Dorayaki

There was a time when I would hand draw birthday cards and even make crafty (read: hideous) things from whatever I could lay my hands on for selected few. They weren't always very good and only my loving parents would keep these weird art pieces as if they were treasures.  For the longest time I was made to believe that anything that came from the heart (and pulled from the recycled pile) -- no matter how misshapen -- was worth more than store bought perfection.   

I still believe that.... some what.

But having access to money has, ironically, made me lazy. I work hard at work to bring in the dough but when it comes to relationships, I rely on online shopping and love the way it can zap all that hassle with a double click. The truth is also that in reality, there are things I can't make.

So, when my friend "C's" birthday came up -- and without having to sell meth or my children to afford the retirement lake house that she'd been dreaming of -- I decided I would make some Dorayaki (red bean paste pancakes) that she liked so much whilst working in Japan.

I realized that I do have a knack for cooking even if my crafty hands have retired and my drawing days behind me.

Most of my creative energy takes place in the kitchen these days. And if I can't find Dorayaki anywhere in this town, then, this token birthday gift was going to be different -- in a good way-- I figured.

It started off as a self-less act but at the end, I'd made enough pancakes and red bean paste to go around for my kids and myself. My kids were thrilled as they sat at the breakfast table peeling the plastic wrap off their pancake and reminiscing the last time they had a Dorayaki.  They couldn't believe that I'd managed to recreate their childhood snack, neither could I.

In the end, this home made gift intended for one delighted more. Who knew?

Makes 8 pancakes
Ingredients for red bean paste: (or use canned red bean paste)
1 cup uncooked red beans
Sugar to taste


Method:
1. Place uncooked red beans in slow cooker and fill with 2 cups water.
2. Cook on the low setting.
3. When beans are soft, rid of excess water, mash coarsely. Do not over mash if you like the bean paste to have some texture.
4. Add sugar to taste at the very last.


If the mixture is still too watery, cook the bean mixture over the stove until more water has evaporated.
If the mixture is too dry and crumbly, add a little water (tbsp-ful)at a time to the bean mixture.


*Alternatively, use store bought red bean paste. I find them a little too sweet. In any case, I had a ready supply of uncooked red beans and a very reliable slow cooker.


Ingredients for pancake batter: (from 'Just One Cookbook') 
4 eggs
140g (2/3 cup) sugar
2 Tbsp. honey
160g (1 cup) all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1-2 Tbsp. water


1. Whisk eggs and sugar together until frothy.
2. Whisk in honey.
3. Whisk in flour and baking powder.
4. Leave mixture in the fridge for 15 minutes to rest.
5. Just before you are ready to make the pancakes, whisk in 1/2 tbsp-ful of water at a time.
The pancake batter should be thicker than usual pancake batter.
6. On low-to-medium heat, ladle out batter on to greased griddle. Be warn that the pancakes tend to brown very quickly. You need to keep a careful watch on the pancakes cooking.
7. Flip and cook underside.
8. Place the cooked pancakes aside with a moist towel over them until all pancakes are made.
9. Spread pancakes with the red bean filling. Sandwich between two pancakes.


If the pancakes will not be eaten straight away, wrap them in plastic when they've cooled so that they don't dry out.

Italian Olive and Oregano Bread aka Pane alle Olive ed Origano

I did take a break from bread baking.

Juicy black olives, oregano and parsley.

Life got too overwhelming meeting 3 deadlines at work; and then having to juggle daily chores and pretending to be mom to 5  4 kids. Nervous energy got the better of me one Sunday and instead of taking a breather to sit-and-read, my restless self figured that baking could be equally relaxing.

Add bread flour, chopped up olives, oregano, parsley and fried onions. 

So, I dug out my Italian Cookbook bible which was essentially my very first cookbook that coaxed me out of my comfort shell to try beyond baking chicken wings and boiling 3-minute noodles. In the days before the magnificent 'Google' and recipe blogs, I depended on this thigh-bruising heavy weight of a cookbook. It had step-by-step pictures which were very handy for an idiot of a newbie cook such as myself. And it seemed as if every recipe that I re-created was always warmly received by the hubs. Sure, he could have been wisely encouraging and had the self-preservation to know better than to be critical. After all, I could also do very evil things to food and there was always the option of performing an Aussie-style union strike. He would understand that. 

Dough after 2nd rising, ready for the oven. 

I must have been tired of baby steps and only having baked biscuits and a no-fail banana bread, I decided that I was ready to cartwheel past pizza dough and dinner rolls to try my hand at creating an equally lovely fattened Olive bread. The recipe didn't look too daunting; the pictures were like sea sirens taunting me to take the plunge. Mesmerized, I dived right in and in a much smaller kitchen and a less superior oven back then; I worked my way through the recipe with zero intuition for what dough should feel/look like. Despite the blind efforts, the result wasn't a disaster. 

Out from the oven and resting.

These days, I can't claim to be a newbie at bread making. Dough, once treated with hesitation, no longer scares me; I laugh in its pasty face as I fearlessly knead it into shape and keep a close watch on its rising.

Serve with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. 

It wasn't a disaster the 2nd time around either even if it has been 10 years since my first attempt. That night, my picky eaters enjoyed the freshly baked olive bread slices with homemade spicy sausage, potato and kale soup.

The hums and satisfying slurps were all the assurance I needed.



From The Italian Cooking Encyclopedia

This makes an excellent accompaniment to salads and soups and is particularly good served warm with a chunk of cheese.

Ingredients:

1/ 1/4 cups warm water

1 tsp active dried yeast

pinch of sugar

1 tbsp olive oil

1 onion, chopped

4 cups strong flour

1 tsp salt

1/4 tsp freshly pitted black olives, coarsely chopped

1 tbsp black olive paste

1 tbsp chopped fresh oregano

1 tbsp chopped fresh parsley




1. Put half of the warm water in a measuring cup. Sprinkle the yeast on top. Add the sugar , mix well and allow to stand for 10 minutes.

2. Heat the olive oil in a frying pan and fry the onion over medium heat until golden brown.

3. Sift the flour into a mixing bowl with the salt and pepper. Make a well in the center. Add the yeast mixture, the fried onion, the olives, olive paste, herbs and the remaining water. Gradually incorporate the flour and mix to a soft dough, adding a little extra water if necessary.

4. Turn out the dough onto a floured work surface and knead for 5 minutes until smooth and elastic. Place in a mixing bowl, cover with a damp dish towel and leave in a warm place to rise for about 2 hours until doubled in bulk. Lightly grease a baking sheet.

5. Turn out the dough onto a floured surface and knead again for a few minutes. Shape into an 8 inch. round and place on the prepared baking sheet. Using a sharp knife, make criss-cross cuts over the top. Cover and leave in a warm place for 30 minutes until well risen. Preheat the oven to 425 deg. F.

6. Dust the loaf with a little flour. Bake for 10 minutes, then lower the oven temperature to 400 deg F. Bake for 20 minutes more or until the loaf sounds hollow when it is tapped underneath. Transfer to a wire rack and allow to cool slightly before slicing and serving.

Love Cripples

Every superhero is flawed. Kryptonite renders Superman weak; Batman is mostly useless without his zipped up Bat mobile and scary Hulk is wimpy if he isn't in full rage.

I'm not a superhero but I think motherhood qualifies fairly close to a super human being on some level. I've performed some amazing feats like existing on little sleep for months and yet not going about in a zombie-like state during the day; I've juggled crying babies and testy toddlers and hit the repeat button for 10 years (and counting); I've sniffed out a lying kid faster than a dog can a bone; I've darted steely stares in public like invisible lasers that make my kids freeze in their tracks.

Yes, I'm pretty darn tough. Mothering has made me that way. I've outgrown giggly school girl and gritted through my fear of worms when my then 4-year old shoved a handful of her "pet" crawlies in my face.

But like in every superhero plot, it was only a matter of time when I would find the grip that crippled my strength.

Mornings are hard for me. The kids are slow to wake, and when they do, they move at snail speed. I'm perpetually barking orders at them to hurry, and counting down the minutes before the school bus arrives. I hate the mornings; they turn my gray hairs white. Aidan, by far, is perhaps one of my most disorganized kids with Sean following a close second. Perhaps it is a boy thing but this 6-year old constantly needs a fire lit behind his butt to get things done. That fateful morning, it was mostly the same story exacerbated by a string of misdemeanors and I was on a war path. I nagged at him for a series of poor decisions and sent myself on the fast track to grumpy mode. I thought, "why me?! what did I do to deserve this torment? Was I this much of a handful for my parents too?"

The morning drama was nearing to a close as Aidan headed for the door. He looked set to head out but instead, lumbered back into the house where I was a spit away from yelling at him to go back outside, worried that the bus would leave without him. But he stopped my angry tongue with a bear hug and these crushing words, "I love you, Mommy".

My superhero strength splintered like cheap glass.  I returned his unconditional love with a big wimpy hug, fighting back the mixture of guilt, love and shame called tears. What did I do to deserve this little boy?

I had found my kryptonite.

Aidan and his friend Ava drew an alien.  This could easily be me every morning. 

Snap shots from 2011

I'm certain that many on the eve of the New Year watched fireworks, lit fireworks, played with fire or simply stayed up to countdown to 2012 in various stages of revelry.

I did no such thing.

I did, however, watch with great delight, my 4-year old's version of the chicken dance. And that was the best cheer I'd received all day! I want to say for the whole year too but that would just make me sound seriously pathetic. Only a parent can vouch that nothing is funnier than the unadulterated spin the 4-year old put on the old chicken dance. She wore her pink winter gloves on her feet and proceeded to shake her little bottom and flap her folded arms in chicken style. I tell you, it was amusing and not to say the very least, cute-to-the-core!

As opposed to my 4-year old, who remained light-footed on slippery glove-socks, my New Year's Eve started on the wrong foot. I had a bee in my bonnet to clean, de-clutter and simplify. The kids' bathroom sink looked like a vigorous campaign for Crest toothpaste-meets-paint-job, and sticky, minty mouthwash streaked the counter tops along with strands of hair and mangled dental floss in creepy clumps lay on the tiled floor. Don't even get me started on the toys, books and numerous small headless parts that were scattered throughout each living space.

My New Year's Eve was in shambles and there was no way I was going to ring in the New Year faced with domestic eye-sore. Someone had to die to torture my eyes like such.

I yelled, stewed and hoped-as-hell that I'd channeled several demons in my 5ft 1 frame that would terrify my kids into cleaning up and/or at least pussy foot around me that morning while the dark cloud shrouded my thoughts.

Thankfully, the mood lifted after the house was restored to some form of Zen-like calm. Then, I had time to think about the approaching year and caught myself going into a slight panic attack about upcoming deadlines the day I return to work.

 Must....not....think... about...deadlines...

I thought about achievements of 2011 and then cackled to myself and decided to ground myself in reality. My achievements might include modest efforts like being able take a breath and count to 10 (not 5) before yelling at my kids to clean up, or efficiently darting my "killer-Mom-eyes" look in public and have them not touch everything on the shelves or maintaining composure when my 10-year old goes on an argumentative banter. I might pat myself on the back for such small achievements but my kids, on the other hand, are constantly reaching and achieving new goals. I'm constantly in awe of them and bath in their exuberance, confidence and love.

2011 knows that I've achieved a big fat zilch but I think my glass is still pretty darn full enough to see me through another year of unknowns and adventures.

Happy New Year everyone! I leave you snapshots of 2011.

Granddad visited from Australia in July and was immediately invited to tea and biscuits with Sophie.

Summer vacation with the grandparents in Toronto, Canada. 

View from the top of CN Tower, Toronto.

Notre-Dame Basilica in Montreal, CA.

Lighted candles, Notre-Dame Basilica.

Adventures of the foursome in Montreal.

Brotherly tickles never tire. 

More of the fantastic four. 

Proof that Aidan sleeps anywhere. 

Behold, my mid-life crisis ride in Montreal!

Enjoying the last night of Nana's company.

And when work took me to Corvallis twice this year, I visited the enchanted woods in Multnomah, Oregon.

Fall wasn't as spectacular in Oregon but here was evidence of some dramatic foliage. 

Multnomah waterfall, OR.

View of Multnomah falls, OR.

Halloween. We went as ourselves. 

My eldest turned 10 this year. He's got to stop doing that. 

Sean's 10th birthday celebration.

More of the same celebration.

And as luck would have it, we did get to see Paul and Holly again. We spent Thanksgiving with them in Connecticut.

Monique and her fall bouquet. 

My boys. What would my life be without them?  Less crazy.

Walking in Simsbury, CT with the Ross-Sipes family.

Waiting in CT.

Sophie in her ice-hockey mask on the ice rink.

The Elf-on-the-shelf  kept watch on the kids.

Leaving out milk, cookie and a peppermint stick for Santa. 

"Oh Christmas tree"

That's us!

I can't win them all

Growing up, my packed lunches were 2 simple slices of crust-less white bread, often with a Kraft single-sliced cheese and ham.  For a more bizarre and dangerous combination, it might have been buttered raisin bread but always teamed up with the same perfectly square cheese and ham. It might have looked fresh when it was first packed but the killer tropical humidity and heat always managed to put the capital ‘S’ in stink by the time I peeled opened my plastic lunchbox to reveal the limp cheese and equally soggy bread exhausted by its efforts to keep cool.

Did I eat them? Hell no! I must have scammed hot noodles off some unsuspecting friend and dumped the sad lunches in the back corner of the school bus every day at exactly 7.25 pm, probably as the bus rounded the corner into our estate where I lived.

I figured that my kids will not have to suffer through the boring lunches that I had. The health-food Nazi in me was determined that their lunches were going to be healthy. That meant that I’ve said “No” to whines and pleas for bought lunches at school. My kids aren’t going to buy pizzas and chicken Franken-nuggets even if they cost as little as $1.50 for a meal and if it meant saving me the headache of preparing lunches in the morning.

The Nazi in me was willing to prepare lunches in the morning just so that her kids could eat varied lunches like freshly packed salmon onigiri (Japanese rice balls) with seaweed or shrimp and cucumber sushi rolls or couscous with homemade meatballs; pasta with olives etc. Very rarely was lunch a simple ham and cheese sandwich and if it were, it would still have been browned in butter on the outside so that it looked liked the perfect cheese melt.

Yes, my kids will eat lunch – healthy, stylish and hopefully, not sweaty lunches.

But did I also mention that life can really throw a curve ball at the best laid plans?

Friday morning at the breakfast table, my kids talked about how some of their friends didn’t eat bread crusts and how most had packed ‘unhealthy’ lunches – according to their lunch-Nazi Mom’s definition. Then, Sean brought up that his friends voted his lunch as….drum roll..... the “Yuckiest!” Apparently, I only lost by a nose hair to some other kid’s mother who’d been packing her son -- “brown blobs” which were considered even far worse than my "Yuckiest" title. She reigned champion. 

I’m flattered.

The only upside to my “Yuckiest” packed lunches is that my dear kids actually like them.

Or it could just be the strange voices talking in my head.

I leave you with a recent drawing by Aidan hopefully to distract you from my newly achieved lunch title. I'm the unmistakable brown and blue blob. 

The case for homemade dumpling wrappers

10 years back, a Taiwanese mummy friend once confided in me in a mock whisper that a Taiwanese mother wasn’t worth her salt as a cook if she didn’t know how to make dumpling skin from scratch.

My limited mandarin skills couldn’t assert the expression “get out?!” with quite the same punch so I let my jaw drop and my eyes cross. Evidently, my look of horror was indicative enough that I was worth neither salt nor dumpling because I’d depended on those factory-made life savers for years. Abashedly, I admitted to her that I didn’t make my own dumpling wrappers. Maybe she felt pity for me so she hastily and cheerfully added that neither did she.

For years I rationalized that since I wasn’t Taiwanese, I didn’t have to live up to their cultural expectations. But curiosity got the better of me one weekend, plus I was tired of the hour drive to the Asian grocery shop in Ithaca whenever I was low on dumpling wraps and of the many times I couldn’t make dumplings because I didn’t have a ready stash in the fridge.

Dumpling skin is simply flour and water. Anyone who has made pie crust, bread dough or similar would intuitively know how to fashion the dumpling dough with warm water and a teeny bit of oil. The dough came together and it didn’t look perfect. The recipe assured that it was perfectly fine as it was and that allowing it to rest would allow the gluten proteins to work their magic in enabling pliable dough. While the dough sat and stared, I got busy with salting cabbage leaves for my meat and vegetable filling, and the necessary greens like garlic chives and spring onions.

Now, garlic chives dumplings are possibly my favourite kind. When we lived in Taiwan, we were walking distance (25 mins or so) to a small Ma and Grandma shop that made the most flavourful garlic chives dumplings -- ever. I thrived on them for many lunch meals. My fat year-old baby loved them and so did the older kids. Then, one day when I took my Taiwanese neighbour to the dumpling shop and ordered the usual for my kids and myself, she was surprised that I didn’t order the plainer, non-garlic chives variety for my kids. She claimed that her kids wouldn’t touch them complaining of its overpowering taste. Well, I gleefully thought to myself,  “more garlic chives dumplings for me then!”

Sometimes I get updates about the two little ladies who run the dumpling store. “They’ve asked about you”, wrote my close Taiwanese friend one time. I’d like to think I’d single-handedly boosted their business during those 2 years. I hope they will be around for as long as garlic chives dumplings are a staple of Taiwanese cuisine.

I didn’t steam or boil up the dumplings as the recipe suggested to thoroughly savour the taste and texture of homemade wraps. I will tell you that I slaved all afternoon making those damn dumplings and will spare you the doubtful thoughts, (and several curses under my breath when I forgot to sprinkle flour on the wrapped dumplings and they all stuck together like a possessed long dumpling train) that played in my mind as to whether homemade dumplings from scratch were really worth all that time.

Sigh, they were.

Nonya wannabe

Singapore 2009: Nonya, my sweets. 

This picture was taken on my last trip back to Singapore. We walked by a stall in Chinatown tended by a kebaya-clad genial lady who’d immediately reached for my children while I remained distracted by the pretty rows of kuehs.  Candidly, she posed with them like she’d known them for ages. I posted the picture on Facebook as part of an album dedicated to my visit back home. A friend then asked if she was my mother since she did look the part of a doting grandparent. I snorted and answered, “Nope, but I wished she were then, I would have hit the jackpot of Mothers because she would have made me many a yummy Nonya kueh!”

Sorry Mom.

I imagined that a Nonya mother dotingly handed out kuehs the way chinese dragon-mothers zealously handed out smacks. In an alternate reality, perhaps that kebaya-clad lady was responsible for the colourful, sticky and sweet kuehs which she constantly lavished on her Peranakan offspring. And any excess, she would sell at a stall -- exactly like the one in this picture -- where the dainty rainbow treats beckoned kids and mothers alike. The glutinous jewels that promised flavours like coconut, pandan essence (from screwpine leaves) and loads of gula melaka (palm sugar) were tempting reminders of childhood years gone by that would make mothers succumb, forking out the ke-ching just to relish them once more.

I figured that since I wasn’t part-Peranakan (Nonya), I'd missed out on a whole lot of kuehs in my lifetime!

(from top right clockwise: chopped pandan leaves; readying the pan with banana leaves; pandan leaves extract; steamed  glutinous rice with knotted pandan leaves)

Worse, being this far away from Southeast Asia, made Nonya kuehs plainly exotic, if not largely unheard of. Like I’ve said before, desperation can lead people -- namely me -- to some pretty bizarre thoughts like one that sprang to mind of late, “it's about time I learned to make kueh.”

(from top right clockwise: double boiling the custard; kueh sarlat sliced; side view of kueh sarlat;  steamed  glutinous rice base layer) 

Likely possessed by benevolent Peranakan deities, I channeled the powers of well-honed nonya cooks and in a trance-like stupor, googled “kueh”. The worldwide web flashed a wealth of recipes and even decent pictures of the final goods. The Gods were obviously on my side. The stars had conspired; I was ripe for kueh sarlat making.

It really wasn’t difficult; the invoked deities were obviously determined to see me succeed. I started making the kueh late one afternoon and by end-dinner time, the steamed spongy cake was ready. Ignoring my satiety, I gobbled down 2 rich slices of kueh sarlat and it was very, very, very good. I shoved down one more slice just for good measure and grudgingly shared the rest with the family and work colleagues.

I realize that part-Nonya I'm definitely not, but I’m certainly part-greedy pig.

Kueh Sarlat Recipe:
300gm Glutinous Rice (soaked for about 4 hours)
200ml Santan (coconut milk)
1/2 tbsp of Salt
Pandan leaves knotted
Banana leaves (cleaned)
* I only had 250 grams of rice and had to adjust the other ingredients accordingly.


Top Layer for Serikaya Custard
25gm Corn Flour
30gm Plain Flour
3 Eggs
125gm Sugar
200ml of Santan (coconut milk)
90ml of sieved Pandan water (blend about 5 leaves of pandan with water)
* I used about 10 leaves inspite of the recommended recipe.




Place the soaked and drained rice on a steamer.


Place the knotted pandan on it and steam for about 15 minutes.


Add the salt into santan and stir to dissolve.


Sprinkle or pour in the santan on the rice gently and fluffing the rice.


Steam for a further 20 minutes and for the santan to be absorbed into the rice.


Remove the steamed rice and place it on a pan lined with banana leaves and press it down with something flat. I used the back of a spoon. Make sure it is pressed down firmly. It helps with the end result.


Place the pressed rice into the steamer and steam for a further 15 minutes. Keep it there while making the Serikaya Custard.


Serikaya Top Layer:
In a small mixing bowl, stir eggs, santan and sugar with a wooden spoon.


When the ingredients are all mixed together, add in the corn flour, plain flour and the water from blending the pandan with water. (the water should be a shade of green).


Stir it till it is well mixed. My mixture was dark enough but seemingly with 5 leaves, it may not be and the addition of green colouring is recommended by the original recipe. I voted a big "no" since I'm not a huge fan of chemical additives. Plus, neon green isn't my preferred shade.


Strain this mixture.


Prepare a heatproof bowl over a pan of hot simmering water. Double boil it and stirring it all the time.


Make sure the fire is at its smallest to prevent curdling of the custard.


Cook till it has thicken but not overcooked.


When it has thickened, you can pour into the pan with the rice below.


Steam the two layers for about 30 minutes on low heat.


Cool the Kueh Sarlat, slice with sharp knife dipped in cold water. Serve.