So I recently made spicy ddukbokkie for dinner and it was spicy, warm, and delicious! I am half-Korean but I never truly foray into Korean cuisine so it was very exciting. My daddy (who is the Korean part of the equation) really loved it as did I! Its warm and comforting for the few cold days we have left until full-blown sunny Spring.

I got the recipe form the blog Maangchi, which was highly recommended by my friend. I cooked it on the very same stovetop that she uses in the instructional video.  Here is the link.

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If you are reading this and can not think of such a day of disappointment then you are either in deep denial, a pompous ass, or so fucking fortunate that I ban you from continuing to read further. For what I am going to share is the best meal to pick up one’s spirits from the gray valley of under achievement, a method to temporarily bandage the wounds. Upon further contemplation, if you are one of those who cannot remember a day of self-loathing than take particular note of the following recipes for when the day comes, it will be particularly hard and these simple dishes will surely reignite your proud heart.

Both recipes are drawn/inspired by M.F.K. Fisher’s An Alphabet for Gourmets. The first is a recipe for Milk Toast, which Fisher explicitly recommends for those who are “Ill, Weak,  Old, Very Young, or Weary”. She herself admits to “partaking of a warm bowl of it, in an early bed after a long bath” and finding it to be a “very wise medicine” (680-81).

I followed her advice on the day that UC Berkeley, my personal golden ring, rejected me for the second time this past year. I worked so hard on preparing my application for a Ph.D in sociology and felt that my undergraduate work and GRE scores made me a competitive candidate….I was wrong. The impersonal rejection letter read to me over the phone by my mother while I rocked back on forth on the ground in my apartment in Spain at 2 AM made me feel like my lungs and stomach had been ripped out of my body. I was a wreck.

Luckily, I had made fresh bread that day and I walked like a zombie into the kitchen. There was milk, there was butter, there was M.F.K. Fisher’s The Art of Eating sitting on the kitchen counter. I mechanically started to follow the directions for milk toast. I was expecting nothing. As I buttered the bread and heated the milk with a little cinnamon (my addition) and poured the hot milk over it, the lovely milky, rich fumes started to make me feel like I had vital organs again. The first creamy, warm bite returned my stomach to me and the nausea of failure quickly disappeared. By the time I was done I was completely calm (much to the amazement of my boyfriend who had just minutes ago seen me on the floor bawling…charming I know) and I passed out into a dreamless slumber. It was the perfect cure for that first, initial jab of rejection.

The next morning I awoke in a daze. I took the day off work and slumped around feeling sorry for myself. I was no longer hysterical but had moved on to the second-phase; self-loathing and over all self-deprecation (the scary not funny kind). To me UCB is/was like some mythical land where intelligent people gathered together and took great pleasure in excluding me. Having grown up living near it and having both my older sisters go there had made me idealize Berkeley into a symbol not a place. Thus the rejection was like being told I was not good enough, smart enough, and therefore not ‘happy’ enough in the grand scheme of things. I knew I was being irrational but recognizing the problem did not fix it.

As 2PM neared, the Spanish time for lunch, I realized that I had to eat and that Karl would be coming home also wanting to eat at any moment. The pain of rejection kept going over my brain like an incessant merry-go-round and I knew that making lunch would at least slow down the debbie-downer thoughts. Now, I think its important to remember that if you are cooking from an unhappy place to go with simple, familiar foods.  Don’t add the stress of an exotic dish to an already strained psyche…unless you want a full on meltdown then please go ahead.

In my particular case I decided to prepare sweet egg á la MFK.  I first started eating sweet egg when my mother and I were making Korean BBQ for lunch and preparing all the banchan or small plates of food that come with the main meal. For some reason, both her and I thought that some cut up pieces of french omelette would be good with the korean meat, seaweed, rice and kimchi. I think we were thinking of Tamago (egg sushi), which always tastes sweet so when we made the omelette we added about a tablespoon of honey and a pinch of salt. It was delicious and from then on we always make sweet egg even when we are not having a Korean-style dinner. Anyhow, I knew that my wounded pride needed more than an omelette and I knew that my hands could use something to do to make the mind rest.

That is when I remembered MFK Fisher’s recipe for really decadent and delicious scrambled eggs. Her recipe calls for  the slow lovingly decadent preparation of eggs. In both How to Cook a Wolf and An Alphabet for Gourmets, Fisher imparts her secret to perfect scrambled eggs. The recipe calls for 30 minutes to properly cook the eggs which truly breaks the hegemonic idea that eggs are a go-to meal or a quick wonder. However, in times of sorrow and defeat such time-consuming tactics are quite welcome. Here is Fisher’s recipe from An Alphabet for Gourmets.

Scrambled Eggs

• 8 fresh eggs
• 1 1/2 cups rich cream
• 4 tablespoons grated cheese or finely minced fresh herbs, if desired
• salt and freshly ground pepper

Break eggs into a cold, heavy iron skillet, add cream, and stir gently until fairly well blended. Never beat. Heat very slowly, stirring occasionally in large curds up from the bottom. Never let bubble. Add seasoning (and/or cheese and herbs) just before serving. This takes half an hour –poky, but worth it.

MFK Fisher claims that she loves the “very gentleness” of the recipe and quite frankly that is what I most love about it too. Eggs. So often hard-boiled or fried carelessly in hot pans have so many forms and flavors hidden in their yolk and white. The  recipe’s  revered treatment of the common place ingredient lends to the healing properties of cooking and ingesting of these scrambled eggs.

Of course my twist is to combine the sweet eggs idea with MFK Fisher’s recipe and omit the cheese, herbs, and pepper. Instead I sprinkle salt and sweetener (brown sugar is my personal favorite but honey, white sugar, maple syrup all work too). Placed on toast the sweet egg curds are the best tonic for the roughest of days.

dates and bacon

sweet potato and coconut

Cute Couple Cupcakery in the Works

lemon and ginger

ricotta and honey

figs and basil

prunes and chicken

sausage (any kind) and brussel sprouts

caramelized onions and thick yogurt

polenta and eggs

oatmeal and cream

Sadly, two years ago I was a college senior on my last Spring Break and the last thing I wanted was to get fat from rice pudding when vodka and beer were already doing such a good job. So I did not get one but kept the menu as a memento of this hilarious advertising campaign and delightful restaurant. Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that the rice pudding looked amazingly gooey and thick. It was not the least bit runny but splendidly rich and mouthwatering. God damn the fact that I knew I was going to have to squeeze into a American Apparel dress and metallic leggings (don’t judge we all make mistakes) that very night. However, I think it speaks volumes that I still remember the rice pudding like it was yesterday and have made it my personal mission to return to New York and eat some rice pudding on a cold, blustery day. I don’t think I would feel so adamant about returning had it  not been for the blunt advertising celebrating ‘fattiness’, so while it initially deterred me from eating there, it created a lasting memory that two years later is still vivid and hungry. Check out the menu from two years ago? Oh they also do delivery!! Amazing.

My days in Spain are numbered. What started as a year-long adventure of living and working abroad is coming to an end. I can already feel the void, el vacio, in my heart….what can compete with the Spanish way of life? Yes, these are dark and pensive days but instead of crying I am doing something that I feel is so much more producive…stuffing myself with Jamón Ibérico everyday.

Jamón Ibérico is possibly the best cured meat in the world. I like my share of Italian prosciutto but nothing compares to Jamón Ibérico. It stands up on its own and does not even need a piece of bread with which to share the stage. When sliced and plated correctly, it is incredibly thin and given the time to perspire, which creates a small, succulent film of fatty sheen on each delicate slice of ham. The flavor is undoubtably salty but when it is high-quality Ibérico or Jamón Ibérico de Bellota (its a free range pig that has only eaten acorns) the flavor is decidedly more complex, buttery, and almost sweet. The stripes of pure white fat may scare those watching the figure, but in reality Jamón is not the worst calorie offender in the world. Also, the way the fat strip melts on the tongue and moistens the rest of the ham is really an experience that one should not miss.

Jamón Ibérico is divided into three different grades and is very different from Jamón Serrano, which is made with White pigs and is generally cheaper. The three different gradations in Jamón Ibérico are based upon what the pigs have been given to eat. The most prized is the Bellota, which as previously mentioned only eats acorns. The second grade of Jamón Ibérico is Jamón Ibérico de Recebo. This middle grade signifies that the pigs have eaten a mixed diet of acorns and grains. Finally, the final and in my opinion equally delicious gradation is simply called Jamón Ibérico or Jamón de Pata Negra since most Ibérico pigs are black. This final grade is simply fed a diet of grains. In all Jamónes Ibéricos, the leg must be dry-cured for a year to three years and must be from one of  the pig’s hind leg if it comes from the pig’s shoulder or front leg the product changes name to Paleta.

Writing about Jamón Ibérico has made me hungry and I am now going to raid my Aunt’s fridge and eat every last morsel because in a few days the piggy holiday is over. Heartbreaker.

EAT ME Picture courtesy of www.eladerezo.com

Currently, I am volunteering and learning what it is really like to work in a kitchen at Three Stone Hearth. Thus far I have only been in once but I really enjoyed the experience. I separated the livers, hearts, and gizzards of chickens, I shredded chicken, I packed delicious kimchi into jars, and I learned to make the perfect roast chicken. The key part is put the chicken breast side down so that it does not dry out but stays super juicy. Also, arranging the chicken in this fashion allows you to more easily access the oysters, which are the best part of the chicken. I am going again this Thursday and am really excited. The people there are really nice and are very open to teaching and encouraging volunteers like myself. I really like their views on food and how they want to use traditional fats and just use the least processed, most natural ingredients in all the food they produce. Its really delicious stuff (we get breakfast and lunch while we work) and best of all its good for you.

Check it out and order something if you are a Bay Area kid. It is great food to have on a day when you don’t want to cook but you want to eat something made with love and nutritious.

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don’t criticize
What you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin’.
Please get out of the new one
If you can’t lend your hand

–Bob Dylan

The Negroni is:

The same proportions as with the Americano but with a 1/3 of Gin instead of 1/3 of Soda Water. So- 1/3 Sweet Vermouth, 1/3 Bitters and 1/3 Gin. Serve it in a short class with ice and some citrus rind.

This drink really sneaks up on you or at least me who after having one with my uncle felt the world spin for a good hour or two. (Yes, I am 5ft tall and somewhat of a lightweight but I still stand by my cautionary remarks.)

Finally, my uncle being the magical man that he is has yet another Negroni recipe, which can only be found in his house and in the Hotel Sheraton in Bali, Indonesia. Long story short, he asked the bartender at the bar for a Negroni Paganuzzi (his last name) style and the barman liked it and added it to he menu. He later sent my uncle the Sheraton’s drink menu and sure enough there was the “Negroni Paganuzzi’s style” listed with the other drinks.

To make a Negroni a la Paganuzzi you just split the Gin portion from 1/3 Gin to 1/6 Gin and then make the other 1/6 orange juice. The 1/3 of Bitters and 1/3 of Sweet Vermouth stays the same. Serve it in a short class with ice and some citrus rind.

It is a pretty tasty variation that helps cut down on the “kick in the head” effect a classic Negroni may have on you.

As you may have noticed the ingredient that never changes throughout the different cocktails is the sweet vermouth, which is why I like to cut out the mixers and just drink it straight.The flavor is simple and straightforward yet undeniably rich and sweet without being cloying. Sweet vermouth is an Italian creation and popular apéritif that I find really opens up the palette and prepares one for a good meal. According to Barron’s Food Lover’s Companion; Fourth Edition, sweet vermouth is a fortified wine that once opened must be stored in the refrigerator for no more than 3 months .  Try it and store right! Its good and quite frankly it makes you feel glamorous in an old Hollywood or F. Scott Fitzgerald kind of way.

elegant deliciousness courtesy of an LA Times' Blog

For now, I’ll leave you with my thoughts on the ‘food world’. Why is the food world so god damn intimidating? Foodies can really be a bit snotty and just so fucking pretentious. It’s like how indie kids have wars over who heard of the band/movie/artist first, but with foodies it’s a snide battle of who ate where, who knows the chef or who scored the rarest [insert food item here] in the world.

Clearly, I have to say fuck it to that because well… I am over the no fun attitude that hipsters, foodies, and other snobs have. Fuck You! This blog is all about food but not in that “Its all about the music, man” way. It’s about eating, loving, sharing, and having fun in the process. If I learned anything during my year in Spain it has been to not take myself so seriously. What is the point of life if you can’t  enjoy a night with friends, drinking cañas, smoking cigs, eating tapas and for once not want more, more, and more? 

viva la vida!  viva la comida!

I am walking with a purpose. I am a recent graduate school reject that needs some healing in the form of gastronomic therapy. I am a skater’s girlfriend desperate to show her boyfriend that there is more to Barcelona than the skate Mecca known as MACBA or those perfect manuel pads at Paral-lel. I am a woman on a mission to find, Quimet & Quimet. Having first heard of the small bodega in Amanda Hesser’s book Cooking for Mr. Latte, I have decided that Quimet & Quimet is going to be the place where I begin my official life as a gastronome and aspiring food writer. As I walk up the street that supposedly houses Quimet & Quimet, I am rather alarmed by how dark and quiet it is compared to the rest of the city’s streets that seem to perpetually buzz. I begin to panic… Am I on the right street? Has Amanda Hesser lead me astray?

Just as my brain begins to buzz and my original euphoria transform into a healthy skepticism, I see it; small, yellow and unadorned, a sign that reads, Quimet & Quimet. Success. We (my boyfriend and I) enter through the small door and I am instantly overwhelmed by the many conservas (conserves) available. I am relieved when Quimet & Quimet’s proprietress explains how we can get a fixed plates of meats, vegetables, seafood, and/or cheese as well as smaller montaditos which are small tapas “mounted” on a piece of bread. Due to our extreme hunger we order the cheese and meat combination plates, an order of bread and a small salmon montadito. To drink, Karl (the boyfriend) and I both ignore the fact that all the other patrons are sipping cava (Spanish sparkling wine similar to France’s champagne) and each order Pilsner Urquell from the amazing variety of beers on tap. (I should add that part of the beer selection’s ‘Wow” factor is based on the fact that for the last few months we have been living in a small town in Spain where the beer selection is rather limited.)

After my first sip of beer I begin to relax and as we wait for our food I look around and really take in my surroundings. Quimet & Quimet’s interior somehow manages to be both awe inspiring and homey. The establishment’s quaint size, lack of flashy menu, and overall relaxed atmosphere make it comfortable and unpretentious. Yet, the way the walls are covered with shelves full of different canned goods from around the world I can’t help but take a deep breath of appreciation. As I admire the different canned tunas and let my eyes sweep over their extensive collection of wines and cavas, the first item arrives at the table. It is the salmon montadito. Karl takes a bite and his eyes go big. Before he can say anything I take a bite and my eyes also take on that round almost alarmed look that occurs when you put something delectable into your mouth. In a word, it is amazing. To simply call it a ‘salmon montadito’ is misleading since it seems to imply that it is a single note appetizer when it is in fact so much more. The perfectly pink salmon doesn’t just lie there like a wet sock on top of the bread but is rather luxuriously cushioned by a dollop of rich, creamy yogurt and then bejeweled with truffled honey. These three ingredients come together in your mouth in an explosion of tastes and senses. The sea-infused salmon and caramel-like honey contrast each other perfectly over a background of mild yogurt that serves to both accent the flavor pairing and create the dish’s feeling of satiny richness.

Just as I am licking my lips and wondering if I should polish off the last bite of the montadito while Karl isn’t looking, our lovely and huge platters of cheeses, meats and breads came to the table. The portions are large and the variety of items on the plates staggering. The meat plate has a generous portion of fois gras en cuit and then a thicker and more textured country-style pate. Karl prefers the paté and starts to lather it on the soft olive bread that has come in the breadbasket. Normally, the bread at restaurants is good but nothing to write home about, but this olive bread is moist, soft, and imbued with the essence of a thousand olives. The olive bread and bread sticks are so good that I find myself eating them without any accompaniments and forgetting that I had to order my bread separate from the meal; a task I normally find annoying and just wrong. This bread is worth it! Finally, after a few more bites of bread I redirect my attention to the meat platter. Food politics and humanity issues aside, I much prefer the fois gras, which feels like velvet on the tongue and is incredibly rich. However, after one bite I am ready for the strings of jamón iberico ( Iberian Ham) liberally sprinkled with olive oil that lay next to the country pate. The sweet olive oil enriches the salty ham in yet another irresistible sweet-salty combination. The plate also comes with cipollini (hyacinth bulbs that taste and look like little onions) drenched in balsamic reduction and little conserved mushrooms, which are very tasty and as a result disappear pretty quickly from the plate.

Luckily, the cheese platter is just as delightful and also very hefty in size and variety. The ‘star’ cheese is the bright orange Mimolette. It has a full, salty flavor and a brittle texture that is truly enhanced by the swirling pools of olive oil that decorate each slice. Karl and I eat the slices of Mimolette without any bread and enjoy the pure taste of each bite. The best cheese to eat with the bread is the other orange cheese on the plate, the Afregal Pitu. Unlike the Mimolette cheese, the Afregal Pitu is very soft and easy to spread. The cheese has a rich, creamy texture and a pungent, almost spicy flavor that counterbalances the heavy feel of the cheese. Its smoothness also makes it a good pair with the cipollini and mushrooms that adorn the meat platter as well as the wine-infused chestnut whose texture alone it a little too brittle.

Karl and I order another round of beers and continue to relish our food and eat with a slow concentration that is rare in our youthful eating adventures. Slowly but surely all of the contents of the meat and cheese plates begin to disappear and Karl and I feel satisfied but not uncomfortably full. As we pay the check and start to walk towards Karl’s skate spot I am overcome with feelings of love. I am full of love for Barcelona, for Quimet & Quimet, and for my life that has not been what I have expected but at this moment seems to promise so many good things. I walk out of Quimet & Quimet restored physically and mentally rejuvenated. I feel better, I have eaten extremely well, and my boyfriend has temporarily forgotten skating and truly enjoyed (been conscious of) his food; my mission has been successful. Stepping out and breathing in some Barcelona Spring air, I silently whisper a little Thank you to Amanda Hesser.