Minty Curry Sauce With Rice And Roast Pork

Fresh from my milestone one-pot chicken and mushroom rice, I moved onto another culinary thought experiment.

How would mint change a curry?

I sometimes revisit to Mom's sour, minty prawn curry in my memories, feeling the prawns against my teeth before they yielded, releasing their goodness and adding to the spices and fresh, earthy and astringent herb in the gravy.

Partial mise en place for a Sunday lunch. The sauce can be used
for anything you like.

Instead of a full-fledged dish, I opted to make a curry sauce with mint, which I would then blitz with a blender and bring to a boil with some pieces of roast pork. But had I put a bit more thought into it, I'd have used red onion rather than shallot, because shallots are harder to prep.

I chopped the shallots roughly anyhow, since it was all going to be blended. I used fresh red chillies for heat and colour, along with a tomato, grated ginger and garlic, curry powder and a bit of turmeric powder.

The shallots were pan-fried first, and it seemed to be smoother and took less time with the wok than the stainless steel pot. The grated ginger and garlic went in, followed by the tomatoes. The whole mess soon cooked to a satisfying pulp that's well on its way towards gravy-hood.

The wok worked well. Too bad it didn't come with a lid. Nor were
there any pot lids available for it.

A quick taste made me reach for the pot of salt. A good pinch went in, then a good stir to mix it well.

I lowered the heat and tossed in the sliced chillies, seeds and all, and stirred for a bit before adding the curry and turmeric powders. Once well stirred and cooked, I switched off the flame and allowed the spice paste to cool, while checking the rice.

Yes, I had some brown rice cooking around the same time. At first, I thought I'd "use the same amount of rice" I did for the previous dish. But it turned out that the amount was just right for me. Though a good handful ended up stuck to the bottom of the pot.

The mint leaves went in whole before blitzing.

Excited to see the grains bubbling along nicely, I returned to the spice paste.

Oh dear, oh dear, might I need to add water? Thinking for a bit, I remembered the now-frozen left-over chicken stock from the previous day. I cut open the carton and scraped about two heaped tablespoons of the slushy stock to flavour the spice paste and cool it further.

I would add water later, when flushing out whatever sauce that was stuck in the blender pitcher after a good whizz with some fresh mint leaves.

One ringgit got me a small bunch of mint which was not in good shape overall, but it was fresh. I picked the better leaves and froze them in a zip-lock bag for later use.

Minty curry gravy, post-blitz. Would butter, yoghurt
or cream have made it better?

I think I used several leaves too many. Some of them were big leaves, too. But it did taste different and nice.

Hungry and impatient, I dropped the "push mixture through the sieve" step and returned the blitzed gravy to the wok. I tossed most of the roast pork into the bubbling mix and let it simmer for a bit. My word, the aroma. What a time to run out of butter.

Pouring the finished dish into a bowl, I couldn't resist putting a finishing touch to it.

Now it has way too much mint. Pretty, though, don't you think?

Did I, as makan kaki Melody put it, nail this dish. I'm not sure. Maybe I wasn't meant to. Curry is complicated and, after about a dozen attempts, one should be grateful that it's edible.

The taste was okay, but way too much mint. A sprinkle of sweetening might have made it better, but that got lost in the haze of cook, mind the pot, mind the stove and clean as you go. I'm terribly OCD about the latter - three or more dirty utensils (including cutlery and crockery) in the sink and I get uncomfortable.

Curries are best eaten with rice. Nothing soaks up and holds the gravy quite like it.

Upon tasting and reflection, curry rice sounds more
natural than curry pasta. DROOL PLZ.

Because of that, I will "nail" this dish. Or get as close to nailing it as possible.

Remembering Roger Ebert: One-Pot Chicken Rice

About three years ago, the famed writer and film critic Roger Ebert passed away. The news brought back memories of an article he wrote, extolling the virtues of the humble one-switch rice cooker.

Back then, I'd barely cooked anything myself, even though I'd written about food for a couple of publications. When told of this during a lunch date, Em, a journalist and former colleague, was surprised. She believed that to write about food, one must have cooked some - or risk looking like a hypocrite.

Partial mise en place for the one-pot rice. Counter-clockwise from top
left: one large yellow onion, chopped; eight brown mushrooms, sliced;
brown rice; and two (I think) cloves of garlic, finely chopped.

The H-word made me uncomfortable, to say the least.

Not too long after that, I started trying out simple recipes, from Western-style carrot and mushroom soups to pastas and curries. I'd even prepared food for other people, a couple of times.

Recipes for rice-based dishes, however, remained untouched. I managed to find plenty of excuses to put it off. Until the day I ran out of cooking gas.

Marinated chicken, cut into pieces. Didn't think it and all the mushrooms
and onion would brown properly in the rice pot, so...

On impulse, I took home a plain rice cooker - after paying for it, of course. The same kind of pot Ebert used for the one-pot dishes in his article. I used it to boil my pastas at first, because the left-over basil pesto I made was dying in the fridge. Spurred by minor successes in this, I began contemplating those one-pot recipes, starting with a rice dish.

So on Saturday, I assembled the ingredients.

Nothing complicated: just brown rice, chicken, brown mushrooms and mixed Italian herbs, with one chopped yellow onion, a bit of garlic, and chicken stock. The chicken - two deboned drumsticks - was marinated overnight with salt, pepper, mixed herbs, finely chopped garlic and rice bran oil.

As I prepped the ingredients, problems emerged: too much chicken, too much mushroom (about eight went in, the whole small pack, basically) and too much onion for one person - and one 1.8-litre rice pot to handle. So much for frying everything in that pot first. I was also spooked by several power outages in my area recently, including one that happened in the afternoon.

New wok to the rescue! Properly browned chicken (and
everything else), at last.

So I browned the marinated chicken, which I cut into pieces, in a made-in-China non-stick wok without additional oil. The utensil worked pretty well for what I assumed was a knock-off, and I ended up pan-frying everything I used in it. I fished out the chicken and left a bit of the juices and fat on the wok for the next stage.

Most of the chopped yellow onion was browned and reduced quicker in the wok on medium heat; it would've burned in the stainless steel pot I'd been using before. "Most", because I'd set aside some raw chopped onion as a "vegetable" to be added to the pot to cook.

Or maybe the onions got "browned" by the mushrooms that followed. Once the 'shrooms were sufficiently sweated out, a bit of chopped garlic went in.

Browned chicken reunited with sauteed mushrooms, onion and garlic.

The superbly browned chicken (by the wok) went back into the wok for a few tosses, then, the brown rice. Earlier, I'd washed and soaked the rice in water for a bit, according to the instructions on the pack, for softer rice. Of course, I drained it first.

(So, technically, not a one-pot meal. Sorry, Mr Ebert.)

A few minutes later, all of it went into the rice pot, with a sprinkling of more mixed herbs and chicken stock. Instead of the rice cup, I used the blue earthenware rice bowl, with a helpful border near the top. One measure of rice to two and a half measures of chicken stock. I also tossed in a couple of good-sized cloves of crushed garlic.

At the last minute though, I added a sprinkling more rice and a bit of water, just in case. This was the first time I cooked rice in this apartment.

Raw brown rice getting tossed with the good stuff. Coming together nicely.

After turning on the pot, I ended up adding a bit more rice, with a bit more water. I didn't mind if it turned out a bit soggy. A short while later, I wondered why the pot wasn't scalding hot. One look at the control panel and- silly me, I didn't set it to "Cook".

Unlike the pasta, I didn't have to mind the pot so much. While boiling pasta, the water would bubble violently and creep out of the pot, creating a mess. The designer had the foresight to put the power socket under one of the handles, to keep spills away. Sone would argue that all the other ingredients with the rice would minimise violent bubbling.

It must've been about half an hour or so before the pot decided that the rice was ready. Even before it was set to "Keep Warm" the pot was releasing aromas of cooked chicken, mushrooms and herbs. If I'd used arborio rice it would've made for a workmanlike risotto.

One-pot chicken and mushroom rice, ready for lift-off in the new rice
cooker. Another milestone in the kitchen.

The result? Delicious.

So delicious, I went out to specifically buy microwaveable takeaway containers and pack a portion for makan kaki Melody. Her input was crucial, and I had a good feeling about this important dish.

"Yummy", came her verdict via WhastApp. "Like claypot chicken rice." Which is not a bad thing.

Of course there was a hiccup. A lot of my kitchen adventures have at least one.

Scraping the bottom of the pot, I found blackened bits which I thought was burnt rice and stuff. Scraping a bit more, most of the black bits came off easier than I'd expected. But the taste ... savoury, strong and Marmite-like. I suspect that, because I didn't stir the pot intermittently while it cooked (does one have to?), some of the goodness at the bottom caramelised and started to burn.

Finished product, with a clump of dried mixed herbs on top.
And the bottom of the pot had something else...

I ended up cooking enough for four fastidious people or a pair of famished ones. One measure of rice, I would learn, was enough for a hearty meal for one epicurean editor, provided the dishes were good.

Most of all, I'd fulfilled a vow - kind of - to the late Roger Ebert. I'll be cooking more rice dishes for sure now, as I'm starting to get tired of pasta. And I'll be writing more entries like these with the hope that more people will take the plunge themselves. These are different times, though, where more young people are already doing more, and not just with rice cookers.

When they'd heard of me boiling pasta with a rice cooker, several Facebook friends, including Em, responded with messages of encouragement. Their input was also important, particularly Em's. She provided what I believed was the final nudge.

Here's looking at you, Mr Ebert. Thanks for everything.

"So," I wrote in reply to Em's comment, "So... can I write about food now? *looks hopeful*"

Her response: "Hahah yes. Clearly *tongue emoticon*"

My rice was yummy, but so is validation for a dish well done.

Chicken And Curry Sauce, With Pasta

Hallo! Apa khabar, ni hao, vanakkam, manah betemu nuan, inoe dengah, kopivosian, silamat bidapud, namaste, sat sri akal, welcome to another edition of Epicurean Editor.

Okay, boys and girls, I know it's been a long time since I talked about what I cooked, but all I've been doing are pasta dishes and you don't really want to know that.

Well, too bad, because I can't cook rice or couscous as yet

But lately, I've been toying with ideas for curries again. As a curry lover, this dish has become a preoccupation every time I have the urge for something spicy. Then a friend introduced me to a YouTube chef from India, Mr Sanjay Thumma, a.k.a. the VahChef of VahRehVah.com

Vah! This man has an online empire - Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram, and even apps on Google Play and the Apple App Store. He films in English, Telugu and Hindi, and his wife is also involved. Okay, the grammar could use some work, but that's no impediment to his reach, apparently.

More importantly, he's changed the way I do curries by taking away some of the doubts I have about spices, certain herbs and turmeric. The latest curry thing I made is not what I'm talking about now but more on that later.

What I'm talking about is boneless chicken curry pasta.

(So sorry, boys and girls, for inflicting carbs on you again.)

First, take a pair of chicken chops - deboned drumsticks, really - and marinate with about two tablespoons of yoghurt, some curry powder and salt.

I'm nervous when buying raw meat because I worry about getting it home before it starts going bad. Back home, however, I had fun working the marinade into the chicken, sneaking some under the skin and giving it a nice rub.

Satisfied, I let the chicken sit in the marinade in a plate, which I cover with cling film and allow to marinate overnight in the fridge. Usually this means seven to eight hours, but I ended up leaving it for up to twelve. I wasn't worried, as I was the only one eating it. The drumsticks can't complain; people do pay for yoghurt rub-downs.

♪ Marinated chicken-y goodness, sitting in the fridge ♫

Meanwhile, I get the mise en place - the palette of prepared ingredients - ready. Chopped onions, curry powder, cooked pasta, chopped tamat- sorry, tomatoes ... the usual. A video featuring Gordon Ramsay teaching five basic cooking skills had me chopping onions joyously - now as therapeutic for me as mincing garlic.

From Chef Sanjay, ginger-garlic paste. Grate three good-sized cloves of garlic and a thumb-sized piece of ginger and mix into a paste; you should get about a heaped tablespoon's worth. I think the proper way is to grind the ginger and garlic, both peeled, in a pestle and mortar.

Boys and girls, prepping a mise en place is tough, especially for curries.

Against certain wisdom, I cut the marinated chicken into smaller pieces, throwing away the bony knobs left behind, and rubbed the marinade on the now-uncovered bits. I'd expected to fry the chicken in the pan with some oil, but ended up braising it instead because as soon as the meat got hot, vah! A deluge of juices!

Possible reasons: left-over water from rinsing the chicken, the juices and fat from the chook and the marinade, or maybe because the heat was low. Way too much moisture from two deboned drumsticks, in my opinion.

After wallowing in curry-tinged yoghurt for twelve
hours in the fridge, voila. Ha, ha, ha~

I tried not to overcook it, as I would be returning the meat into the pan with the curry sauce for the pasta. Once done, I set it aside, juices and all, and work on the sauce.

Fry the onions in some oil (time to whip out the rice-bran oil I was recommended) until they start taking on some colour, then throw in the ginger-garlic paste and continue frying for a bit until the aroma from the paste emerges.

Take it off the heat, stir in the curry powder and mix until it forms a dry-ish paste, then return to the heat and fry until it smells even better. Don't do this for too long, as the curry powder would burn.

By now parts of me that weren't covered were infused with the bouquet of a curry in the making. If you have this problem, shower quickly and wash your hair before you go around your house and spread the aroma. And make sure your kitchen is well ventilated.

Stir-fry the chopped tomatoes in this paste for a bit, then add a bit of water. I'm partial to drier curries, so I kept the water at a minimum. The tomatoes have to cook or it'll take longer for them to dissolve into the sauce.

Masala in the making, on the way to becoming super-tasty,
super-awesome curry. Woo hoo hoo~ ♪

Then, I let the whole thing simmer until the tomatoes and onions disintegrate, stirring to keep the sauce from burning.

Thick sauces tend to have air pockets that lift the liquid off the bottom of the pan, creating patches of heated metal that will burn the sauce when the air goes out. They can be hard to spot, so watch the pot and stir every couple of minutes or so. At least, that's my theory.

Taste the sauce and adjust the level of salt in it. Rescuing an oversalted dish can be troublesome, so always start with a little bit.

Once the tomatoes and onions start to disappear into a gooey mass, I threw in the chicken, juices and all, stirred and allowed the sauce to simmer under low heat. I learnt later the chicken wasn't sufficiently salted, but the sauce helped.

By now I couldn't resist the urge to dig in. But, time and
place, boys and girls. Time and place.

When the sauce is almost ready, about one tablespoon of butter went in. I'd put more butter, but I'd have to have a really bad day to make my curry sauce that much richer. No additional yoghurt, since the marinade already has it.

Our on top of the pasta, toss thoroughly and serve.

Vah!

As expected, the yoghurt made the sauce sourish, but the level of spice was just fine. And the butter gives richness and a tiny bit of a milky sweetness ... I am so adding butter in all my curry dishes from now on. The ginger-garlic paste adds more taste as well as warmth and aroma. So worth the peeling and grating.

Mm, mm, MM! Best curry chicken (with pasta) yet. Better with butter.

Days later, I tried pasta with an "empty" (meatless) curry sauce. Instead of onion, I used shallots (too much, I think) and added an inch of grated turmeric root. What I got was something reminiscent of the Nyonya-style curries, or the sambal Mom used to stuff fish with before frying.

It's the shallots and turmeric but, my goodness, the work involved.

Peeling shallots can be tough, and one is tempted to remove the first succulent layer as well when peeling. But don't - all that adds up to a lot of wastage, if you're using a lot. So I adopted a tip from the Internet: soak the unpeeled shallots in water to soften the "paper".

Peel the turmeric with a spoon; like ginger, you don't want any of the skin on when you grate it. For one obvious reason, it's preferable to wash the grater and anything else that comes into contact with turmeric immediately after you're done with them. Five days later, the stains, albeit reduced, are still on my thumbs and forefingers.

But all the effort and turmeric stains were worth it. The shallot-based curry sauce was awesome. Shallots are Awesomesauce™.

Mutton curry pasta and home-made bottled curry sauces, here I come.

One-Pan Oven-Roasted Chicken

Now, this famous chef and food pers'nality may be diff'runt things to people, but nobody can doubt that 'e knows what 'e's talkin' 'bout, I reck'n, havin' bin behind the stove f'r years an' countin'. So when 'e put up a video of an oven-roasted curry chik'n, I felt compell'd t'try something similar.

An' I ended up w' sumthin' tot'lly diff'runt.

So I got sev'ral chic'n drumsticks, yea, and marinated it for 'bout an 'our wi' sum curry powder, a li'l salt, a li'l black pepper, sum cookin' oil, sum chilli powder and a pinch or two ov' minced garlic.

While that's marinatin', I sliced up an onion, a couple of p'tatuhs (skins on), minced sev'ral tiny cloves o' garlic and rubbed it all t'gethuh with the same thing I marinated th' chik'n with. I threw sum unpeeled garlic cloves into the pan wi' all th' veg'tables so they roast up nice 'n easy in th' oven, then laid the marinat'd drumsticks on top.

Luv'ly-jubbly.

I popped th' tray into th' oven pre'eated at about 160°C, le' it cook f'rabout 45 minutes and turned up th' heat to almost 190°C for a ten-minute duration, t' let the skin crisp up a bit more.

But b'fore that, I tossed a li'l water into the pan, so's th' bott'm won't burn and, 'opef'lly, get it steamin' a bit so things won't get too dry in there.

Th' r'sults?

Look a' that. Beeyoutif'l.

'Course, ev'rythin's beeyoutif'l when you're 'ungry. Bu' I like t' think there 're other reasons.

Th' drumsticks turned out well: crispy outside, tender inside. Not too salty, either. If I'd taken few'r pictures wi' me phone, I'd've sum'thin warmer and juicier too. Th' p'tatuhs didn't seem cooked all the way, not sof'nough, so I reck'n I should've cut 'em up a bi' smaller.

Th' onion was good, all gooey and sticky from th' sauce at th' bott'm of th' pan. A couple o' garlic cloves were a bit burnt on one side, but th' rest were okay.

'S been a while since I made anything wi' th' oven, so it feels good t' whip up a nice dinn'r on me own. But maybe next time I'll do it wi' the yog'urt and turmeric powder. B't then pe'ple might go, "Al, wha' you doin'? You're not in bloody Essex or even California! Y'got no bis'nus usin' turmeric POWDER when you c'n get 'nuff of th' fresh root f'r 'bout thirty pence!"

Yea, well, turmeric root's also hard to manage wit'out good 'ardware and I want sum'thin I c'n spread easily and evenly on th' chick'n, which is hard 'cus dry-ish marinades don't tend t' stick too well on meats wit'out sum'thin claggy 'n thick t' keep 'em there.

So, f'r a sor'-of-quick dinner: chick'n, p'tatuhs, addition'l veg or two, aromatics an' a rubdown wi' your fav'rut 'erbs or spices, bish-bash-bosh, into th' oven.

'Appy days.

---

I'm aware that these days a certain food celebrity doesn't talk (much) like that, but I wanted to do this anyway. The seed for this was planted years ago when I was challenged (forgot by who) to write a whole piece this way. It was hard. Might even be unnatural and disparaging of said celebrity.

But before I started dabbling with food, much of what I knew about cooking and stuff was informed by the shows made by him and his ilk. And the accent added flavour to his show, like its a herb or spice - which is why I still remember a few bits, even though it's been years, maybe a decade.

I'd like to think that all the years of watching food shows eventually gave me the push to do my own experimenting in the kitchen - and take the steps to trim my dependency on hired professionals and take charge of my own diet. If I am going to drench my mashed potatoes in cream and butter, at least I'll know exactly how much.

Basil Pesto Bash

More adventures in pasta! This time, another classic: basil pesto, based on a version of this recipe, which I pared down to the basics.

I was told that pine nuts was the way to go, even if it burned a hole or two in my pocket. But the recipe with cashews was also fine, the nuts imparting a rich, creamy and nuttier feel to the mix. And no "pine mouth", either.

Plus, cashews are cheaper and can be used for other things without much apprehension. Pine nuts? You'd probably measure it by the gram for salads and stuff.

Roasting the cashews and garlic (unpeeled) for colour, aroma and
flavour. The garlic was easier to peel afterwards.

This batch was officially my third. This time, I made extra to store and see how long it lasts before the colour becomes unappetising. I'm thinking three days but I hope to finish the lot in five or six.

A simple list: basil, cashews, garlic and olive oil. I'll only stir in the powdered Parmesan and more oil before digging in. Odd, how I didn't attempt this before the bolognaise.

The first time, I'd used one of those fancy hand-cranked choppers. It, a.k.a. Batch Zero, didn't turn out well. It wasn't even pesto-y. All fresh ingredients.

The next couple of times, I made something better with the blender. But the pitcher was tall and ingredients so few, the blades simply tossed the stuff to one side and ended up blending air instead.

So it was pulse-stir-pulse-stir with a bamboo chopstick, stirring and mashing the basil leaves before adding oil and pulse-shake the blender-pulse-shake the blender until done.

I would've done the job in half the time or less with a pestle and mortar.

Forgot to grab an Instagrammable shot of the pesto in the jar.
Still nice to look at, though.

The results were pretty much what I'd wanted: something pasty but not gooey, with still recognisable bits of basil or cashew. Versions #1 and #2 were a tad spicy from the extra garlic, but that was minor.

For Batch #3, I used three bags of basil (from Jaya Grocer), washed but not dried. I only discarded the main stems, not those on the leaves (mostly). The cashews and five cloves of garlic (unpeeled) were tossed in a hot pan for a bit to roast, like this other pesto recipe.

I decided to add some crushed, unroasted cashews and a fresh garlic clove later. While blending, I didn't use too much olive oil, maybe less than 100ml in total.

It turned out better and not so garlicky - darn, should've added an extra clove or two. Also, the crushed but not pulverised cashews added more texture and character - in hindsight, a good idea. It all went in a jar that went into the fridge.

Next: dinnertime! While the pasta (by now demoted to condiment by the greatness of pesto and SHEER HUNGER) boils in adequately salted water, I just spoon out a portion of pesto into a bowl and mix in the cheese and more olive oil. Add a bit extra you can swipe with a finger afterwards; it's fun and yummy.

I drain the pasta and, when it's still hot, toss it well in the cold pesto. No need to oil the pasta further.

Delicious and addictive. A pity it won't stay green (enough) and fragrant
for long. Can't keep this for more than five or six days after all.

Delicious. And addictive. I've had basil pesto linguine for three days and I'm still not bored. But basil is a herb and you know what they say about herbs, right?

Whether one bag or three, it's still a bitch to make with a blender. I also plan to add lemon juice in the future. But nothing more, perhaps. I like this recipe and I don't want to mess around with it too much. Next time, maybe I can make things easier by using more basil and shredding the leaves into finer bits.

And mint. Would be interesting with mint. Three to five good-sized leaves for a three-bag batch. Not too much; mint can be overpowering. Just enough to add that mountain-fresh zing. But no chilli. Makan kaki Melody once seasoned a batch of my basil pesto with chilli flakes, the HERETIC.

And I think I just pared the list of restaurants I go to by another fifth.

...Well, of course pesto has non-pasta applications, just as there are different kinds of pesto, like the laksa pesto I had (so it's been done elsewhere). I recently had a chicken pesto pizza, and I've thought of stirring it into fried rice or using it as a condiment for fried or grilled chicken. It would depend on what the pesto is made of.

Nope, still not messing around too much with the basic recipe.

If you're making for friends, do ask whether any of them have nut allergies - yes, even for pine nuts. Anaphylaxis is no joke. Alternatively, you can omit the nuts and add more cheese.

Adventures In Bolognaise

Emboldened by the relative success of my attempts at making purple carrot soup and mushroom soup, I moved on to another challenge: pasta bolognaise.

So I'm a little late to the bandwagon.

Several meals of lamb bolognaise spaghetti at a nearby café sort of convinced me that hey, this is doable (not to mention the expense). But not with lamb. Not yet.

Thank goodness for the YSK meat mart nearby for this straight-up pork bolognaise I attempted one fine weekend.

First, season the mince. Salt (not a lot), pepper and mixed herbs by McCormick, and work it with the hands until they are all evenly distributed. These three seasonings should be okay for whatever four-legged animal you'd want, or even chicken.

Pork bolognaise cooking away, while the cooked pasta waits
impatiently; sorry, no pictures of the interim steps

Then, ball it up and smack it down into the bowl several times; this tip came from Mom, which I assume was primarily for meat balls, but it's quite satisfying to lay the smackdown on the mince anyway.

Heat some oil in a pan and drop the meat in. No fear of it clumping into a grotesque misshapen burger patty if you stir it often to break up any huge bits. If your meat is frozen (like mine), you might want to cook it just a wee bit longer, but not too long, because it's going to bubble along with the sauce.

Take it off the heat when thoroughly brown and plate it. Might be good also if you lined the plate with several paper towels to catch any fat that would otherwise pool at the bottom or be absorbed by the mince in the lower layers.

Now, the tomato-based sauce.

Toss in one yellow onion, chopped, and sauté until soft. Then add the aromatics: chopped garlic and shallots, and sauté for a few minutes. The kitchen should start smelling real good.

Then, in goes two chopped tomatoes. I didn't bother with skinning or removing the seeds, since they were small (should've bought two more at the market). Smoosh the tomatoes as they cook.

After a few minutes, in goes the stock or water, followed by two heaped tablespoons of Hunt's tomato paste. Stir and let it boil. When the sauce starts to bubble, dump the mince in, and stir. Let it boil a bit, then reduce to a simmer. Depending on how thick you want it, simmering time could take between 30 and 45 minutes. Stir the sauce from time to time.

With this, the number of pasta-serving places I tend to visit
went down by ... three quarters?

In the meantime, cook your pasta al dente. I made the mistake of making the pasta almost after I set the sauce to simmer, but since I was the one eating it...

When the sauce has reduced to your liking, take it off the heat, taste and adjust seasonings. Making it a habit of adding less salt helps. Heap your sauce over your pasta and serve.

It came out fine, because I didn't overdo the salt and continually tasted the sauce at almost every stage of its preparation. Some things to note, though:

• Probably too much minced pork for one serving. Stomach's not the near-bottomless pit it used to be. Should've also put it on a plate with several layers of paper towels after browning to absorb the excess fat.
• Used too much water, so the sauce took longer to simmer down. In the end, the bolognaise was wetter than usual and not very tomato-ey. And there's still a small bowl of leftover sauce in the kitchen.
• Pasta was too soft because I cooked it too early. Should've waited until the sauce was ready first.

This whole dish, sauce and all, took me about an hour and 15 minutes to prepare. Crazy! But worth it, I guess.

Since then, I've made this dish a couple more times, including a version where I blended the cooked sauce ingredients in a blender before bringing it up to a simmer and tossing the mince in. This version cooked a bit faster and yielded a thicker sauce, but didn't taste quite right after I allowed a lot of the meat juice and fat from the mince to drain on paper towels.

The third bolognaise followed the first, albeit with the addition of a little butter and cheese that was shaved from a block of mature cheddar that flew out of London - thanks, Melody! Don't ever do this with the individually packed "cheddar slices" - it won't be the same.

So ... if any of you restaurant owners are wondering why you don't see me around these days - not that you often do - wonder no more.

Some Feathers In My (Mushroom) Cap

At every Western cuisine outfit I patronise, mushroom soup is often a go-to thing, especially if it's my first time there and if it's available.

So it's only a matter of time before I made my own Western-style mushroom soup.

Main ingredients for mushroom soup

What kept me back was my paranoia of mushrooms. These look dirty - how do you clean them? Do you even need to? Should I remove the stems? These look like a lot - should I use them all? What if the factory accidentally slipped in a poisonous one?

I know, silly me. But to me, these were valid concerns.

While mulling a method to help me shop for groceries better (like recipe cards), I decided to do a mental one for the day I tackle my favourite appetiser. Once I do mushrooms, I might end up putting it into every other thing I cook: Stir-fries, pasta sauces, sandwiches, curries...

Earlier, the mushrooms filled about half the pot

Right, the ingredients. Brown button mushrooms (200g), some Portobello mushrooms, shallots, garlic, mixed herbs and 500ml of pre-packed liquid vegetable stock. This recipe is loosely based on this one.

Prepping the mushrooms was a bit tricky. Several recipes I referred to don't mention washing the 'shrooms first, but one said to remove the stems from Portobellos (which can be woody and tough, I reckon). So I just showered them with water. Rubbing a brown mushroom cap caused the brown to come off, so I stopped.

ROILING HELLBROTH; note the clean stovetops and the saved
mushrooms, chopped (should've saved more)

When the pile of sliced mushrooms got uncomfortably big, I saved the last three Portobello for later. I used these instead of shiitake for the extra flavour and meatiness, but as I learnt later, it's fine for them all to go into the pot - after the aromatics (chopped shallots and garlic) were tossed in and sautéed with a little oil.

Watching Jamie Oliver cook mushrooms, I learnt that the fungi are like sponges that release their own water into the pot, while absorbing other flavours you throw in. And these 'shrooms release a lot of water. As I stirred, the huge pile shrank by at least half, while a puddle of liquid slowly pooled at the bottom of the pot.

I wasn't sure if I should save it all, so I took the pot off the heat and poured put most of it in a bowl; the rest went into the sink, which, in hindsight, was not a good idea.

Bubbly blended fungal ambrosia, peppered with black pepper

Then the pot went back onto the flames. Several minutes is all is needed, then the veggie stock went in. As it started to boil, I tasted the mushroom water.

Mm-mmm, good.

So back into the pot it went, along with a bit of salt, pepper and mixed herbs. And- uh oh, maybe 500ml of vegetable stock was a bit too much. But getting some of it to boil away would take too long. So I killed the heat and waited for it to cool before blending it up.

Oh yes, save a bit of mushroom to chop up for texture.

Almost like how they do it in restaurants

I made a similar mistake with the "ancient carrot" soup: to get as much soup out of the receptacle, I used water, which went back into the pot for a final boil and a swirl of milk - no cream on hand, and I thought with extra mushrooms, why bother?

Yes, the soup was a bit salty on top of being slightly watery - no cream. Perhaps a future version would also benefit from it, plus more mushrooms and less water.

But it is still good, and it was a huge bowl. But at RM18++ for all those mushrooms and almost RM10 for the veggie stock, the cost of raw ingredients is a bit steep.

Still, I've made something with mushrooms. I can see myself doing this again.

The remaining Portobellos went into a (yummy) mushroom pasta dish

As for the remaining Portobellos, they ended up in a yummy home-made mushroom pasta dish the next day. They're not cheap, okay?

...Yes, this is starting to look like a cooking blog. Maybe it's because I find cooking therapeutic - at the moment. Glad the title still applies, though. (Books? No. Maybe. Later. Kitchen? Yes.)

Ancient Carrot Soup

It never occurred to me to revisit my recipe for carrot and potato soup until I spotted something at the Cold Storage in the "new" Jaya Shopping Centre.

Purple carrots.

Lead "actors": potatoes and purple carrots

Oh, how novel, you might say. But I remember reading from somewhere that carrots come in several colours, like corn and rice, and was apparently what the ancients used to eat. And it seems that the lobak ori were mostly purple ones, and the modern orange carrots are mutants, widely cultivated for economic reasons.

The colour of purple carrots indicates its anthocyanin content. Reputed to be a powerful antioxidant, anthocyanins are also found in a variety of food, such as purple corn, blackberries, eggplant peel, Concord grapes, black rice and black glutinous rice. However, the actual contributions of food-based anthocyanins to one's health haven't been concretely substantiated.

Veggies getting tossed with the aromatics before the main event

But, mmm, purple carrots. And a purple carrot soup makes an interesting talking point, even if the nutritional value is hyped up.

Three small potatoes, three small purple carrots (not expensive), shallots, garlic, mixed herbs and the usual seasoning, plus a little pre-packed vegetable stock (250ml; they ran out of bigger packages).

First, the sautéing of the aromatics. After which, the vegetables - peeled and diced - were added.

When the veggies were ready, I poured in the vegetable stock plus some water and brought the whole thing to a boil. After which, it simmered for about 10 or 15 minutes, during which I added black pepper, a bit of salt and the mixed herbs.

ROILING HELLBROTH (and yes, the stovetops need cleaning - done that)

Getting it to cool before the blending took longer. What you get is something that resembles black glutinous rice dessert, albeit a few shades lighter, due to the potatoes. The spuds also provide the starch to thicken it, so no need for cream, yogurt and the like.

The blended stuff goes back into the pot and heated up till it bubbles. Don't let it bubble for long; as soon as you see a few of those pop, stir and stir for a bit and take it off the heat. Taste and adjust the seasoning.

The soup, like Zhang Ziyi says in her Visa commercial, was a bit "too sahltee." I think the heat must've dulled the tastebuds; the saltiness was more evident when the soup cooled. Should I have tasted the stock first to check? Maybe.

I think the soup also needed more carrot, less potato, and a shorter cooking time. A few bits of raw purple carrot on top - plus some croutons or toasted baguette slices - wouldn't have been out of place, either.

Blended and brought to a boil: Carrot Soup of the Ancients

So yes, ancient purple carrots. I think they should be on supermarket shelves - and salad bowls - everywhere.

Currying Flavours With Egg And Bacon

I am fond of curries, even those that don't necessarily qualify as such by Malaysian standards.

Some of my favourite dishes are the curry rices some tai chow restaurants prepare, which are more like the Japanese curry rice that I'm also fond of. But sadly, very few places that sell this dish are nearby; the nearest one closed shop weeks ago.

Curry pasta sounds like a poor choice in comparison.

It's a bit more involved than my sunshine pasta, in that I use more herbs and spices and add some bacon and a poached egg for good measure. Non-spaghetti-type pastas like fusilli, shells and penne work better with this, but I'm not laying down laws here. Use whatever you like.

Curry sauce fusilli with bacon and poached egg; the bit of yolk is what
remained of a botched poach - let's not speak of it again

For better results, I'd mix a little grated ginger, grated garlic and grated shallots with the curry powder, a bit of salt and water while the pasta cooks (in salted water) - but you can do without the wet spices in a hurry, like when you're so hungry it feels like you're about to give birth to a chestburster.

Then again, there's the bacon and poached egg. You fry the former in oil (or without, and let the fat render for use later, though this is pointless if you're not using a whole lot of bacon) and put it on a dish with a paper towel to catch the excess grease. I could write a whole post on the latter, which I won't because HUNGRY, yo.

Just poach the egg, fish it out of the water and put it on another dish lined with a paper towel to soak up the excess water. If the poached egg still has some water in the pockets of cooked white, it'll seep into the pasta and dilute the curry.

Once the bacon's done, you use the fat left behind to fry up the curry paste. I didn't bother with the oil-separating thingy, so I waited until the paste is fragrant before I tipped the pasta in.

Few things approach the sanctity of liquid ambrosia than the
fluid yolk of a poached egg

Stir to coat, adding a little water if necessary. Add a tablespoon or two of yogurt to cream up the sauce, mix well and plate. Push the pasta up into a pile or make a nest of sorts where the poached egg goes, then sprinkle with bacon bits and serve.

...This happened late last year. But what the heck.

Sunshine On A Plate

My preoccupation with pasta dishes might have something to do with how versatile I find them. Plus, pastas are becoming a great alternative to rice in my kitchen.

I haven't come up with a name for one pasta dish I cooked up, but I suspect it might already have one: this thing with fresh tomatoes, anchovies (not ikan bilis), garlic and the optional lemon zest and hot sauce.

Let's call it sunshine pasta.

"Sunshine", because it's bright in colour and taste and relatively light. I don't know what I'd call it if you threw in, say, a few lardons of bacon or lamb ragù.

But the lemon zest fits, and I've wanted something with anchovies aka orang putih punya ikan bilis for a quick throw-together when I can't decide where to eat out.

I'd go easy with the hot sauce, though; too much and you'd have a plate of scorching Sahara rather than the tepid tropics.

Mise-en-place for "sunshine pasta"

First, your mise en place (prep): chop or dice a tomato or two, seeds removed. Thinking of keeping the wet jelly-like mess next time. Then, mince two to three cloves of garlic and slice three or four shallots (which you can substitute with a medium-sized red onion).

Pour some hot sauce (maybe two tablespoons) into a bowl and mash an anchovy or two in it, depending on the size. Some anchovies can be as big as small sardines and salty as heck. If that's the case, I won't salt the pasta water.

Boil your pasta as usual. I like mine al dente. Whether it's fusilli, shells or spaghetti, I'd add several extra pieces to test the texture - which is why I don't bother with timing here.

When it yields under your teeth like a stick of chewing gum (without the crunch of the uncooked stuff), take it out of the water. If you're going to throw the pasta back into the pot to cook with the sauce, take it out sooner, maybe a couple of minutes.

You can mix a bit of the pasta water to the hot sauce-anchovy mix but plain water's also fine. Give it a taste; if it's too salty, junk some of the sauce. Otherwise, you can adjust the seasoning later.

Sunshine on a plate, whatever the weather

Plate the pasta and toss it with a bit of olive oil to prevent it from sticking. Some would run the whole lot through cold water to stop the pasta from cooking further (from the residual heat), but I don't. Often, it's not necessary.

Fry up the garlic for several minutes in oil, then throw in the tomatoes, followed by a little water. Let the lot simmer for a few minutes, then start mashing with a fork until you're satisfied with the texture. I usually lift the pot off the heat for this.

Onto the heat for one more stir and in goes the hot sauce-anchovy mix. Give it a quick stir - beware of any fumes from the hot sauce - and toss the pasta in. Stir for a minute or two to let the flavours get in before plating it.

The lemon zest can go in before or after plating, but be sure to toss and stir well before serving.

Sunshine on a plate.

The Pork Curry Plunge

A dish I've been trying to make, perfect and call my own is curry. So on one weekend, I took the plunge.

Mis en place: prepared items for curry while shallots being fired

Nothing special: pork, potatoes, carrots, tomatoes and Baba's (meat) curry powder.

Shallots being sautéed; hard to prep but work better than red onions

First, sliced shallots are sautéed in oil. Then, came the grated ginger and garlic. After stirring for a while till it smells good, in went the tomatoes, followed by the pork about ten minutes later. Thought I'd try not browning the meat first.

Pre-curry pork, tomatoes and sautéed herbs

When the meat looked all cooked on the outside, the water went in, followed by curry powder (the whole packet) and the root vegetables. After seasoning with salt, all that stewed for about thirty to forty minutes.

Final product, ready to be dried out

After which, the lid came off and the curry (which looked like pie filling - ARGH! - by now), is allowed to cook and dry out a bit for fifteen to twenty minutes. I kept stirring every six to eight minutes to keep the bottom from burning.

Final product is poured out into a bowl, finished with a bit of olive oil and served.

Not like what I'd thought it would be, but still edible

Major complaints: lumpy gravy, melting root vegetables, and still too much gravy. Also, it lacked a certain kind of sweetness (there's no sugar in the house and these days I sweeten my beverages with honey).

I picked out the most solid bits from the bowl and put them on a plate. ...Ah, that is what it's supposed to look like.

Worked much better with less gravy; wish I had some rice, though

Thinking of using another fruit, maybe grated apples. Might also want to blitz the whole lot with a blender for a finer gravy.

Still, not bad for a prototype curry.

Epicurean Editor's Basic Pork Stew

My third attempt at pork stew this afternoon (let us not speak too much of Attempts #1 and #2) turned out a bit better. My previous attempt yielded pie filling and a layer of unappetising crust at the bottom of the pot because (1) heat was too high and (2) I didn't keep an eye on it.

Pork Stew Attempt #3 in progress; SO not a 30-minute meal

Raw pork shoulder from a grass-fed oinker from a nearby An Xin Meat Shop was marinated with salt, black pepper, a clove of garlic, dark soya sauce (actually a 'sweet sauce' from a local brand with gula melaka) and McCormick's mixed herbs for 20 to 30 minutes and then seared in a hot pot with some oil.

Chopsticks are helpful when turning the pieces, if you can stand the splattering hot oil.

Then the two cloves of chopped garlic, chopped shallots (also two) and one red onion (roughly diced) went in, along with a bit of salt and black pepper, and are sautéed until brown. I then threw in some carrot and potato (skin on) and sautéed the lot for a short while, maybe three or four minutes.

I probably should have seared the root vegetables as well, so they don't fall apart too quickly when they stew. But the gravy may not be as nice and thick.

Then the meat went in, followed by some water and a tablespoon of light soya sauce; I learnt that you only need enough liquid to cover the pieces.

The whole lot is brought to a boil, then reduced to a REALLY LOW simmer for over an hour (at some point I stopped keeping track). Then I removed the lid and let it simmer for another half-hour (this I kept track of).

I returned to the pot every ten minutes or so to stir the contents, fearful of another crusty development at the bottom. Didn't happen this time; I have a four-burner stove, and I transferred the pot to a small one after the sautéing and set it to low (which I didn't do previously).

When the stew was almost done, I stirred in another tablespoon of light soya sauce (which was not as salty as some common brands) before pouring it into a bowl and mixed in a bit of olive oil.

(The bottom of the pot was near pristine this time, so I didn't have to scrub like crazy.)

Ladies and gentlemen, it's time for stew.

The stew, it was good. Can also fill pies.

Delicious, though not as salty as some would like it. Didn't even use chicken stock cubes, as in Attempt #2 (so let us not speak of it again). Meat would've fallen off the bone if it had any; I think the searing also helped. Too bad I didn't have any rice or bread.

Will do this again. Soon.