Pumpkin? Coconut? I was in the thick of a culinary awakening.

Soon after this experience, I got the news I was accepted into film school. I packed my bags for Los Angeles, but just before I left, Mark gave me my very own copy of Mai Pham’s cookbook. That cookbook became my passport to food exploration and, eventually, a bridge to cherished friends. My copy is colored with more than a decade’s worth of experimenting.

My Five-spice Chicken Banh Mi is truly is happiness on bread.

Continue for my Five-spice Chicken Banh Mi Recipe »

August 25

Bangkok Market

LA is the home of the strip mall. You can’t go more than a two blocks without finding a slab of concrete sprinkled with a mash-up of unrelated storefronts and an ethnic restaurant that delivers its country’s culinary traditions in Styrofoam and plastic containers.

For the person whose recycling container holds more to-go containers than grocery bags, there will always be another Los Angeles strip mall ethnic restaurant to try. But for those of us with budgets so tight we need the extra coin from recycling soda cans, an ethnic market may be most economical way to bring the flavors of the east into your home.

Located a few blocks east of Western at the intersection of Latino neighborhood and Thai town, Bangkok Market, is an Asian grocery store favored by local Vietnamese and Thai Americans, curious foodies and chefs.

The windowless market is small, but the cramped aisles are filled with low-priced Asian delicacies and staples. The store stocks straight from the source Asian foods and, thanks to the proximity of a large Latino community, Bangkok Market also offers a limited amount of Central American ingredients.

Staples like jasmine rice, noodles, vinegar and oil can be purchased well under the price point of other “whole paycheck” grocery chains. There is a meat counter that offers offers fresh fish, shellfish and some various meats—as well as a “fish frying service” that will cook your fish for you on the spot.

Produce is limited, but the fruits, vegetables and herbs are fresh and unbelievably inexpensive. When grocery chains charge $1 per lemon, it’s worth the trip across town to get a pound of citrus for less.

For anyone looking to stock up on general kitchen supplies, Bangkok Market has a small selection of inexpensive woks ($10), citrus squeezers ($3), knives for under fifteen bucks, graters and plates can all be purchased for as little as two dollars.

The shelves at Bangkok Market may be filled with unfamiliar items, but with values such as this, it pays to be a little adventurous.

Bangkok Market
4757 Melrose Ave
Los Angeles, CA 90029
(323) 662-9705

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March 2

Bang mi, Bánh mì

I grew up in a small, predominantly white town in Massachusetts where fear of “outsiders” was subtly encouraged and big city living was openly scorned. I spent my formative years avoiding anything unfamiliar, for fear it might turn me into some kind of a monster. It took a college education in the progressive town of Amherst, a semester in France and interacting with a diverse population of students to show me how limited my world view had become. Armed with a journalism degree and a hunger for knowledge, I vowed to explore the world beyond Massachusetts and discover all that I had missed.

The moving to LA part took me a while, but when I finally got up the courage to move west, I made a grand step in the right direction to broadening my perspective. I threw caution to the wind a handful of years later, and moved to New York City for a summer to work as a restaurant consultant.

While overseeing the opening of a LA based restaurant, I sub-letted an apartment in a six-floor walk up a few blocks north of the emerging culinary scene of the Lower East Side. When I wasn’t knee deep in construction and restaurant permiting, I explored neighborhoods on foot, sampled food I had never tasted before and realized that the song lyric “New York, a city that never sleeps” was actually true. And, unlike what I had been told as a youngster, New Yorkers weren’t all that rude (no more than Boston folk) and all the men lurking on street corners didn’t try to kidnap me or demand I take drugs.

But then, there was this one time I did end up trying something in the big city I got utterly addicted to…

Don’t worry, dear reader. I never do drugs. That ominous thing I’m referring to is Bánh mì.

Bánh mì, for the uninitiated small-town foodie, is a spicy, Vietnamese meat sandwich filled with pickled carrots, cilantro, daikon, hot peppers and onion that represents the blending of two cultures: French and Indonesian. Back in the day, the Vietnamese adopted the crispy baguette (Pain de mie) of the imperialist French colonists and made a sandwich filled with fresh ingredients all their own. Say Pan di mie with a thick Vietnamese accent and you quickly understand where the name came from.

Like any good street drug, Bánh mì is priced to sell. Costing between $2-$5 a pop, the contrasting flavors of salty meat (pate or marinated pork and chicken), spicy peppers, crunchy vegetables and crispy bread make Bánh mì’s unusual flavors completely addictive.

I’ll always remember my first taste. It was a rainy summer’s day and the chef went on a sandwich run to Nicky’s Vietnamese Sandwiches. I watched him carefully unwrap the paper around what looked like a pretty straight forward meat and vegetable submarine sandwich, and how his eyes rolled back as he took mouthfuls of the thing.

“What are you eating?” I innocently asked.

The chef stopped chewing and eyed me with surprise. “You’ve never had Bánh mì?” He swore under his breath and shoved the sandwich in my face. “Eat it. It’s gonna change your F*k’n life.”

My first taste of Bánh mì was tentative. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the possibility that this simple sandwich could possibly be as good as he said it would be. I took another bite. And then, much to his surprise (and mine), I became territorial. I stepped back, got out of Chef’s reach, and in just a few short delirious moments of spice, salty meat, and buttery baguette crunch, I had polished off the entire thing. Never in my life had I tasted anything like it.

I was hooked.

Just an hour later, after attending to the needs of my restaurant construction crew, I hauled ass to the nearest Bánh mì stall to buy the first of many Vietnamese sandwiches.

It’s a slippery slope trying to find the best Bánh mì. You get lost. You make mistakes. You add too much chili spice and break into a cold sweat. You get so strung out on spicy meat sandwiches you start saying “bang mi” to the counter person and they threaten to throw you out for talking dirty to them.

STREET LEGAL

Being the addict that I am, I am always on the lookout for the best street-legal Bánh mì out there. Unfortunate, there aren’t a lot of Vietnamese sandwich shops in the Hollywood area. The best and most convenient place I’ve found is:

Gingergrass, a modern take on Vietnamese cuisine, conveniently located across the street from my favorite wine shop in town, Silverlake Wine.

Because it requires a bit of a drive from where we live, my husband and I make an afternoon of it and on Sundays we drive east for the delicious pork Bánh mì with crispy Vietnamese rice crackers, the sautéed baby bok choy and the appetizer special of the day. After filling our bellies we roll across the street to our favorite wine shop, Silverlake wine, and buy amazing wines from Randy and George.

Thanks to a recent comment on my blog by culinary couple and food bloggers, White on Rice, I discovered I was not alone in Southern California in my Bánh mì obsession. White on Rice has a website called Battle of the Banh mi. BOBM is dedicated to finding the best Bánh mì in every city across America. Readers are encouraged to post their favorite Bánh mì restaurants and the site offers suggestions on how to make the addictive Vietnamese sandwich and where to buy it.

It’s true what my small town friends said. Living in the big city really can turn you into some kind of addict.