Chicken soup for the… bowl
There are, of course, countless soups in abundance in China, from the humble tomato-egg soup, to the popular pork sparerib and lotus root soup, to ultra-expensive shark fin and swallow's nest soups.
But, well, I was missing a good old traditional Western chicken soup, without ginger, green onions, soybean sprouts, rice vermicelli, cubes of coagulated chicken and pork blood, pig's liver, winter melon, dried shrimp, various entrails, and so on. It's cold, I'm at home all day working, and sometimes I just want a bowl of soup.
In San Diego I'd probably just walk over to Henry's and pay a surprising amount of money for a paper bowl of halfway decent chicken soup, but screw it... over here it's zero degrees outside, maybe three degrees inside - turning my heater on only convinces it to blow cold air at me -- and I don't feel like changing out of my leopard-print bath robe and matching fuzzy slippers.
So partly because of all that, and partly in preparation for the commencement of my first "4-hour-body" experiment tomorrow (which is just testing out this slow-carb diet he talks about... I think mostly because of that one glorious day a week you can and are supposed to over-eat whatever the hell you want), I made a pot of chicken soup with the ingredients I happen to have on hand (plus some chicken wings from the market).
It. Is. AWESOME.
I basically have no idea how to make traditional chicken soup, except I remembered the cooking shows would never shut the hell up about mire poix whenever the subject of soup came up.
So essentially, this might be a bog standard chicken soup, but I've never actually had much success making chicken soup before (tried it a few times, and each time it was so bland I just added premade or granulated chicken stock in despair), so I just wanted to brag and get the pattern down so I can remember how to do it again next time.
The ingredients list kind of got out of control once I got started, but I swear I can taste every single ingredient in there... possibly with the exception of the bay leaves. I dunno, I feel better about soup/stew when I have a couple of bay leaves in there, but I can't really tell what they bring to the party.
- 1/2 large red onion, diced
- 1 medium carrot, diced
- 2 large ribs celery, diced (I also added the heart of the celery and leaves, chopped)
- 3 cloves garlic, lightly crushed and peeled.
- 8 locally produced chicken wings (the middle part only), washed and patted dry. These were maybe 1/2 to 2/3 the size of the monster mutant chicken wings you get in the U.S. Either way, believe me, you want to wash them and everything that touches them in their raw state.
- Seriously like, 5 bay leaves (I was so surprised I had these I went a little overboard)
- A few shakes of herbes de Provence, maybe 1/2 tablespoon total (there so happens to be a shaker of this stuff in the cupboard; lucky me)
- A couple splashes of white wine (one of my roommates left an open bottle of sauvignon blanc in the fridge, so I figured what the hell)
- Pat of butter
- Extra virgin olive oil
- Salt (I only have normal/crappy table salt)
- Pepper, I guess? Maybe right before serving.
I got the biggest pot I have -- I think it only holds about 1.5 liters -- and melted the butter in it over low heat, along with a splash of olive oil for no other reason than I think it's cooler that way.
Once everything was all melted together, tossed in the diced carrot, onion, and celery (i.e. mire poix), along with a big pinch of salt.
Mixed/tossed it up to get everything coated with the fats, and left it alone for a while, occasionally stirring. It looked like way too much mire poix... the damn pot was half full of the stuff. Sweating, not sauteeing; something else I vaguely remember hearing, probably from Good Eats.
Whatever.
Went for the chicken wings next; washed them, then laid them into a preheated skillet on medium with extra virgin olive oil, dusted some salt over them, and let them sizzle until they had some color; flipped them over, seasoned again, let them cook into some color on the other side.
Once they were nicely colored on both sides, layered them into the pot with the mire poix, arranged the bay leaves over them, shook a little herbes de Provence over it all, and tossed the garlic in.
Boiled up a liter of water (...or Litera water) in my handy electric kettle; rinsed the skillet with boiling water into the pot, getting the last bit of olive oil and chicken... well, grease... in there. Poured the rest of the water in, added a splash of wine, covered, and slapped it onto my induction stove, set to lowest heat (low simmer) for an hour.
After an hour, pulled the meat off the wings, discarded the bones and bay leaves, dumped the meat back into the pot with another splash of wine, and salted to taste.
Put it back on simmer for another 20 minutes, for no other reason than I felt it deserved a victory lap.
Tomorrow's lunch is going to be chicken soup with spinach and chick peas; I guess kind of an f-ed up Tuscan soup? Maybe a side of cauliflower roasted in the oven with garlic and olive oil.
Dammit, I'm already hungry.
Also, as part of my experiment and for my own records, I'm going to start posting daily photos of my meals (taken with my phone) here.
Fire cupping
Figured I'd try this at least once; it was interesting, but I doubt I'll make a habit of it.
Like much of traditional Chinese medicine, I am skeptical of its benefits and implementations; any so-called evidence that I can find of beneficial effects are anecdotal, and the admittedly relaxing feeling afterwards could easily be attributed to the fact that the body and brain are adjusting to the recent trauma.
Any cause-and-effect regarding purported benefits is untested and, most telling of all, varies wildly depending on who you talk to.
It is an ancient and cross-cultural practice, though, and I feel like it was worth experiencing, even if only as a form of cultural exploration.
This was done in Wuhan, at 国医馆 (guo yi guan), basically a fancy bathhouse.
New Year’s Screed
After a quiet morning's introspection, and a long talk with my girlfriend, I believe I have uncovered the not altogether pleasant face of what might be described as my basal existential rate.
That is, despite being in China, and having countless new opportunities and experiences available to me, I seem to have gathered many of my old habits and customs around me like an old, familiar, yet stifling coat. Is this something ingrained in me? Is it possible that there is a hulking, quasi-depressive and antisocial Internet junkie coded into my DNA?
Yeah... probably not.
But it says something about me, I think, that I can have upended my life to such a degree to get here, only to spend so much of my time with the same deliberately time-wasting occupations as before.
I've been taking some time to think about the various ways in which I can develop; while certainly I believe I have the capacity to do so, recently I appear to mostly have cultivated an improbable capacity for careless solitude.
I am reminded of a discussion with my mother not too long ago, when she complained that she was unhappy, but was unsure of how to go about becoming happy. My advice, ironically, was to simply go out and try new things. It doesn't matter what, I said; go bowling, invite some friends to lunch, talk to a stranger at the store, join a book club.
My hypocrisy struck me in full force today when JJ was telling me, essentially, to stop whining and do the exact same thing. There is an obvious difference in my behavior, she said, compared to when we first met. I am colder, less open to new people and experiences, and less friendly, even to my friends. Simply put, I am just not as interested in the world around me, and consequently -- though she is too nice to say this -- less interesting.
It is a hard truth to accept, but it is a truth nonetheless, and once voiced it was easy to see. I have slowly wound myself back into a state of general self-indulgence, yet I do not even have the dubious wisdom to indulge in pleasures. I indulge in nullities, small self-manufactured purgatories devoid of substantial thought, but which I can readily control. Minor triumphs in the kitchen, rediscovering the well loved but well-treaded pages of an old book, or the occasional victory in work are all well and good, but they all occur inside a hazy fog that separates me from the larger, brighter world that was so clear to me not long ago.
To examine the whys and hows of this would drag us even farther down that same path, and indeed would be an irrelevant train of thought; suffice it to say, examining the phenomenon is not so important as realizing it exists and taking measures against it. So I'll just say that I'm taking JJ's advice.
She also noted that I seem to be most alive when I'm on the move; once I get settled, I tend to slowly sink into a well-beaten path, until I'm uprooted again. I see the truth of this too, but I'm not entirely sure what I can do about it... I think better to try and fix the problem, than try to stay one step ahead of it.
Finally, it's most likely no coincidence that my happiest times in recent years were spent completely without a computer. So while obviously, given my line of work, there are limits in that regard, I'm cutting my online time as much as possible.
Expect more updates from my phone -- which, since it's such a pain in the ass to type on, I am going to consider generally exempt.
Happy New Year!
Sparklelord Returns!
For those of you who don't get this, you need to read some Dr. McNinja.
This is also my first WP post via WordPress' own (extraordinarily polished and awesome) Android app, so pardon any bugs or typos.
Ghetto Cookbook : Part 1
I've had the opportunity to explore some of my more outlandish food ideas here, partly because I am more limited in my ingredients selection here than in the U.S., and partly because I'm unable to get a lot of the flavors I'm used to in the normal course of my day/week/month.
So when I get the urge for Indian, Mexican, or Italian food, I either have to pony up an extraordinary amount of cash for a standard of dish that is, frankly, not in line with the price, or make it myself. For example, a plate of "nachos" at what I believe may be the only Mexican restaurant in Shanghai costs about $11. While the size is not a concern, the chips are stale and kinda greasy, and the dish is quite obviously a double handful of chips with scattered cheese stuck in the microwave for thirty seconds or so, then slathered with the remaining ingredients.
Having very few actual cooking utensils, and access to a comparatively limited array of ingredients, I'm obliged to take shortcuts and experiment in ways I haven't before, which has led to some surprisingly satisfactory results.
As I think misery is best experienced when shared among friends, I've decided to post some of my less unpalatable creations here.
You'll notice there aren't really any measurements. I tend to just wing it when I cook anyway, and it's pretty hard to screw up these recipes if you know how to cook at all.
Here's a new favorite of mine -- partly because there's zero waste and very little actual work, and partly because it's actually pretty good.
Apparently it's also not all that unhealthy... though you might want to tell that to the butter I tend to use in Part 2, or shut him out of the party entirely by using something else.
Anyway.
Soy milk is made by pureeing/blending/processing soy beans, adding water, boiling them for a while, then straining out the solids.
This leaves you with the soy milk, and a clump of solids, called okara by the Japanese, that is seldom actually consumed by humans; it is most often used as animal feed. A shame, because it's reportedly full of fiber, protein, and other goodness.
Some people will dry it and use it in baked goods, but I like to use the stuff fresh. This is primarily because I can't bake worth a damn, but also because the only thing remotely close to an oven I have right now is a toaster oven that cooks at either room temperature, or 450 degrees.
The only 'weird' ingredient is dried soybeans, which you should be able to find at any asian grocery.
Part 1 (morning): Fresh soy milk.
Ingredients: Dried soybeans, water.
- Previous night: Wash a couple handfuls of dried soybeans, then soak in water overnight.
- Morning: rinse the beans, throw them in a blender or food processor, cover with water and blend/process until just short of smooth, like undercooked oatmeal.
- Place in large pot; add an equal amount of water and bring to boil, then simmer for a few mins (this will foam like an absolute bastard, so be careful) while you make some coffee or toast.
- Strain out the bean husks and flesh, through a fine-mesh strainer, coffee filter, or the more traditional cheesecloth. If you're using a strainer, do it quickly or else you'll get an unacceptable amount of bean sludge in your cup/bowl.
Note: The Japanese reverse the straining and cooking parts of the process, which apparently does away with the foaming problem. I haven't tried this yet for some reason.
- Reserve the solids and put them in the fridge (this is the okara part; i.e., lunch).
- Soy milk for breakfast! Add sugar for sweet, or a splash of white vinegar, soy sauce, sesame oil, and scallions for salty "tofu flower" soup. Miso paste is also a great option instead of the soy sauce/sesame oil.
Part 2 (lunch/dinner):
Ingredients: The okara from breakfast, butter, oil, onion, garlic, chilies, ginger, curry powder.
There are basically infinite variations on this, but I basically treat the okara like couscous, or some other grain. My latest obsession is:
"Curried" okara.
- In a non-stick pan, heat up about 1Tbsp of extra virgin olive oil and a knob of butter.
- Throw in finely chopped red onion, garlic, serrano chilies, and ginger. Mix in some curry powder and let the flavors cook together a bit. I don't have easy access to cardamom, but I feel like adding some at this juncture would be appropriate and probably awesome.
- Mix in the okara. If the mixture looks too dry, add some butter, oil, or water. This is your 'base,' and is perfectly fine as is. I like to give it some more body by adding things like grilled chicken, peas, sultanas/raisins, water chestnuts, almonds, vegetables, etc.
- Add curry powder, salt, and pepper to taste.
I've also mixed the okara in some leftover beer batter, thickened with a little extra flour; season with cumin, garlic, salt, various chopped herbs and onions, and fried quenelles of them in vegetable oil.
Ghetto falafel!