The Half-baked Chef

Stir-Fried Beef with Orange and Ginger

2009-05-25T12:11:00.000-07:00

Here's a simple stirfry that is both delicious and unique in its taste. You don't normally find orange in stirfries, but in this dish it is the crucial magic ingredient--with the ginger playing a supporting role. Unlike the thick, 'earthy' solid taste of a salty beef stirfry, this version is lighter and more playful, since its appearance and its taste bear almost no relation, the sweetening influence of the orange invisible. Combining, the sweetening orange and ginger counter the salty-bitter distinctive taste of beef, and impart a slightly 'minty' feeling to the dish that prevents it from becoming over-savoury.

Being a historian, permit me to characterise my 'other' beef stirfry (which I will post up soon) as Romanesque in its...squatness and stability. This one is more Gothic in its light airiness, a taste just as encompassing as the Romanesque, but somehow managing to climb and raise the spirits. It smells fresher than the other one, too.

Here's the recipe for this very doable student dish--this version serves 2-3 if they just eat this solely with rice and nothing else. Being eminently refrigerable, simply double the quantity and you have enough to last you for several days' worth of food, depending on the size of your appetite. You can also substitute beef with pork, which would create a somewhat sweeter and lighter dish than the original beef.

Ingredients

450g lean rump, sirloin or fillet steak, sliced thinly.
Grated rind and juice of 1 orange.
15 ml light soy sauce, or to taste.
2 tbsp cornflour
2.5cm fresh ginger, skinned and finely chopped
10ml sesame oil
1 large carrot, cut into strips
2 spring onions (I used 4 in the picture as I love spring onions)

Instructions

1) Place the steak strips in a bowl and marinate it by mixing it well with the orange juice and rind. Leave it to marinate and soak in the taste of the orange for at least 30 mins. This is the magic step that will change the way it smells and tastes, which no one can divine just by looking at the dish--do not stint on the time taken to marinate it!

2) Drain the marinade from the steak and leave aside--you will need it later. Mix the steak together with the cornflour, soy sauce and chopped ginger. Don't be afraid to mix them together with your hands, the kneading action of your hand will mix it together well and even.

3) Heat oil in a preheated wok or large frying pan over medium high heat, then add the steak and stirfry for 1 minute until the surface of the beef becomes brown. Add the carrots and stirfry for a further 2-3 minutes.

4) Stir in the spring onions and the marinade, then cook, stirring constantly, until the gravy is boiling and has thickened.

5) Serve hot with rice (I suggest mixing several spoonfuls into the rice to flavour the rice with the gravy), or leave to cool down and put into a tupperware for refrigeration.

There! Easy.

The Food of Germany Part 2: Munich!

2009-04-28T19:14:00.000-07:00

Hello, and welcome back to the second edition of the Food of Germany! So, after Berlin, we caught the sleeper train to Munich with a stomachful of Berliner gelato. We'd had enough of the eastern-exotic food of Berlin, with its cosmopolitan rojak of cultures and cuisines. It was time for Munich, the capital of Bavaria, the province and historic kingdom, with its famous Oktoberfest (where big Germans in lederhosen drown in tankards of beer--or as our Munich tour guide (a lusty Scotsman named Adam) would have us know, the Australians too, who seem to make up half the population of Munich in October).

March 31: Munich

Well, the first thing we did in Munich (thanks to Andrea, who LOVES food) was head for the Viktualienmarkt--or quite literally, the Food Market, which is quite a major attraction in Munich, selling food, eats, and all the little bric-a-brac that caters to tourists and local cultural life.

For example, consider the innocent ducks and pussywillows in the picture. When we went there it was just a week before Easter, so the pussywillows of spring were being sold--the fresh green of the leaves against the wintry white of the buds speaks volumes about new life. Not to mention it's a colour contrast that really appeals to me too.

The ducks (and pigs, and squirrels, and hedgehog, and other assorted farm animals) made of stiff grass, on the other hand, seems to have been some sort of Easter tradition--as far as I can tell, at least.

But this is not food--let's get on to the edible stuff!

When we first arrived in Viktualienmarkt it seemed a colossal disappointment--it seemed really small (and it is, actually--Geyland Serai wet market probably can match it for size). But then as we wandered through the place we realised that it was bigger upon walking it than it seemed in seeing it--and then the fun began. Viktualienmarkt offers all the novelties and specialties that Munich, if not Bavaria, has to offer. Here are some of the more noteworthy sights that caught my eye.

These are zwiebel. Which is German for onions--nothing fancy. But what really caught my eye, however, were those really tiny ones in the background. They really were adorable--to put things into scale, the onions in the foreground are shallots. Those at the back were as small as the smallest digit of my little finger. Makes you wonder how much trouble it'd be to peel these things--though at least you wouldn't need to chop them up much.

The food here at this particular fruit and vegetable stall was really fresh--and the stall was also extremely visually appealing. When I walked by this stall the colours alone were already sufficient to make me very, very hungry. I find a mix of bright colours in my creations appealing--hence I try to use coloured vegetables where possible. It is also for this reason, too, that I take a particular liking to traffic-light peppers, such as these:

Beyond the pretty colours, which you can also get by hitting your head really hard against the wall, what struck me about this store was all the exotic novelties it sold--strange vegetables and fruits (well, to me at least), that, even if they were commonplace, would have merited some remark at least.

I don't know about you, but for me these tomatoes were the big discovery of the market--the most fascinating shape and appearance for tomatoes that I have seen. Ever. And as big as my palm, too! This was definitely something very unique. By the way, if you are interested, these are Costoluto Genovese tomatoes--hot weather tomatoes (these particular specimens are Sicilian, O sole mio!) that pack a really strong taste and which are perfect for adventurous sauces that require you to mistreat, abuse, and get sado-masochistic with your tomato's flavourings, since apparently this tomato's taste will win through no matter what you do to the sauce. I don't know. Sounds like it could make a really mean passata (sauce made of mashed tomatoes).

This here is the biggest surprise of the Markt--when I mentally composed that 'novelties and specialties' line of this entry in my head while I was there, I wasn't expecting THIS 'novelty'. It was really funny to see Shangyi and Siewching just dash for it going 'OHMYGOD DURIAN!' I guess we really have been away from home for a bit too long. But I hate durians, so that's okay for me. Whew. All the same, it's quite something to see a durian here, in Munich, on a cold and foggy 6-degree-Celsius day, so far off course from its usual habitat.

There was also jackfruit (visible above), dragon fruit (which are surprisingly common in the UK, even if people don't really quite know how to deal with it), starfruit, soursop, and mangosteen. Of all these, I can only appreciate the mangosteen, I'm afraid. I can hear the cries of horror now. I hear you, but sorry, that's the way the durian crumbles.

Having disposed with that most distasteful King of Fruits, let me now come to a theme I love to harp on--Mushrooms! Such a versatile species of victual--so varied in size, shape, consistency, taste, function and usage, in such a simple basic shape. Much of my cooking involves mushrooms in some capacity--it's rather sad that the girlfriend doesn't like them one bit. But perhaps some day if I cook a delicious enough meal she will eat it?

Now, permettez-moi de les presenter. Introducing Munchen Weisswurst! Literally 'white sausage', this is my second-most favourite sausage of the trip. Made from finely minced veal and bacon, flavoured with parsley, lemon, onions, ginger and cardamom (according to Wikipedia), this is a very light and sweet sausage with JUST the right amount of savouriness to it to make me go wild, be able to eat a lot of it, and not get overloaded. It is a traditional Munich breakfast, coupled with a pretzel, and apparently it used to be taboo for Weisswurst to be served after noon as the meat would no longer be fresh. I'm thankful that custom has now apparently gone by the book thanks to modern refrigeration, since considering I ordered it at 1pm, I would not have been able to eat it otherwise. Weisswurst is cooked by heating it in water just short of boiling point, which apparently turns the sausage white. This is an interesting reaction which I would have to witness to believe. I had thought for some reason that veal was white meat, before.

The Weisswurst is only one half of the equation, however--that smudge on the plate you see is what is called Bayerische Susser Hausmachersenf, or Bavarian sweet mustard. With that to dip your sausages in, this ensemble just sends me straight into gastronomic heaven. The sweetness of the mustard (which is something VERY unique), complements the very gentle light saltiness of the Weisswurst just nicely, giving it a delightful, surprising and very harmonious taste that turns the sausage into my absolute favourite in Germany.

Weisswurst is generally eaten by squeezing the meat out from the pork (intestinal?) casing, which is not eaten. There are many ways to eat this--the traditional way apparently is to cut both ends off, squeeze out the meat, and eat that leaving the casing behind. I discovered another way which was mentioned on Wiki--cutting it lengthwise, laying it open, and using my fork to roll the meat off the skin. All the same, the delicious wurst gets eaten--that's all that matters. Yum.

Meet leberknudelsuppe. I was feeling adventurous and decided to order it without knowing what it was. When I saw it I decided I didn't WANT to know what it was, before I ate it. When I tasted it, I knew what it was, and it was liver--which I detest. Yes, for all of that, it wasn't quite so bad because it wasn't pure liver, but mixed with dumpling ingredients. (Yes, I learned from this experience that knudel is NOT 'noodles'.) The soup seemed to me to be a sharper, slightly more bitter herbed version of wanton soup. It was pleasant--more so than the liver to be sure. Definitely not for the fainthearted--and only for liver lovers.

This here is the Hofbrauhaus--Munich's largest beer hall, and possibly the most authentic. It is also a very historic beer hall, being the place where Hitler promulgated the 25 articles of the Nazi Party in 1920 after taking over its leadership, in essence reconstructing the Nazi Party into the shape by which we study it today. It was also a regular meeting place for the Nazis, and until recently, the Hofbrauhaus had a baby photo of Hitler on the wall. Unfortunately, I was not appraised of this when I got there, so all I went there for was the food and the atmosphere--which was extremely pleasant! As a dining experience the place can only be described as jovial--mirthful drinkers and polka bands go extremely well together to give the quintessential Bavarian festive feeling. A thoroughly enjoyable place.

We'll let Siewching introduce to you the famous German Brauhaus beer stein--a 1-litre monstrosity of local brew. German beer is good beer--and Bavarian beer is possibly the best of all. For our first night at the Hofbrauhaus (yes, we came back the next night again!) we got a stein of local dark brew (Hofbrau, which owns the aptly named Hofbrauhaus, was actually the court brewery of the Bavarian kings, and therefore a bona fide well-credentialled brewery in its own right). It's amazing to see the beermaids going around the beer hall carrying six of these full steins in one hand--and here lifting one gives me a bit of strain already! Don't mess with them--they're most likely capable of flooring you with one punch.

The highlight of the Hofbrauhaus menu must surely be this--Schweinhaxn! Or crackling pork knuckle--the proper crackling pork knuckle! Not the salty soft affair that was Berliner Eisbein. I didn't eat this the first night, but definitely did the second night--it was so delicious. It's like a huge chunk of 烧肉, crackling roast pork, but seasoned slightly differently, and with a texture softer and far less fatty than the former. It was served with potato dumpling (which is something VERY interesting in texture, sort of sticky and chewy and absolutely lovely because I love chewy stuff like gummy sweets) and sauerkraut--which I took care not to consume too much of.

This is Bierkutschergulasch--Brewer's goulash. I'm not particularly sure why it's not just any goulash, but Brewer's goulash, but it might have something to do with the fact that we're eating it in a brauhaus. Goulash is a meaty stew involving tomatoes, potatoes, and lots of beef. But this goulash was pork, unlike the Hungarian original, because the Germans are big ones for pork (cf. Schweinhaxn). It was served with two Semmelknodel, or bread dumplings. It is a wholesome stew, the kind that fills you inside with warmth and love and many special things. There's a bit of sunshine from the tomatoes (tangy), and the savoury stew gravy is heavenly. Goulash apparently is supposed to be more of a chunky soup than a stew, but evolution since the 18th century has taken care of that.

This was my dish for the night--Putengarout in Champignon-Rahmsosse mit Eierspatzle. It's supposed to be that big squiggly thing instead of the double S, and an A with two dots for the spatzle. I got this for the spatzle, a German egg noodle (though it definitely doesn't look like noodles in the sense we know it at home in Singapore). A very old dish dating back to the medieval era, if documentary evidence is to be believed, this is generally considered to be a Swabian specialty--that is, special to Bavaria and Baden-Wurttemberg, who both contain parts of the region once known as Swabia, which itself comes from the original Germanic tribe of the Suevi, or Suebi, who were one of Julius Caesar's major enemies in the Gallic Wars. But that, once again, is not food.

As I said before, you cannot go far wrong with mushroom sauce, and once again this is proved here--however, I found the texture of the turkey more red-meaty than chicken, and I found that I missed chicken somewhat more. All in all though, it was a very chewy meal, with the spaetzle sticky-ish yet resistant enough to eat. A very al dente feeling, very pleasurable and substantial. Things are so much more satisfying to eat when they are chewy, in my opinion.

This is a mushroom pot--ignore the fact that it isn't in a pot. It was absolutely the best thing on the table for me because I adore mushrooms. Served with bread dumplings too, this would make a perfect savoury appetiser or breakfast. Pity, though, that it's so weak in the quantity department. But it was GOOD. Mushrooms and cream, as I said again, can never go wrong. Unless they are dried Chinese mushrooms, upon which they would go quite dramatically pear-shaped in a hurry.

This is Regensberger bratwurst, served on a bed of sauerkraut. We were surprised when it came--it is a HUGE sausage! Fat, at least. The meat itself was seasoned to be somewhat frankfurter-ish, but with a hint of pepper, and slightly saltier. It was tasty, but not very remarkable apart from its size and shape...

1 April: Munich

This was Andrea's and my breakfast. At the top left, Mohnkuchen (I loved this poppy-seed cake, which is what it is), it was absolutely delicious. There's a sort of nutty/sweet taste from the poppy seeds, which relaxes you--which is hardly surprising since opium comes from poppy seeds. But it's perfectly legal I assure you. At the bottom left, is a cake made from mango and raspberry--a real treat! And custard was involved, too. At the top right, a pretzel--can't really recall what was in it though... And at the bottom right, an apple spiral! (Can't remember the German for it--Verena, help!)

So much for breakfast. In the photo below I'm posing with Verena, a wonderful girl and choirmate from York when she came over on exchange. We're at the Schloss Nymphenberg in the suburbs of Munich, where we spent a wonderful afternoon after she came over from Nuremberg to travel with me!

These are some of the best wursts in the world--those made by a friend for a friend! These were fried by Verena as a snack--Nuremberger wurst. They are small, finger-sized, and very handy to eat--and far more satisfying than any mere old bag of crisps could have done. They have a slightly peppery taste, and the sausage itself reminds me of cocktail sausages--and I love both! We had the wursts by a lakeside in the Schloss gardens--peaceful, calm and idyllic. It was my one and only outing with Verena--see you again sometime soon.

Our last evening in the Hofbrauhaus was spent eating more Bavarian food, but the main thing I want to introduce is this unprepossessing stein of yellow stuff--Radler. A mixture of Munich Weissebeer and lemonade, it's delightfully light and refreshing and surprisingly sweet, harmonising with the bitterness of the original beer. I absolutely love it--and wish I'd had another stein of it before I left.

Well, this ends (FINALLY) the second part of the Food in Germany segment of my foodblog--I've been so busy with things that it's been nearly ten weeks now since I got back from Germany--but better late than never, eh?

The Food of Germany Part 1: Berlin!

2009-04-23T11:55:00.000-07:00

Between 28 March and the early morning of 8 April, I went to Germany with my friends Andrea, Siew Ching, Shangyi and Joanna, to see its sights, enjoy its natural beauty, and--most importantly for this blog--to sample its cuisine! Now you'd think Germany is all about wurst, wurst, and more wurst (sausage, sausage and sausage!) but I assure you it isn't! ...Though wurst does play a big part, undeniably.

While by no means exhaustive (sometimes I forgot to take photographs before tucking in), I've managed to get most of the different things we ate--such an experience it was, too!

28 March: Berlin

Well, here's me posing in front of the Brandenburg Gate with a bottle of Berliner beer--yes, you can't come to Germany without trying its beer! Germany, after all, is possibly the only place in the world where beer actually manages to be cheaper than Red Bull. Yes, and in Munich, it even managed to be cheaper than mineral water!

But I'm jumping ahead of the story--for this bottle of Berliner had actually accompanied our first meal in Berlin--lunch.

This here is possibly Berlin's greatest culinary gift to the world--currywurst. It's amazing comfort food, and possibly the most common street food to be found sold in roadside stands, together with the foreignly-named pommes frites, which is just posh for French fries.

Currywurst taught me the value of curry powder as a condiment, instead of as a mere ingredient for curry. It's just a simple pork bratwurst, covered in ketchup (or some special tomato sauce for the more creative), and curry powder, and served mit brot (with bread). But it was absolutely delightful--the bratwurst was boiled till it was resistant but still soft, and the curry was a surprising burst of flavour that countered the now-boring tanginess of ketchup. Incidentally, currywurst is a Turkish creation--Berlin has one of the largest Turkish populations in Europe outside of their mother country. Hardly surprising that you see a doner kebab wherever you turn, then.

The four ladies I travelled with--from left, Andrea, Joanna, Shangyi and Siewching, digging into our Berlin street-food lunch near the Brandenberg Gate.

After a day of touring, we decided to find a restaurant that served local Berliner cuisine in order to sample what the old Margravate of Brandenberg had to offer. Andrea ordered this--a fried Camembert covered in blueberry jam, served with toast and salad. While technically a French dish (and built around the quintessential French cheese, too), this dish made me melt inside, much like the cheese had after frying. It was fascinating--the outer skin of fungus paper-thin after what moisture it had had been sweated out by the oil, and the cheese inside fragilely solid. The blueberry jam's sweetness balanced the sour-saltiness of the Camembert just right and lightened what might have been a cloying dish were it pure Camembert, since the only portion of the cheese whose taste was altered was the skin.

This is the distinctive meat dish of Berlin--a specialty that was created in this eastern region of Germany. Eisbein, or pickled pork knuckle, was my meal for the night. Served with sauerkraut (German pickled cabbage) this heavily-marbled cured knuckle made me very apprehensive when it was served, for all my desire to taste the famed German pork knuckle.

And with good cause too--my arteries just went clang when I set eyes upon it. The eisbein was boiled, allowing it to retain the pickled juices within the meat, with the meat turning really soft and supple, and incredibly fatty. It reminded me of Dongpo meat, 东坡肉, which is also just as fatty, but all over rather than just on the outside. Under the skin, the meat fell off the bone very easily, and was also extremely salty--enough that sodium-loving me could not remain completely impassive as I ate it. I confess to a slight cringe when I was hit with the intensity of the flavour for the first time.

This was only intensified when I took my first spoonful of sauerkraut.Pickled meat and pickled vegetables together is definitely not a dish for the unintrepid--it was sour, as expected, with a powdery, pasty texture. Sauerkraut is cabbage allowed to ferment in lactic-acid bacteria, so it is hardly surprising that it would be really sour, but nothing had prepared me for just how sour it was. The two combine for a sense that the more intense gourmand in me can only describe as shiok. Intense.

It was a blessing that the kartoffelsalat (potato salad) had been provided--it provided a mild, sweeter and creamier counterbalance to the eisbein and sauerkraut. On balance, the eisbein was not an experience I would care to repeat, that is to say, it was not much to my liking, because it was so fatty, and it was soft--a matter of personal preference. It did not also help that just that morning I had burned my tongue drinking hot coffee, so the acid of the sauerkraut and the brine-saltiness of the eisbein stung more than it should have on the still-scalded tongue of the morning.

29 March: Still Berlin

For lunch on the 29th we decided to go to Cafe Buchwald, a famous cake shop whose fare was good enough to merit a mention in the Dorling-Kindersley guide I was using to navigate us through Germany. Apparently, Buchwald goes back a long way--it was founded in 1852 and it used to supply the German imperial court with cakes! Impressive credentials indeed.

Prior to that, though, we decided to get some proper lunch. Unfortunately, it was Sunday and we had entered the suburbs after walking through the Tiergarten--a massive park in the middle of Berlin functioning as a kind of green belt--which meant that most shops and restaurants were not open, or at least not yet. We decided therefore to pop into the first place we saw, which turned out to be a Turkish doner kebab shop (to Siew Ching's delight). Doner kebab food is fairly common, so I'll not use up my photo memory allowance to feature it. Suffice to say, I had another currywurst, which I enjoyed somewhat more than the one I ate at the Brandenberg Gate since this one was roasted and hence somewhat harder and chewier.

But what really interested us was these two items being sold in the kebab store--on the left, Honigringe, or honey rings, which were really sweet honeyed sweetmeats, and on the right, baklava, a traditional Turkish sweetmeat said to have been invented in the Topkapi Palace of Istanbul to delight the tastebuds of Ottoman sultans. In order to explain what Honigring was, the shopkeeper flapped around and made a buzzing noise. Unfortunately, his flapping was not very flappy, so I thought he was shivering... It was easy to mistake the baklava for sausages, but that impression departs the moment one tastes it; their consistency and taste bear no similarity whatsoever with any form of wurst, being very sweet and soft.

By way of anticlimax, I shall confess that I was too enamoured with the really delicious and amazing-tasting cake in Buchwald, so much so that I quite completely forgot to take any pictures either of the place itself, or of the cakes. Whoops. But suffice it to say that those were the best cakes I have tasted in Germany, and I would be hardpressed to name any place else that has made a cake which has so touched me, apart from the Sweet Secrets cheesecake back home.

Here Joanna holds another specimen of German food--the humble pretzel! Which, I might add, grows to positively Olympian proportions here in Germany. The breze Joanna holds is the typical size sold in bakeries--but some of them can go up to twice the size. The real pretzel (ignore Auntie Anne's) is hard on the outside--hard enough to give your jaw an ache chewing through it, but really soft on the inside. Sometimes, too, they cut the pretzel open lengthwise and fill it. My favourite is a pretzel with a sour cream and chives filling--absolutely delightful. A thing to note about the German pretzel is that it is salty--indeed, many even have crystals of salt embedded in the outer surface, which not only imparts a speckly look to the pretzel but also provides surprising bursts of savour amidst the sweetness of the bread.

During dinnertime, we found ourselves yet again in Alexanderplatz--Alexander Square, where we had planned to have dinner since we saw it on the evening of the 28th. There happened to be a food market there, with various stalls and shops selling all kinds of food from local delicacies to cheeses from around the world, as well as a beer garden. Like a hawker centre, we decided to split and each get what we wanted.

I got this--a Flammkuchen, an Alsace-Lorraine dish shared with French cuisine. In French, it would be called a tarte flambee. Either way, it is the same thing--a circle of very thin dough covered in ingredient a la pizza, but laid on a base of what I thought was sour cream, instead of tomato puree sauce as in the Italian version. It is then baked in a wood oven and served hot. It cost me 6 euros for what I felt was a bit little, but it was worth every cent, and it was far more filling than it appeared for a bacon and onion Flammkuchen.

While I was digging into my flammkuchen, Andrea had gotten Fladen--essentially German flatbread. This was baked with pizza-type ingredients on top--cheese, bacon, and herbs, but the unique thing about the dish is definitely the bread. Flat, (hard but) crispy, and baked with sourdough, imparting it that distinctive and delicious slightly-sour taste, fladen is really nice when fresh out of the oven. Sadly, with the ingredients on top of the bread, it was a bit too heavy for flammkuchen-laden me. Even though I only helped Andrea finish a portion that she couldn't, it already sat on my stomach like a ton of bricks.

Wurst Part 2! This was Shangyi's dinner, with a bit of her ruby lips on the left. Called the Krakauer, it is a spiced sausage that the etymologically inclined will be able to tell, is named after the city of Krakow (or Cracow) in Poland. A Polish specialty not uncommon in this eastern part of Germany right next door to it, it was delicious and went very well with mustard. It had a slightly peppery taste, and was pretty generous in taste (it had lots of taste but spread out, neither intense nor weak.)

Last of this dinner series is this roti prata-like thing called Kartoffelkuchen--literally potato cake. It feels and tastes a bit like rosti, being potato held together by some sort of sticky stuff (not quite sure what), which when fried on a hotplate turns into a kind of pancake.

I wasn't very impressed by it, both appearance-, and taste-wise, as it was rather ordinary. But expectations of novelty aside, it was delicious, and also quite filling--definitely good wholesome German food. It was good enough for a meal for us, but undoubtedly it would only have been a light snack for the average German.

March 30: Berlin again (but after Potsdam)

The third day of our stay in Berlin wasn't technically a stay in Berlin proper--we took a daytrip out to Potsdam (which turned out to be a big disappointment, another story for another day), and ate loaves of bread and snacks that we had brought along with us on the way. Returning back to Berlin though, such plain fare was giving us one heck of an appetite, not to mention exhaustion from hunger, fatigue and a sleep deficit from staying overnight in Stansted that hadn't yet been completely repaid.

Not exactly wanting to eat eisbein again, and having run our way down the list of Berlin specialties (apparently), we opted instead for some good old English food--though technically it was an Irish pub we went to. The photo up there was my dinner--chicken breast chunks in creamy mushroom sauce and crinkle-cut fries. You absolutely cannot go wrong with any sort of meat in a creamy mushroom sauce. Except perhaps lamb which might be a bit too strong for it.

We had drinks to go with it, too--Shangyi and I had a Black Russian, which was a cocktail of vodka, Kahlua (oh how I love Kahlua), Coke and Guinness. Returning back to York I checked it up and realised that the recipe they used was highly unorthodox and creative particularly in the inclusion of the stout, since an original Black Russian is just the Kahlua and vodka alone. Andrea and Joanna had a Bailey's milkshake, which apparently turned out to be more ice than drink. I quite enjoyed the Black Russian--it was a very, very delicious taste. Given some other drink on the table (except Midori Lemonade, my all-time favourite), I would have liked the Bailey's more, being somewhat partial to it, but Kahlua just drives me through the ceiling with joy.

On our way to catch the sleeper train to Munich, we decided to while away the time at the train station by having our first German ice cream! Which was of course, just gelato, but still. There were some very interesting flavours there in the selection, and mine (in the foreground) consisted of Waldmeister flavour (the green scoop) and some egg liquor-flavoured thing on the top. Waldmeister, incidentally, is woodruff syrup, made from the plant known as Sweet Woodruff, or Wild Baby's Breath. Which I realise tells you absolutely nothing about how it tastes. But there isn't really much of a way to describe it except that it has similarities to Jagermeister, but without being so mellow and...woody. Lighter. Which, of course, tells you absolutely nothing too unless you've tasted Jagermeister.

With the ice cream ended our gastronomic adventures in Berlin, with its multinational food--I'd tasted Berlin/Brandenberg cuisine, but also Polish specialties and French crossovers. And even English/Irish food too! Next stop: Munich.

Ham and Cheese Tortellini in Whisky and Balsamic Vinegar mint cream sauce

2009-03-24T09:07:00.001-07:00

Sometimes, I wish the dishes one creates can be expressed or described in a single word, like 'Schnitzel', or 'Papadofragakis', or something along those lines. It's so much more catchy, see what I mean? Everyone knows 'escargot'--imagine how much more unwieldy it'd be to call it 'baked snails in mint sauce' blah blah.

Case in point being the dish featured in today's post, made of instant tortellini sold in the Costcutters' supermarket (but which I am sure I can make once I get the ingredients together), and more importantly, a sauce that I invented myself (unless in some obscure Scottish or Italian village, someone else has thought of putting this together). This was inspired by my penne alla vodka, but differs significantly in its ingredients and its 'kick', which comes from vinegar rather than the spiciness of vodka.

I created this because I was hungry, and had only certain ingredients available...and because I refused to eat plain instant tortellini boiled in water. :)

Before I share the recipe, though, I would like to say that having tasted the sauce, I felt it could do with somewhat MORE tomato puree (which I didn't put too much of because I ran out), and with the ham -outside- rather than -inside- the tortellini.

Thus, here is my [approximate and modified] recipe for the sauce, enough to coat about 400-500g of tortellini/pasta.

4-6 cloves of garlic, finely chopped (more or less depending on whether you like the taste of garlic)
About 4-5 tbsp tomato puree
1.5 cup (1 cup = 250ml) sliced ham/bacon/cubed pancetta/prosciutto ham, depending on availability and choice.
1-2 tbsp balsamic vinegar
1 tbsp dried mint (fresh mint is far better, but as a student, I must make do with dried mint)
1 tbsp dried oregano
140 ml double cream
60ml whisky
Emmenthal/Parmigiano/Parmesan cheese for grating.
mild olive oil
salt and white pepper
lighter

1) Heat up oil on medium high heat and fry the finely chopped garlic. Keep a watch as it will brown fast. Once it starts darkening, add the meat and fry.

2) Once the garlic starts darkening, add the meat and fry it. If there is bacon involved, add the bacon first and fry until it starts sweating its oil into the sauce, then add the ham.

3) Add the tomato puree, mix it with the meat, and cook for a minute or two, then add the whisky.

4) As the whisky comes to a boil in the pan, burn off whatever alcohol comes out. When the flames go out, add the cream.

5) Stir constantly until oil, tomato and cream are mixed together. Add more tomato puree as needed if you wish to have a more orange/tangy sauce. Otherwise, for a more creamy taste, leave it as it is.

6) Add mint,oregano and balsamic vinegar into the sauce while it is still on the heat, stirring constantly, and let the sauce reduce slightly while letting the tastes of the herb release into the cream. The mint lightens the sauce so it does not sit too heavily on the tongue, while the balsamic vinegar imparts the distinctive sourness that it is famous for, surprising the senses. This is the step in which i depart from penne alla vodka.

7) Add salt and pepper to taste, take the sauce off the heat, and toss the freshly-boiled pasta in it (you WERE boiling pasta while making this sauce, right?).

8) Grate cheese over it while the whole thing is still hot, toss again, and let the cheese melt slightly into the meal, then enjoy!

This was one delicious and unique holiday dinner. :)

A French Dinner

2009-03-17T19:06:00.000-07:00

Today, I made a dinner for some of my good friends here in York, to celebrate the end of the term, and because I've always wanted to make one on a French theme. The dinner tonight was completely French--or so I hope. The dishes have nice French names, anyway.

My menu for tonight was:

Hors d'oeuvres: Camembert Bonbons (that barely visible white plate in front of Sharon in black)

Entree: Tartiflette (Savoyard baked potato with meat)(circular pan in foreground)

Main courses: Chicken chasseur (hunter-style chicken)(the wok on the right), Confit Byaldi (the ratatouille that Remy made in the movie Ratatouille)(the central pan), Poisson provencal (Provence-style fish)(the tray on the left), Teurgoule (Normandy rice pudding)(the tub beside the tartiflette)

Dessert: Delice aux chocolat et bananes (Chocolate and banana flan)(at that time it was lounging in the freezer)

All accompanied by a sweet white dessert wine whose name I have forgotten, but which was sweet indeed, and which combined well especially with the poisson provencal, according to comments.

I'm not going to put my recipes up for them here, but suffice it to say that they are all somewhat complex, and take from an hour (poisson Provencal) to three (Teurgoule) to prepare and cook.

Here are some (not so nice) photographs that I took after I completed each dish...

Above, you can see the poisson Provencal... There wasn't time to touch up its makeup for the camera, I'm afraid... The sauce is particularly difficult to make and was my sous-chef Clara's effort and mine combined! It involved passing a stirfry of mushrooms, onions and tomatoes through a sieve to form a smooth sauce--which I assure you is FAR, FAR more tiring and tedious than it sounds, involving a small sieve, a repetitious arm motion, and an oyster sauce bottle.

This tartiflette looks gorgeous, and was gorgeous. The taste of creme fraiche and bacon had diffused into the tartiflette after baking--just that slicing the potatoes finer would have created a far nicer taste. This dish has the dubious honour of being the first and only potato dish I have cooked here, and which also made me buy potatoes for the first time since coming to the UK. :D I now have a working potato dish!

This confit byaldi (since it isn't strictly a ratatouille--the name's just for publicity purposes) came out nicely, as it always has. The only grouse I have about it is that it's SO HARD to remove the skins of the peppers! Even after I've grilled the living daylights out of them. It came out really nicely though, with a sour taste from the vinaigrette that was imparted tastefully by my trusty bottle of balsamic vinegar from Italy (which my Italian friend Matteo assures me is NOT true Aceto Balsamico di Modena). It would look far better with aubergines that were actually the same diameter as the rest of the vegetables, though. And also would've been much better if I had a slicer...which I don't. Slicing the vegetables thinly is a touch and go business. At least I've a good knife sharpener to make it easier.

This is chicken chasseur. It tastes far better than it looks. Like my Jaegersauce schnitzel, this is a dish of sauteed/fried chicken simmered in a wine sauce with onion and mushrooms. It makes good use of tomato to impart a slightly tangy taste to the whole, and its taste was simply heavenly... It has an even more intense taste, both as a sauce and in terms of the wine, than the German version, which is creamier.

The teurgoule was made with Chinese glutinous rice--and it came out perfectly well, surprisingly. As I had absolutely no way of measuring weights, I just guessed at how much rice went into the ensemble and it turned out to be JUST RIGHT.

Well, needless to say the dinner went extremely well, and I am most pleased. I shall try to do individualised photoshoots of the dishes in future, and spruce them up more...

Delice au Chocolat et aux Bananes: Chocolate and Banana Flan

2009-03-16T16:58:00.000-07:00

Today I decided to make a French dessert, one meant for tomorrow's all-French dinner that I am cooking for some of my good friends here in York. What is a flan? Simply put, it is a more high-class version of custard, soft yet not oozy, with a base of...anything, really. I have seen recipes for Asparagus flan, but I do not want to go there. No.

This is actually not a difficult dessert to make--and it's oh so sinfully good. It looks like a cake, but sink your teeth into it and meet no resistance at all as it embraces your mouth from the inside, and clings on to it in sticky, chocolatey goodness.

For dark chocolate lovers, this is one of those dishes-that-will-send-you-into-paradise that you seem to have an inordinately large share of. Although in my case I don't actually like dark chocolate instinctively--I don't really find the bitterness of it palatable (I hear your cries of 'blasphemy!', and I am ignoring them)--I have found myself liking it more with each successive slice I eat.

In future I will use milk chocolate, though...or just add more sugar to the ensemble.

Here's how to make this Delice, which is enough to fill a 12 by 7.5 inch baking tray nicely. This dish took me about an hour to finish, from preparation to completion. Cooling it, however, will take another half an hour or so, ideally, so that the Delice can solidify and be handled as a slice instead of having bananas fall off when you try to pick up a slice. But if you can't stand the temptation and want to eat it already, well, it tastes as good warm as it does cold!

Ingredients
(note: 1 ounce = 28.34 grams, 1 cup = 250ml)

7 ounces semi-sweet or 70% dark chocolate (I had to use 86% because that's all they had)
3 eggs, beaten
2/3 cup creme fraiche (or double cream)
1/2 cup whole milk
3 long bananas
1 small bottlecap-full of rum (optional: I used Bacardi)
Icing sugar for decoration

For lining the baking tray:
1 tbsp butter (not a heaped tablespoon) at room temperature
Sugar

Instructions

1) Preheat the oven to 175 degrees Celsius (that's nearly 350 degrees Fahrenheit, if you need to know).

2) Chop, or break, the chocolate up into small pieces, and put them into a mixing bowl. They don't have to be toooo small. Just...little chunks.

3) Put the cream and milk into a saucepan and heat it up until it simmers and begins bubbling slightly. Don't allow it to boil.

TIP: To prevent milk from sticking to the pot or burning, either drop in a tablespoonful of water into the pot with the milk, or simply wash the pot in cold water, and pour the milk in without drying it first.

4) Pour the hot cream-and-milk over the chocolate chunks in the bowl, and stir the mixture around as the chocolate melts, until the batter is smooth.

5) While letting the batter cool, beat 3 eggs, then add them to the batter and mix well with a whisk for best effect.

6) Using your room-temperature butter, coat the bottom and sides of the baking tray you are using, then sprinkle a liberal layer of sugar over it.

7) Slice the bananas into slices about half a centimetre thick or more, and line the bottom of the baking tray with them to form a base.

8) Pour the chocolate batter into the dish over the bananas, then place it into the preheated oven and bake it for 15-25 minutes, depending on how hard or unresisting you want the final Delice to be. I baked mine midway, for about 20 minutes.

9) When time is up, remove the flan from the oven, sprinkle its top with rum (I splattered it, rather than sprinkled it, though) and some icing sugar, then put it back in the oven to bake. Place it right under the grill if possible, and bake at the same temperature for another 3-5 minutes.

10) Take the flan out of the oven, and let it cool. Snow the flan under with icing sugar for visual effect, then serve it up, or slice it up and enjoy! :) Serve it with a sauce dribbled over it to counteract the bitterness of the chocolate, if you're one with a sweet tooth. Otherwise, just eat it as it is!

TIP: According to the recipe I found online, it is also possible to bake the flan in advance up to step 8, then refrigerate until you need to serve it up, upon which you continue with steps 9 and 10. I haven't tried this yet.

Hope you liked this dish! More to come, maybe even tomorrow. :) Stay tuned!

A Food Blog?

2009-03-16T12:37:00.000-07:00

I figured, why not? I've always loved to cook.

I'm Jonathan, 22 years old and studying in the University of York, and I cook pretty good food, for someone who's only been seriously cooking for 5-6 months. I love experimenting with new dishes, and I usually do this by finding innovative, unique and new recipes from the Internet, and trying them out. Having been inspired by THIS *points above* food meme which I compiled for Facebook tagging, I decided to learn about food photography.

After learning about it the same I way I learned to cook (from the Internet) I decided to strike out and create a food blog to showcase the food I cook in experimentation, and to share it. Here it is!