Post 82.1: Yaki Udon - Mr. Lee Brought Fresh Udon from Japan, Part 1

Ken's dad recently returned from Japan and brought with him some fresh udon from a local noodle shop in Tokyo... and I was fortunate enough to be around when Ken wanted someone to cook them.  Who, me? Me cook udon? Fresh udon? Well, who am I to say no to this request? I love noodles! Especially Asian style noodles... and it's been a long time since I've cooking anything special.  Lucky me.

Besides submerged in soup broth, one of my favorite ways to have udon is stir-fried or yaki style.  Yaki udon is a stir-fried noodle dish.  Some may even say that it's the Japanese variation of Chinese chow mein.  Instead of the commonly used thinner, Chinese yellow egg noodles, though, yaki udon uses the thicker, more doughy udon noodles.  It makes for a very luxurious tasting dish... one that allows the eater to swivel the silky texture of the noodle around the plate or in the mouth for complete enjoyment.

The first thing I did was to make sure I had a good amount of mushrooms to work with.  Since I was cooking with Japanese noodles, I decided to go with a duo of Japanese mushrooms, a well known Shiitake and the more honored honshimeiji mushrooms.  I soaked the Shiitake mushrooms in a cold water bath, and cut the bottoms off the honshimeijis to give them a proper cleaning.

The next step to make julienne some vegetables.  Carrots, celery and spring onions made for a very colorful trio of vegetables that added vibrant color and freshness to the stir-fried udon.  When stir-frying, the spring onions get added at the bookends of the cooking process.  It is added first when the oil first coats the wok to infuse some of the onion flavor in the cooking lubricant, and it is added again at the end of the cooking process as a garnish.

When eating yaki udon, I've usually had it prepared with thinly sliced beef from the fattier areas of the cow.  It get prepared with white or brown onions that are caramelized to give the udon the rich taste that we so desire.  I haven't quite mastered that method of cooking noodles, so I sliced up some pork instead.  I used the hind leg meat of the pork, and marinated it with just a bit of soy, ponzu, sesame oil, and rice wine.

While stir-frying all the ingredients together, I made sure to season the dish every step of the way.  First, the vegetables... next, the meat... and finally, the noodles.  I topped it off with sesame seeds and the freshly sliced spring onion (green onion).  I can't say it was the most traditional of Japanese noodle dishes, but I definitely did my best with it.  Thank you Ken and Mr. Lee for allowing me to do some justice to those fresh Japanese noodles.  Itadakimasu!

And just for fun I made a kimchi fried rice with soft boiled egg on top.  More details on that to come another day.  But for now... happy eating! Did I mention that there were two packages of fresh udon? Heh, heh, heh... more udon on the way! Until then, let's all get S.O.F.A.T.

This post features photography by Ken Lee.

ML - 20120316

Post 39.2: Americanized Taiwanese - Three Cup Chicken Lettuce Wraps

For the international potluck our goal was to bring a dish that represented our culture.  I brainstormed for days... debating whether to bring something substantial like dumplings, a simple snack like Taiwanese sausages, or maybe even some sweets like boba or mochi.  I even ventured into the stereotypical fried rice or chow mein, but I decided that I must show my co-workers something truly Taiwanese.

I made a long list of Taiwanese foods that included: Taiwanese-style tamales (肉粽), braised pork rice (魯肉飯), and even oyster pancakes (蚵仔煎).  I crossed items off the list one by one, eliminating them due to pork or seafood content, level of spiciness, and of course, ease of preparation.  And when I put the final strike through the second to last item, three cup chicken was the dish that was left.  Three cup chicken is about as authentic Taiwanese as it gets... and what could be easier than dumping wet and dry ingredients together into one pot, and letting it simmer until fully cooked?

What are the essential ingredients?

Thai basil, whole cloves of garlic and large chips of fresh ginger.

So three cup chicken is three cups of what?

One cup each of soy sauce, rice wine and sesame oil... simmered down to the end.

But as authentic as three cup chicken is... I still ran into a few ease-of-eating problems.

The chicken that's typically used still has a lot of bones running throughout the chicken... and that's not easy to eat at a potluck.  So I substituted bone-in, skin-on chicken with boneless, skinless chicken breast (it's healthier too), and diced them into cubes.

And I thought that lugging a big pot of white rice to work was not a good idea... so I subbed the rice for lettuce! Lettuce wrapped three cup chicken, I thought, would be a creative way to eat something very traditional... and it might get my foot in the door with my co-workers who are not as familiar with traditional Taiwanese cuisine.  (Lettuce wraps are one thing I can thank P.F. Chang's for... but the gratitude stops there.)

I subbed water for the rice wine just in case the alcohol didn't fully cook off, but it made the chicken a bit tougher than how it's supposed to be.  And using diced cubes of chicken breast rather than chunks of bone-in, skin-on chicken probably dried out the chicken a bit more than I would have liked.  The chicken wasn't tender, but it wasn't cardboard... and it wasn't anything a bit of minced water chestnuts (for crunch and moisture), green onion (for freshness), or Sriracha (for kick) couldn't take care of.

Success? For the first time making something my ah ma is pro at... yes, it was a success.

The only failure was for not taking a picture of the lettuce wrap itself.  It was topped off with the water chestnuts, toasted sesame seeds, slivers of fresh green onions, and a swirl of Sriracha.  It was beautiful.  What a fail.

Always take pictures before you eat!

Until next time, let's all get S.O.F.A.T.

ML - 20101104/20101028

Post 35: Finishing a Very Korean September with Gamjatang (LA: Koreatown)

Tick... pop... crack.  

As I continued to chew I wondered what was making the firecracker sensation in my mouth...

M: "What are those?"
K: "Sesame seeds."
M: "No man, they're black.  I think those are poppy seeds."
G: "Dude, my co-worker failed a drug test 'cuz she had a poppy seed bagel..."
M: "No way... that's an insignificant..."
K: "I'm telling you... they're sesame seeds"
A: "Wait.  What's wrong with poppy seeds?"
M: "Opium."
J: "What?"

The ticking, popping, and cracking black seeds were actually ground and toasted sesame seeds.  Grinding them up and toasting the seeds cause them to look round and black, allowing them to mask as poppy seeds.  They were floating around happily amongst white sesame seeds and bright green sesame seed (perilla) leaves in a deep red soup brewed from the bones of the pig's spine.  In addition to the tender, still-on-the-bone pork, the many variations of sesame seed, chunks of starchy potato were lodged at the bottom of the steel hot pot.  Hmmmm... so this is gamjatang (감자탕).

Kimmy, my token Korean friend from high school, volunteered to be our Korean food hostess for the weekend.  We call her Kimmy (her real name is Grace Kim) to highlight her Korean-ness.  Forget the fact that we have a million friends named Grace... it's her Korean-ness that allows us to call her Kimmy.  But I digress.  Kimmy, our Korean cuisine hostess extraordinaire, led us to Gam Ja Gol in Koreatown where she was about to show us some true blood Korean food... the non-BBQ, non-tofu, non-soju type of true blood Korean food.

Kimmy introduced us gamjatang, a savory stew made with the bones of a pig's spine, the earthy potatoes, and an abundance of enticing and somewhat exotic leaves of the sesame seed.  The soup was deep red.  Deep, deep red.  But it wasn't insanely spicy.  Just enough to cause droplets of perspiration to form on foreheads around the table.

In between bites of the soft pork, slurps of the savory stew, and glances at the banchan spread, I looked up every so often to ask Kimmy a question or two about the Korean food that we were having.  Gamjatang, translated literally, means potato (gamja) soup (tang), but Kimmy warned, "it's not really about the potato..."

Apparently not.  It was all about the soft and tender meat... it was about the savory and addicting soup... it was all about the fragrance of the perilla leaves... it was all about the way the gamjatang was poured into my bowl with heart, soul, and pride in the Korean culture.  It was about the complete destruction of a pig's spine... the bones looked as if they were leftover from a Velociraptor's meal.  And it was all about the second course of the meal...

As we the gamjatang slowly dwindled to its last remaining drops, the server arrived to wisp away the steel hot pot... only to refill it with white rice, chopped kimchi, and an assortment of ingredients.  I followed the sounds of the sizzle and crackle to the corner of the restaurant where it was cooking.  And as I peered into the popping pot, the server exclaimed from behind me, "chao fan!"

Bewildered, I spun around.  The supposedly Korean server used Mandarin to tell me that it was fried rice.  I didn't quite know just what to say.... or even what language to respond in.  So I just sat back down at the table, which is when Kimmy informed me, "she," pointing at the server, "told me that you looked Chinese."

I found out later that she was ethnically Korean but was born in northeastern China, so she learned to speak Mandarin growing up.  I guess that's where she learned to tell non-Koreans apart from ethnic Koreans.

But does that mean I like fried rice? Well, I sure as hell enjoyed this one.  In the little time it took to cook the fried rice, the grains of white rice had absorbed the remaining gamjatang... it was bursting with spicy and savory flavors... only a hint of which came from kimchi.  I was absolutely stuffed, and there was not a single section of spine left for us to pick at.  But I kept wanting more.  

The gamjatang rice was almost a drug.  If I had to take this drug every 8 hours for a course of 2 weeks (with food), I wouldn't have any problem with it.  In fact, I wouldn't have a problem with gamjatang or the fried rice being an intravenous drug.  Mmmm... this stuff is good.  Shoot it straight into my veins.

The gamjatang was an awesome Korean food experience.  What made it even better was that I learned and tried something I never knew existed.  Kamsamhapnida, Kimmy.  Solid meal.

Until another true blood experience, let's all get S.O.F.A.T.

ML - 201000926/20101006