Paw laow.

In thai that means, "that's enough". I'm on my third week in lovely, crazy, foodilicious Thailand, and I cannot tell you how many times I've uttered the phrase "paw laow!" - usually when it comes to eating. The food is really good. There's lots of it. And it's very inexpensive.

I've garnered much inspiration for various posts here, but I just wanted to check in as a reminder that I do still exist... with atleast 3 more kilos of me to love. Let me know if you have any burning questions about Thai food. I'm here for 4 more days!

Beautiful, bountiful dessert items at an outdoor market. The little, glossy fruit-shaped loohk choop shown here are kind of like marzipan but they actually taste good.

Braised red cabbage. Don't turn your nose up, just keep reading.

I read about this red cabbage a little while back on The Wednesday Chef and it's been bouncing around in the back of my mind ever since. It's a recipe from Marco Canora, whose kitchen I worked in for a brief spell not so long ago (though it feels like a lifetime). I loved everything that came out of that kitchen. Really tasty, satisfying food that could impress you with unimaginable flavor but resisted pretension. I don't recall this cabbage ever being on the menu, but it no doubt would have a place there in the winter.

I went to the market on Sunday and was disappointed in the dearth of vegetables available: beets, carrots, potatoes, and kale. Not much else. I did get some kale (watch for that later this week), and then I spied some small heads of red cabbage and felt a little less disenchanted with February produce.

I've never prepared cabbage at home, and I rarely eat it outside a slather of kraut on a hot dog or a piece or two of kimchi from the Asian buffet. After tonight's cooking session, that's all going to change. This dish is unbelievably good, and really easy to make. Cabbage gets a bad rep, though I'm not sure why. Stinky, sour, and limply textured is the slander that springs to mind but, as with all vegetables, cooked properly it can be pretty fantastic.

Here's the recipe. When all's said and done, what you have is a fragrant, sweet-and-sour pile of beautiful purply ribbons, soft to the bite but not mushy and deeply satisfying. You'll see I prepared it with a link of sausage (lamb), which was fine but couldn't hold a candle to the cabbage. (I need to work on my sausage cookery. I hate how it gets all sputtery. Grilled sausage is best, I think.)



Braised Red Cabbage
adapted from Wednesday Chef/Marco Canora
Serves 2 generously, 4 frugally

1 tb butter
1 small onion, red or yellow, sliced thin
2 small heads red cabbage (1 lb total), quartered, thick center spines removed, then sliced thin
1/4 c cider vinegar
1/3 c dry red wine
1 tb caraway seed
1 tb mustard seed (or mustard powder, which is all I had)
1/4 c brown sugar (if you're more into sour than sweet, I think you could cut the sugar in half safely. I liked the sweetness in the finish, but next time I might cut back to see how it's different.)
1 small apple, Granny Smith or any kind of tart-sweet variety, peeled and coarsely grated
Salt & pepper

Melt butter over medium/medium-low heat in a good-size pot or saute pan with lid and add onion and a bit of salt. Sweat for 5 minutes until onion is soft.

Add cabbage and stir for a few minutes until it begins to wilt, then add remaining ingredients and stir well.

Lower heat to a simmer, cover cabbage and cook until the cabbage is soft and the liquid is reduced to about half--it will take about 40 minutes.

**I know, this is not really the fastest dish, but have a bit of that red wine while you're waiting and maybe a quick salad or (in my case) some bread and cheese and you'll be tucking into this colorful wonder in no time at all.**

Marcella Hazan's Barley Soup in the Style of Trent

I was going to delay this post to tomorrow, but I'm too beside myself with delight to wait.

This barley soup is, without a doubt, the best soup I have ever made ever. I know, don't say it. A lot of "ever made evers" pile up in these posts. Pretty soon you won't believe anything I say! But I always really mean it. Maybe I just have short-term taste memory. Or maybe what makes something better than what came before it is the sheer fact of its novelty. In any case, this barley soup does kick my sunchoke soup in the knees. This is because Marcella Hazan is brilliant. Dare I say, infallible. The only reason this soup turned out so well is because of her amazing recipe. If you took the same ingredients, set them before me and said, here Chefty Lass, make me a soup, it would have turned out entirely different and not nearly as swoon-worthy.

That's right. Swoon. Worthy. You suspect I'm getting caught up in Valentine's hype. After all, this is barley we're talking about: the stuff of beer, porridge, and animal feed. Foie gras it ain't. But I say, no matter. If you could walk through my apartment door right now, the scent of rosemary mingled with crispy pork (sorry, Happy Luddite) and simmering aromatic vegetables would disarm you. You would drop to your knees and beg for food. I swear.

So, the recipe, let me share it with you already. It's a cure for cold, rotten February nights everywhere. Plus, if you ask me, cooking up a pot of this savory dish is a far more romantic gesture than one of those fussy multi-course deals that stress you out. If you're prowling around for inspiration, this is it: the ultimate (wink) tuck-in meal. And you'll have room for dessert, which is really what you should be expending your efforts on anyway if you're celebrating Valentine's Day.

Marcella Hazan's Barley Soup in the Style of Trent
Serves 4

1 1/4 c pearl barley, rinsed well
1/4 c, plus 2 tb, extra virgin olive oil
1/2 c onion, diced
2 stalks of celery, diced (not in the original recipe, but for aromatic purposes it's wonderful)
1/3 c proscuitto, pancetta or country ham, unsmoked, chopped fine (I only had regular bacon, no problems there)
2-3 carrots, peeled and diced
1 potato (I used a sweet potato), peeled and diced
1 tsp fresh rosemary, minced
1 tb parsley, minced (I used celery leaves since that's what I had and thought it tasted good; parsley will give you a brighter, I guess more earthy taste, so do what you like)
1 bouillon cube (I used vegetable, recipe doesn't specify)
Salt and pepper
Freshly grated parmigiano reggiano or other Italian hard cheese (grana padano, pecorino)

Pour barley into a soup pot, add enough water to cover by about 3 inches, and hit it with some salt (MH doesn't do this and I wonder why). Cover the pot and bring to a slow but steady simmer. Cook for about one hour until barley is fully tender but not mushy--al dente!

While the barley is cooking, warm all the olive oil in a skillet, add the onions (& celery if you're using) and season; sweat for about five minutes until translucent, stirring occasionally. Do not brown.



Add your pork of choice to the onions (I crisped up my bacon a little in the oven first) and cook for about three minutes. Then stir in parsley or celery leaves and rosemary and take the pan off the heat.

When the barley is done, add the onion mixture to the pot, along with the diced carrot and potato. (MH tells you to rinse the peeled carrots and potato in cold water before dicing. I'm not sure why--to clear off residual dirt from the skins, or maybe rinse off some of the starch? I didn't do this and detected no ill effects in the finished product.) Add the bouillon cube and season with salt and pepper.


I'm mostly paraphrasing this recipe, but here's a direct quote from MH:

"Add a little more water if the soup appears to be too dense. It should neither be too thick nor too thin. Cook at a steady simmer for 30 minutes, stirring from time to time. Off-heat, just before serving, swirl the grated cheese into the pot." Followed by my favorite:

"Serve promptly."

She's all about the business, no flim-flam.

My only suggestion would be that unless you plan on polishing off the whole pot in one night (and you might), add the cheese to individual servings instead. And, finish with a little drizzle of olive oil.

For this meal I'd also recommend a hunk or two of crusty bread with butter. A little sinful, a lot of awesome.

Tumbleweeds, almost.

My friend the Happy Luddite once exhorted that the scene at our college subterranean cafeteria--part lovingly, part loathingly referred to as the "skellar," where every Tuesday night kids turned out in droves to use up all their meal points on crappy fruit drinks and junk food-- was like "post-Communist Russia: empty shelves! Nothing!"

I was reminded of that last night after inspecting my refrigerator.

There are a few items on the door too, but nothing notable--your basic-ish condiments. Want to try and name those foods? It shouldn't be too hard, though in taking a closer look I realize there are some containers whose contents you probably won't be able to guess.

It's times like these that I really want a life like Laurie Colwin once described, where all she had was a tiny fridge and a electric burner in her NYC studio but still managed to make scrumptious little meals all the time and there was simply no space for space.

It's nice having room, maybe not so much in the fridge but certainly at home. But you know, it really reminds you that...there's a lot. Of empty. Space. Everywhere. It's a new and unusual experience for me.

No cooking tonight, too tired and, obviously, low on food. (Though, note that in my preceding post I forecasted two weeks of coverage. Hmph! It probably just felt like more because I practically plucked my arms from their sockets carrying everything home.) Tomorrow, however? Tomorrow holds the promise of a barley & vegetable soup taken from Marcella Hazan. See, I looked at my empty fridge and said to myself, but wait! You have grains, and lots of them. Time to focus on the dry goods. So even though I've been trying vaguely to replace carbs with vegetables, the contents of my cupboards must be put to good use. Expect future meals starring farro, lentils, quinoa and perhaps risotto if I can work up a batch of stock this weekend.

Sunday morning sweets

Good morning (ok, afternoon, but I'm still in my pajamas so I cling to morning).

My shoulders ache. This is because I schlepped to the grocery store yesterday and instead of buying just the essentials, as planned, I did my shopping for the next, well, two weeks probably. It is hard for me to argue with the "I'm already here, why not" rationale, even when the basket is already getting too heavy to carry comfortably around the store. I insist on conquering inconvenience. And I succeed!

I also had to pick up my dry cleaning, and while I considered dropping off the two overflowing bags at home first to make the errand less frustrating, I could not reconcile myself to such inefficiency. Upon leaving the dry cleaners (after figuring out how to hold both bag and cello-wrapped hangers in one hand), the nice woman said "You do lot of shopping! You be careful!"

Anyway, I was glad to get home and now that I'm all stocked up, the sore shoulders I can deal with. But what do you think: is it time to get a car? I've been here two years and survived just fine without one, but lately I've really been wanting to have a means to escape the city and just...drive. I don't know though, there's a finality to getting a car that I'm somehow just not ready for. (Commitment, how I elude you.)

What I am ready for, however, is the opportunity to give away this absurdly delicious banana chocolate walnut bread that I made last night. I cottoned to this recipe immediately when I was flipping through the February Gourmet. Banana bread is (after chocolate chip cookies) one of the first things I learned how to bake and over the years it's definitely become one of my favorites. The original recipe called for a cake pan and streusel topping, but I agree with Wednesday Chef that the loaf pan (with streusel ingredients incorporated) is the way to go. Nobody really wants banana cake.

I won't replicate the recipe here because, yes, I'm lazy, but also, I didn't make any changes of my own (except that I used Nestle chocolate chips. Also, note that if you opt for the loaf pan, it will take about 45-50 minutes to cook.) I urge you to click through either of the links above and get to work. The addition of yogurt to the batter makes this bread sing. It's just a little bit more rich, velvety, and fragrant with the yogurt and I can tell you I'll never make banana bread (even the plain old chocolate-free variety) without it again. Have a look.




In other sweet news, I am pleased to report that I did make the cranberry jam, which is wonderfully tart and chewy and easy to make. I skipped the whole canning part (I admit I'm wary still after the apple butter) so we'll see how long it lasts. Gooey cranberries found a good match in the orange-nutmeg muffins from last week (which do reheat like a dream--as if they'd just been baked!). Mmm. I love jam.

So, you can see with all this baking why I can't wait to get rid of the banana bread. It is dangerous to have around. This is the downside of being both a motivated, restless cook and a party of one: there are always too many leftovers and not enough eaters.