Dhal-li

A few nights ago, Shu Lan and I headed to a local Indian restaurant.  To my surprise, she ordered the dish with a ‘hot’ spicy level.  Normally, she orders it at that level because it is mild and pleasantly spicy.  That night, she conjectures, they saw me and assumed ‘hot’ meant American ‘hot’ not Japanese.  The result was a lentil dhal that left a singed and sore stomach, and a very disappointed Shu.  So, as a surprise, I gave my hand at a homemade Indian lentil dish which turned out quite pleasantly.  I used the recipe here, adding some tomatoes at the end [I read somewhere that citric acid can make lentils tough and need to cook longer].  In a flash of inspiration, knowing I wouldn’t be able to recreate naan, I made some chewy panfried bread which worked as a lovely substitute.  We added a salad with some very woody mushrooms, and had a cute little dinner.  Pictures:

Betty mode – engage!

One of the downsides to living overseas is the absence of familiar childhood foods.  Not simply that you can’t travel to a restaurant and get a hefty serving of fond memories, but that often you simply can’t even get the ‘basic’ ingredients that you need to recreate a mirror image of your beloved dish.  Or, so I thought.

I have always had a mild curiosity how to make something from scratch.  I’m fairly amazed that someone in the past decided to combine this ground item with that wet item and eat it.  Or, let it sit for 10 hours and then eat it.  While in HK, I let my cooking interests subside due to the difficulty of cooking and storing foods in a dormitory setting.  Now, I’m back!  While here, I’ve had various successes recreating some beloved foods [including one mind blowingly awesome set of biscuits and gravy].  This has resulted in Shu Lan often saying ‘Figure out how to make X.’  This weekend brought the request for  clotted cream [we found some delightful scones], a recipe calling for  buttermilk.

Alas, cheeses and various creams/milks are hard to come by here.  Suddenly, I wondered if I could make buttermilk.  I figured not – that it would require some ridiculous yeast molecule or brewing apparatus from Frankenstein’s lab.  Turns out buttermilk is the easiest thing on the earth to make.  Take some milk, pour some vinegar, let sit.  The longer you let it sit, the more buttermilky it becomes.

Buttermilk reminds me of a early morning, practically night still, when my grandmother, grandfather, and I awoke at a motel.  As it was nearly 5 AM, it was time for breakfast before continuing on the road to the next venue.  A sleepy Bryan was greeted by biscuits and gravy, eggs, and juice.  My grandfather had probably already been up for an hour, having already dressed and gotten breakfast.  My grandmother was drinking buttermilk, which of course I now wanted as any impetuous child is apt to do.  After all, I liked butter.  I liked milk.  I even liked butterflies.  Buttermilk conjured images of sweet happiness.

I remember nearly gagging at drinking it.  My face must have shown, as my grandmother said in her raspy voice, ‘It’s good ain’t it.’  The evil grin on her face showed her betrayal to me.  I, not wanting to admit defeat, struggled through the glass.  As I remember, I was introduced to grapefruit around the same time and was also greeted with that same mischievous smile. Most of my memories of good cooking involve my grandmother, as my mother unfortunately cannot cook [sorry to out you mom ], and so crafting things sometimes brings back bittersweet memories.

Today, I like buttermilk.  So, when I offered it to Shu Lan, it wasn’t until she scrunched her nose and that it was terrible that I remembered that moment.  I grinned, and said, ‘Oh come on.  It’s good ain’t it?’

Learning to cook

So, in Ho Chi Minh City [nowafter only titled HCM] we saw a lot – Reunification Palace, the War Remnants Museum, markets and bazaars, temples and churches – but the coolest thing I did was take a Vietnamese cooking class.  It was also the most delicious food we ate during the entire Vietnamese phase of the trip.  Obviously, I’m just THAT good of a cook.  Cooking is also a blast when everything is prepared for you, cut and ready to go, and you don’t have to clean up afterward.  

We learned how to make fish/chili sauce, spring rolls, carmelized pork, coconut rice, and sweet and sour soup.  I even got a little certificate and a cook book at the end of it all.  Really, a grand little start to a wonderful day.  Here are some pics:

I recommend checking the place out if you are in HCM.  Here is their website.  It is a little pricey [34 USD] for Vietnam, but grand fun and humorous if you go with a group.  After the class, I asked about a good place to get coffee.  The hostess looked at me sheepishly and said, “Um… all the places near here are really small.”  I encouraged her and said it was ok.  She directed us toward the coffee shops and we set off.  We walked down the road and came out to a street, confused at how we missed the shops.  By small, she meant these are people’s homes that happen to serve coffee.  We awkwardly went up to one and the ushered us in friendly like.  As we sat, we realized we were sitting in someone’s living room.  She prepared the coffee and we laughed as we realized we were breaking every rule in the guidebooks – drinking local water, eating ice, who knows what being brought to us in the form of snacks.  If a stomach ailment was coming, it was coming early on this trip. But, the family was super friendly, excited to see us, and the coffee was delicious.  They say buy local, and I doubt you get much more local than drinking coffee in a random person’s home.  Here it is:

An aside, when googling the Vietnam Cooking Center website I found this blog about a guy’s experience there compared to learning to cook with his Vietnamese mother.  There are also some cool photos at his blog.  The menu seems to change, so check ahead.  He also writes about Pho 24, one of the worst pho places I have eaten at.  But, as he points out – free air con and wifi makes up for the pricey and mediocre food.