How It Grates When Your Ginger Milk Doesn't Curdle

Things are still busy over at the office, so I'm still not writing as much as I should. Perhaps making this a books-focused blog wasn't a good idea. At some point, one would be scrambling to find something to fill the gaps with and feel that it isn't enough.

So here's a bowl of home-made ginger milk curd.

The surface is a little pockmarked because of air bubbles from stirring
the milk with a whisk; perfectionists eyeing a smooth alabaster surface
can use a wooden spoon - and slower movements

This is the trickiest thing I've made so far. They key to the success of this dessert lies in the ginger and the temperature of the milk. Too hot or too cold and the milk won't congeal into the custard-like consistency you want in an almost magical process that involves the enzyme zingipain, found in ginger.

Old ginger root, which has a very fibrous core, is recommended, as it's said to be richer in the enzyme; if the ginger is too young or soft, the fibres are finer and fewer and you'll have to use more of it.

So far, only two out of my seven or eight attempts at this dessert were successful. Other times, all I got was ginger-flavoured milk which is also good, but not what I was aiming for.

After many failures, this is practically an event - World Cup, what's that?

All I do is heat the milk to a boil, then turn down the heat and let it simmer. I sweeten it with honey, resisting the urge to use any kind of cane sugar - which they say we're having too much of, whether brown or 'organic'. No exact measurements for the honey - I just add and stir until the colour's to my liking.

Because the ginger I currently have can be considered young, I grate a whole pile of it (maybe four to five inches worth) before the milk goes into the saucepan. While the milk is heating up, squeeze the ginger juice over a strainer or sieve into a bowl or mug, and set it aside.

When it's time to pour the milk, give the ginger juice a stir. If the juice has been sitting there for a while, you might find a layer of what feels like chalk or powdered starch at the bottom. Stir this up so that it mixes with the juice; one or two recipes says this helps the curdling process.

I then turn off the heat and let the milk cool a bit before pouring the milk into the bowl with the ginger juice. Then I leave it alone. This is another stage where the recipe tends to fail. Some recommend a temperature of between 40°C and 70°C, but this is cooking, not science. Just make sure the milk isn't boiling when it's time to pour.
­
Though a lot of recipes say the milk will congeal within three minutes, but I tend to set it aside for a little longer (up to ten minutes). I also keep it covered with a small dish or saucer to keep the heat in - and the creepy crawlies out.

If you think the warm stuff is good, wait till you eat it after it's chilled

I'm not the type who often experiments with various milks, so I stick with the ingredients that I've been successful with: full cream milk (none of that UHT stuff, that's milk-flavoured water), honey, ginger, and maybe a little prayer for success. But the grating - oh g*ds, the grating.

I might have to use a different ginger root, however.

Some additional points:

• I don't grate the ginger or extract the juice and store it for later use. Ginger has quite a few enzymes and they might degrade with time. It's better to grate and squeeze it fresh. The milk can simmer for a bit longer while you do it, and it'll thicken, which means a creamier curd.
• If it fails, don't rescue it with more ginger juice, additional heating, or both. You're likely to end up with a partially curdled mess that might not taste good, as I did once. Let the failure cool, drink it up, and try again next time. But my refusal to admit defeat one evening led me to drink about a litre of failure.
• If you're making multiple servings, keep at least one in the fridge to cool. It'll taste even better.
• Resist the urge to throw in flavours like vanilla extract, coffee or pandan, as it might mix with the ginger and produce a not-so-ideal taste. ...Okay, maybe pandan might be worth a try.

'k, good luck.

Epicurean Editor Cooks Some Chook

Up to last week, my chefly ventures never went beyond vegetables, carbs and processed protein.

Then a friend challenged me to cook chicken. Raw chunks of thigh, still on the bone. Inspired, in part, by a picture of spicy chicken wings on a Facebook page. She even bought the raw meat, just in case I tried to squirm out of it (photos here aren't mine, by the way).

Though intrigued by the prospect of trying out turmeric chicken, I felt it was too ambitious, and where was I going to find gloves? So I settled for a simple rub: salt, pepper, olive oil and a sprinkling of McCormick's mixed herbs (marjoram, rosemary, sage, thyme, savory). I let the whole lot sit for up to half an hour before putting it in the oven.

While that sizzled away, I prepared the other half of the meal.

Butternut squash, zucchini, red and yellow bell pepper, carrot and potatoes, all chopped up for roasting. I seasoned it with the same stuff I used for the chicken (with less salt and pepper). There was no room for brinjals by the time I was done with the other veggies. After that, crushed cloves of garlic went in and a few tosses later, all was ready.

The chicken cooked for about 45 minutes on 180 degrees C before I turned off the oven and took it out. It was delicious, and the taste even had the hint of KFC. If that wasn't enough, I splashed water on the pan, scraped what I could of the bits that clung onto the bottom, and mixed it all into a sauce of sorts.

... Yep, a bit too much salt. But what manner of alchemy merged the fat and juices that oozed out of the chicken with the oil and seasonings and turned it into something ... near-divine? I took spoonfuls of the sauce (for lack of a better word) with each bite of meat, and drizzled some over the roasted vegetables, which also turned out fine.

So, yes, I managed to cook raw meat. And the results were better than expected.

The friend loved it too. She used the word "orgasmic" at one point - betraying, perhaps, her penchant for drama. But it was relatively cheap and we didn't have to wait in line or pay any sales and services tax. And we knew what went inside.

And it was easy.

From that point on, a wide horizon of shifting colours stretched before me. Right now, it's tinged with the stark yellow hues of turmeric.

The Beginnings Of An Epicurean Editor?

I recently cooked a spaghetti aglio olio for an early pre-Christmas party. Nothing new about that, except...

I used Chinese-style roasted pork belly, along with sun-dried tomatoes. Well, it was sort of inspired by the Pork Lover's Aglio Olio from Three Little Pigs & The Big Bad Wolf in Bangsar Village.

I cooked for six people.

It took place in someone else's bigger, better-equipped kitchen. I had to use a wok to toss the ingredients and it was hard work. But the experience left me with, among other things, kitchen envy.

Stirring up a storm in a kitchen (left) and the final product

It was the first time I'd made spaghetti for anyone else, outside the home - and I somehow got it al dente. At least the assembled thought it was.

And I'd only seriously begun what most would call "cooking" several months ago.

One thing I didn't know, though, was to toss the freshly cooked spaghetti strands in olive oil to keep them from sticking together. One of the hosts pointed that out as I struggled to free the strands from congealing into a heavy tangled mass.

Everybody loved it, and I'm sure they weren't just being polite. Two partygoers took home what was left for dinner the next day - I'm not sure if it would taste the same.

I've been dabbling with some pasta recipes of late, the latest step in my progression towards some degree of self-sufficiency in the home kitchen.

A curried carrot-potato soup with a drizzle of olive oil and
some sunflower seeds (used chicken-stock cubes, so it tasted
like something out of a Maggi packet)

An earlier version of my roast pork-belly pasta; it's advisable
to cut the meat to smaller pieces and fry them with the garlic
before tossing the whole lot with the pasta

The seeds of that might have been planted during a lunch date with a former colleague. I used to do the occasional restaurant review for the media back then, and when she knew about this, she asked if I cooked anything myself. I didn't.

"How can you write about food when you don't cook?" she asked, puzzled. "Isn't that kind of hypocritical?"

I don't know about her cooking skills but, man, she doesn't mince words. That stayed with me since, even though I can throw something simple together now.

My idea of a good hot chocolate is a bit different; this cup is a
mix of Valrhona Guanaja (70% dark) and Jivara (milk chocolate)

Here, I use Whittaker's Dark Ghana, and split it into two
portions: one plain and the other with cinnamon

Since my first experiments with milkshakes and smoothies with a blender, I've been wondering about what else I can do with my hands besides what I do at work with red pens and highlighters.

Putting things in ovens and heating them to death doesn't count as cooking in my book, though I have tried doing that as well - less cleaning up than dishes that require fire and a pot or pan.

A baked salmon - not much work required and great as a lean dinner
when served with blanched vegetables

Pigs in blankets, with a little bit extra (garlic and herbs). These later
burst out of their skins (and blankets) under the intense heat, but I
never got around to solving that problem - yet

After I first boiled a bunch of tri-coloured spirals (not sure what they were really called), I've had plenty of successes with pastas aglio olio - a no-brainer of a dish. You don't even have to fry the pasta.

Sauce-based ones were a bit trickier. An attempt at a sardine thingy left my spirals wallowing in some orange-coloured, sardine-flavoured slurry that smelled strongly of fish oil and tasted fine.

Several attempts at a curry-sauce variety were not as successful. The first time, I used too much masala powder. Another time, I got something that smelled and tasted vaguely of Nyonya-styled chilli paste (I used shallots instead of onions).

Every time, I got a bitter taste in the spice mix or sauce. I've learnt since then that some curries need cream. I used Greek yoghurt in my last experiment.

Not-very-good curry sauce pasta; used sausages because I wanted
the protein but nothing good was available

But I'm not giving up. Hell, if my Dad managed to make the family's chicken curry once....

And I'm guessing that these skills will come in handy when we start paying extra for tolls, electricity, petrol and stuff, on top of the GST that's coming on April 2015.

But more importantly ... can I write about food now? Or do I need to learn how to cook and rest a steak next?


As I post this, I'm recovering from a(nother) throat infection - and a bout of possible food poisoning, both of which occurred on Christmas Eve. I feel like I'm being told something, but I'm not sure what exactly.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Me, Eventually

I rarely say anything of a personal nature on this platform because it's meant mostly about books. But...

I know I'm blogging less frequently now, as in, non-listicle-type fillers. I know. I read lots in the day job, so it's the last thing I'd want to do after leaving the office. But I have other book-related commitments, some of which may be of use to the company.

I recently turned 37. When? That I don't plan on sharing. On some days I feel older than 37, though.

Then there's also this:

Attempt #2 at baked salmon, sans salt, plus some
very oven-killed French beans

Attempt #3 at baked salmon, prepared conventionally with
dried herbs. Think I'll do it this way from now on.

I've been going to the gym two or three times a week for several months. After complaining about aches and pains, I'd been advised to take a protein supplement by Nitro-Tech. But for the meantime, I've turned to other sources: soy milk, yoghurt-based smoothies and fish, which I've begun cooking on occasion.

Several experiments with the oven yielded mixed results. After several attempts, grilling fish without salt doesn't sound like a good idea. But I've been a sucker for salmon for a very long time. There's a certain satisfaction with cooking your own stuff.

Of course, there'll be some less healthier experiments in between

Next on the list is a basic electric rice cooker, with which I intend to experiment with various one-pot wonders (dear l*rd, the man can write). Eventually. So, can I write about food now, M?

Pile the occasional kitchen experiment on top of my chores and after-work time-wasting stuff, I barely have time for things I used to do. Books. Long-winded pieces. Hanging out at watering holes.

But I'll find the time to do all that - and more.

Eventually.