Mommy tears

My baby turns one in October.

I've never had a child, but this magazine comes pretty damn close to one. The sweat, the tears, the back-breaking preliminary start-up and the good old days I used to haul bags and bags of food across town... has it really been a year since we went through all of that?

We're putting the finishing touches on our 12th issue, and I'm getting all teary-eyed.

Happy birthday in advance, sweetheart. It's been one hell of a run, from flapping at ground zero to becoming the relatively well-oiled machine you are today. Your mommies are super, duper proud of you.

Pantry Puttanesca

It's been awhile since I cooked purely for pleasure, longer still since I made dinner for myself. Cooking for one is, rather ironically, a treat in the Khoo household. You see, making your own dinner takes some forethought, as there is always food of some sort on the dining table, but I was in the rare mood to spend some time pottering about the kitchen doing something unrelated to work.

Eschewing cookbooks and food websites, I flicked through my mental archive of toss-it-together recipes instead and almost immediately decided on pasta Puttanesca. Why, I have no idea. I'd barely skimmed through an article on it weeks, possibly even months ago, and all I remembered were these key words – tomatoes, anchovies and whore's pasta. (Culinary lore believes that Puttanesca was named after ladies of the night, who lured men into brothels with the sauce's intense aroma.)

I vaguely remember olives and fresh herbs in the equation, but I was too lazy to trek out to the grocer's, and really, isn't the absence of a recipe the best bit about non-work cooking? Somewhere along raiding my pantry and mentally rocking up a recipe, I decided to corrupt it all with a topping of garlicky breadcrumbs, just because there was panko in my kitchen drawer. This is bastardised Puttanesca at its worst, comforting home-cooked supper at its best.

Leigh's pantry Puttanesca
Serves 2

1 small box cherry tomatoes
4 tbsp olive oil
3 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
¼ cup panko or stale breadcrumbs
Handful pasta (I used wholewheat spaghetti)
1 tin anchovies 
handful of baby spinach
handful of feta, crumbled (optional)
handful of basil, torn (optional)

1. Preheat oven to 200C. Toss the cherry tomatoes in 1 tbsp olive oil and ⅓ of the garlic. Pop these into the oven and roast at 180C until the tomatoes start to blister and shrivel. I didn't time, but it probably took me about 30 mins. Remove from oven and set aside.
2. Toast the panko in a small frying pan with 1 tbsp olive oil and ⅓ of the garlic, tossing or stirring occasionally until the crumbs are golden.
3. Cook the pasta until al dente in a pot of salted water. Drain and reserve ¼ cup of pasta water.
4. Heat the remaining oil in a pan and saute the remaining garlic until fragrant. Add in the anchovies and cook, stirring continuously, until they melt. Tip in the roasted tomatoes, give it a good stir and then add in the spinach. Cook, covered, for a min, and then add in the cooked pasta. Add a few tbsp of the reserved pasta water and toss to coat the pasta.
5. Crumble in some feta to taste, and stir through the basil, if using. Eat immediately, preferably in front of the telly! :)

Leigh's Meatless Mondays

I have all these half-arsed ideas about ethical eating and food politics, but I never quite got around to tangibilising my thoughts and making a scrupulous stand. I have, several times over the past few years, attempted to dig a little deeper, but it's hard to breathe in a whirlpool of discourse when you've got confusion sitting on your lungs.

"I'll only eat happy meat or none at all." Now that's something I wish I could say with conviction, but I have a million questions running through my head. Are kampung chickens considered to be free-range? What about pigs? And cows? Is free-range even an applicable term when it comes to farming in Asia? The answers probably lie within the encyclopedia of information out there, considering the number of investigative journalists fighting to expose dark trade secrets, but inertia currently has an iron grip on me.

The next best option for a confused but concerned meat eater would probably be to not eat meat. I did attempt it for awhile, back when I was 21, living in India and getting into the yoga swing of things (and trust me, it isn't that hard to go veggie in India), but any green notion was lost to the wind the minute I set foot on Parisian soil. Steak frites? Oui! Confit de canard? Oui, oui! Foie gras? Oui, oui, oui!

And realistically speaking, vegetarianism is hardly an option now that I've made a career of knowing and writing about the flavour nuances in the infinite world of food, of which meat is a huge part of. The most conflicting part is perhaps how much I love and crave the whole process of tasting, learning and knowing.

Gone are the days when I would eschew a hearty burger (medium doneness, with a side of limpy hand-cut chips, please) in exchange for stir-fried greens. In the past year, I haven't had even the slightest conviction to going green, but a recent conversation I had with a friend has got me thinking that I could, amidst all this bumbling and self-doubt, let go of my nonchalant all or nothing approach and try to make a semblance of a difference.

This quite wisely sums out what I think:

image from here

So yes, I've decided I am going to embark on my personal Meatless Mondays, starting today. It's one hell of a baby step, and perhaps an inconsequential footprint in the world of food ethics, but I think I owe it to me. Salad, anyone?

Chef fangirl.

A couple of months ago, I had the chance to meet one of my favourite television chefs, Poh Ling Yeow of MasterChef Australia fame, and the session was so much fun! Getting to meet and pick the brains of chefs has got to be one of the best perks of my job (apart from living and breathing food, that is).

The excitement never gets old, although I like to think that I've developed a bit more poise since the year I ran across a ballroom just to get a picture with David Rocco. Coincidentally, my dear photographer friend Sook Wai, who egged me on to cop a shot with Rocco then, was snapping for this event as well. Here's me, immortalised on film.

 I burst out laughing when I saw the picture. If photographs really capture the essence of people... I'm not quite sure I want to know what this says about me!

My Fuschia Dunlop moment.

image from http://weheartit.com/entry/8596545

I read Fuschia Dunlop's food memoir, Shark's Fin and Sichuan Pepper, over a year ago, and I was really impressed by her account of an Englishwoman living, eating and cooking in China. Quite a few of her chapters had me going "wow" and until today, I still find myself quoting her insights on the Chinese and their seemingly impassive approach to animal cruelty.

A couple of days ago, I found myself standing in the kitchen of a Chinese restaurant, one where the kitchen chatter is laced with foreign accents and rows of ducks (some roasted, some uncooked) were hung, by their necks, in obscure corners. While the chefs and cooks stomped around purposefully in their slip-proof safety shoes, I skidded in in my silk dress and strappy heels (fresh out of a wine lunch, you see), praying with every step that I wouldn't slip and bring a vat of hot oil crashing down on me while trying my damnest to look like I fit in there.

Fat hope. I stuck out like a sore thumb and I was promptly shot some very inquiring looks. I was as comfortable as a zebra in a lion's den, but a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do, in this case clarify the steps in a failing recipe. So I shuffled and plastered my body to the table's edge each time someone came through with a a pot of dangerous-looking liquid (happens every 30 seconds), all the while scribbling furiously as my hands struggled to keep up the chef's seasoned moves. Just then, a chapter Fuschia Dunlop wrote about being the only foreigner in a Chengdu culinary school popped into my head and my little head voice said: "This is probably how Fuschia felt!"

That particular chapter didn't blow me away, but my bizarre mind had apparently decided it was gonna be useful some day. It was, for that  literary recall inexplicably made me feel tons better. And for the record, I didn't fall. On the contrary, I walked out with my head held high and a bag of freshly baked buns swinging in my hands. It was so surreal, but I would do it all over it again. In a different outfit though.

Making kueh kueh.

I met a friend for coffee yesterday afternoon. Or more accurately, we actualised our virtual friendship over coffee. I can't remember the circumstance under which E and I got to know each other (it could be because we share the same birthday) and I don't remember much about what we've spoken about over the past 3 years except our common date of birth (hah!), his decision to become an instructor in Outward Bound School, and the training schedule he designed for me when I decided to take part in the 2008 Great Eastern 10K run.

So, after dallying about for yonks, we finally met. Now, I don't usually meet virtual friends because some friendships are really better kept online (didn't your mom lecture you about the dangers?), and I imagine it's gotta be awful to be stuck sipping tea with someone you expected to get along with like a house of fire only to realise you've both become socially inept in the real world. No issues with E (thank goodness!) and apart from regaling me with tales of poisonous jellyfishes, he related his experience making kueh keria (Malay sweet potato doughnuts, or in his words - 'Best Thing Ever') in a mess tin. That's when I decided he's gonna make a pretty good real world friend.

I haven't heard about kueh keria until yesterday, and my near futile online snooping later that night ended with me reading an article my colleague found, which listed the kueh as one of the Singaporean foods that are becoming extinct. Oh boy. Thankfully, my search also turned up a recipe for the kueh by Sydney blogger, Almost Bourdain. Short of rocking down to Kampong Glam and blindly trying my luck at random kueh kueh stalls, I decided to make my own. It took all of 30 mins, tops, two-thirds of which I spent reading my copy of delicious. while waiting for the sweet potatoes to soften in my steamer.

When that was done I mashed the sweet potatoes up.

Added enough plain flour and tapioca starch to make a soft dough.

Rolled the dough into bite-size balls and slid them into a wok of shimmering oil.
It took all of 20 seconds to brown.

Drained them on kitchen towels while I made a mess of the sugar glaze.

I quickly gave up and dusted them in icing sugar instead.

My new friend's right. These are possibly one of the best things ever. And so easy to make, too!

Here's the recipe by Almost Bourdain, with a few tweaks by moi.

Kueh keria (Malay sweet potato doughnuts)
Makes 12 bite-size balls/doughnuts/whatever shapes you fancy, really

175g orange sweet potatoes
15g plain flour
15g tapioca starch
sunflower oil (or any neutral-tasting oil), for deep-frying
icing sugar, to dust

1. Skin and cube the sweet potatoes. This shortens the cooking time - perfect if you're impatient like me. Steam for 15-20 mins until very tender. Mash thoroughly with a potato masher or a fork.
2. Tip both flours into the sweet potatoes, which should have cooled off slightly with all the mashing, and mix with your hands to form a soft dough. You can wait another 5 mins if you reckon the potatoes are too hot, but that's just prissy, really!
3. Place enough oil (a depth of about 2cm is good) in a small wok and heat over a medium flame. While waiting for the oil to shimmer, divide and roll the dough into 12 balls. Flatten each ball slightly and push your thumb through the middle to make doughnuts. (You can skip this step if you're too greedy to wait - they're delish regardless). Slide the doughnuts into the hot oil, count to 8, then turn them over with a slotted spoon. They should have gone really golden by now. Count to 5 again and check - if they're evenly browned, they're done. Haul them up to drain on kitchen towels. Do this in batches if you have to.
4. Sprinkle over generously with icing sugar and eat up while they're hot.

Life and death in my kitchen sink.

I cried the last time I walked in on my mom while she was killing crabs for our dinner. No, I'm not some squeamish vegan, but I admit I'm waaay more comfortable cooking dead animals. Delusional, I know. I wish I could be one of those gung-ho farm chicks who raise and slaughter their dinner but no, I definitely have a long way to go before I can, if ever, embrace the whole farm to table lifestyle.

The womenfolk in my house have never cooked with frozen crabs and after I mentioned that I had to test a crab recipe for work, I returned home today to find a pail of live crabs waiting for me. Thankfully, my dad was on standby and all I had to do was to nod my head.

I felt like an executioner, and my heart broke a little when I peered over his shoulder and saw the twitching pincers. It's ironic really, as I am technically fueling the slaughterers each time I bite into a piece of fish or meat. My aunt's convinced that this streak of compassion may just lead me to become a vegetarian one day. Maybe. But for now, I'm gonna be sticking to supermarket meats, and crossing my fingers that there won't be another crab recipe to test. Loser.

Naked gypsies.

I've reignited my love affair with cookbooks, and I've taken to reading, not skimming through, them on the couch on weekends. It's incredibly therapeutic and also very inspiring! And as part of recent my Aussie food rampage, I singled out this beauty of a cookbook by Rachel Grisewood, founder of Manna from Heaven bakery in Sydney.

click here for Amazon details

Rachel's got a bit of a boho vibe going on, and while my beach hippie days are over (I think), I was instantly drawn to this freewheeling flower child of a cook. And is it any wonder that her recipe for Gypsy Creams leaped out at me? Her description all but kicked me out of the couch and into the kitchen. "For me, these biscuits are excellent for gypsies who like to sail, but just as suited to people who like to sit on couches and simply dream about sailing around the world."

I must confess that until yesterday, I'd never heard of Manna on Heaven, before which I'd never heard of Gypsy Creams. According to Google, these are cookies (usually ginger flavoured) sandwiched with chocolate buttercream. Rachel's version is scented with orange zest, and features, quite simply, melted dark chocolate in place of buttercream.

I measured, whipped and mixed, and in typical curiosity-never-kills-the-cat fashion, flavoured half the cookie dough with crushed cardamom instead of orange zest. The scent of cardamom immediately transports me back to those hot Indian summer days I spent nursing many an ice-cold kulfi, and honestly, if I had to choose a spice to encapsulate the essence of gypsy, it'll be cardamom. But I digress. All I can say is this: the orange-scented cookies were delicious, but the cardamom babies were divine. So divine I didn't bother with the chocolate filling. Poor, naked gypsies.

Cardamom gypsies
Makes about 20 cookies

75g butter (I used salted), softened
65g caster sugar
1 egg yolk
120g plain flour
1/4 tsp baking powder
seeds from 1 vanilla pod (or 1 tsp essence/paste)
1 tsp cardamom seeds, crushed (I podded my cardamom and crushed the seeds but I imagine the equivalent in cardamom powder will work, too)
pinch of raw sugar (optional)

1. Cream butter and sugar until thick and pale. Use an electric mixer; don't break your arms.
2. Beat in the egg yolk. Fold in the plain flour, baking powder, vanilla and cardamom. Mix well. The dough will be rather stiff.
3. Shape the dough into a log, about 3cm in diameter. Wrap in cling film and refrigerate for an hour or 2 until the dough is very firm. (The colder your dough, the less likely your cookies will spread.)
4. Preheat oven to 150C and line a baking tray (or two) with baking paper. Cut the dough into ½cm-thick slices and arrange them on the tray(s). The cookies may spread a tad so leave a little space between them. Sprinkle a pinch of raw sugar on top of each cookie and pop the tray(s) into the oven for about 15 mins, until the cookies are lightly golden.
5. Serve with a pot of masala chai.

You could of course replace the cardamom with the zest of a quarter of an orange, and melt about 50g dark chocolate for the filling. As much as I love these cardamom-kissed cookies, I know they're are not for everyone - I can imagine so many of my friends wrinkling their noses! But of course, I remain hopeful they'll come to love cardamom as much as I do, when their inner free spirits are awakened maybe. ;)

One day, some day, I really might succumb to my banked desire to run around the beach in jangly anklets and flowers in my hair. But for now, I'll content with baking and devouring these naked gypsy treats.

Warm weather food.

This fresh, zesty Asian salad makes an incredible hot weather meal. I first tasted a similar dish, made with ripe mangoes and grilled chicken, at a dinner party five years back, and while I've tried to recreate it a couple of times with varying degrees of success, it was only last month that I conjured up a mindblowingly fresh and appetising version.

I served it as a prelude to an awesome Moroccan roast chicken (more about that another time), but it was so good on its own I almost wish that was all I'd prepared. Almost.

I knew immediately what I wanted for lunch when I saw green mangoes for sale earlier. I chose chicken for my protein this time around, but shrimp really is the best. Or have it with chicken and shrimp, or neither! That's how versatile and forgiving this salad is.

Here's what I roughly used - a lot of it depends on the sweetness of your ripe mango and the tartness of the green, so adjust the ratio of lime juice to sugar accordingly.

Leigh's make it up as you go Thai mango salad
Serves 4

2 + 5 tbsp fish sauce
1 + 1 tbsp sugar (or equivalent in gula melaka syrup)12 prawns, shelled and deveined (or use 1 chicken breast, sliced)
juice of 1 large lime (not the tiny ones you have with belachan and hokkien noodles)
zest of 1/4 large lime
1 red chilli, sliced
1 tbsp cooking oil
1 sweet, ripe mango, cut into cubes
1 green mango, skinned and sliced into thin strips
handful of fresh mint leaves, roughly chopped
generous handful of roasted cashew nuts

1. Combine 2 tbsp fish sauce and 1 tbsp sugar. Add prawns, toss well to coat, then cover with cling film and marinate in the fridge for at least 1 hr.
2. In a bowl, combine lime juice and zest, remaining fish sauce and sugar, and the sliced chilli. Stir well and then taste and adjust the seasoning. Set aside until needed.
3. Heat oil in a non-stick pan. Add the prawns, in batches if necessary, and cook until pink and cooked through. Alternatively, cook the prawns on an oiled electric grill.
4. Tip ripe and green mango onto a serving plate. Throw in the cooked prawns and mint, and drizzle over the dressing. Toss well to combine.
5. Top with the roasted cashew nuts and tuck in!

Sweet & salty.

This caught my eye the second I walked into K ki on Saturday. What can I say, it combines two of my favourite things - salted caramel and polka dots. I suppose the latter is subjective, but is there anyone who doesn't like salted caramel?

Sweet. Salty. Sticky but not toffee-sticky. Rich but not cloying. Frivolously fun, yet so damn luxurious.

I've never been one to content with a single assault of my senses. White chocolate, in all its cloying sweetness, just doesn't do it for me. Give me dark, 90% cocoa chocolate, where the sweetness is but a whisper from under bitter overtones. Give me sweet and sour pork, pineapple slices with dark soy sauce and chilli padis (odd but so good), hot chocolate lava cake with a scoop of ice cream... give me sea salt caramel.

This tiny bottle of goodness certainly doesn't come cheap at S$16.50, and I've taken to stashing it in a pantry drawer that almost never sees the light of day. (Except when our family's desperate.) I've only slipped it out twice since - for tea the Saturday I bought it, and for breakfast the next morning. It's unsurprisingly delicious on toast and biscuits, but I think a homemade tart may be the best canvas for it yet. Imagine a buttery, crumbly crust with generous layers of caramel, homemade custard and bananas. And dark chocolate shavings. You gotta have dark chocolate shavings.

These two recipes look mighty fine, too.

Caramel pumpkin pie on spicy icecream

(I love pumpkin! It's my favourite squash.)

And these chocolate caramel slices from butter sugar flour

I'd really love to bake something with the caramel BUT that would make a serious dent in the already tiny jar. Gosh I'm horrid. I'll make something. Definitely. For when the girls come round on Saturday. Maybe.

Make it from scratch.

Changes don't happen overnight. More often than not, they manifest stealthily, sinuously... kinda like vines creeping up wrought-iron fences. Some changes are inconspicuous, inconsequential, while others are huge, especially when cast upon unsuspecting ol' me.

It started off innocently enough. On Monday, I initiated a Messenger chat with a friend to arrange for dinner, having missed a gathering while I was away in Japan. She suggested that we pop over to hers for some nosh and I, in typical dessert queen fashion, offered to bring dessert. The dinner was set for Friday, and I immediately started plotting the logistics. Bake cupcakes on Thursday night after chap goh meh dinner. Zip home after work on Friday, make frosting and ice cupcakes, pack them and cab over. Easy peasy. And then I lost myself browsing recipes online.

Fast forward to a wet, gloomy Friday evening. My work had taken and left me stranded in the middle of the CBD where every other person was waiting/calling for a cab. I had exactly an hour to get home, conjure up a batch of icing, frost the cupcakes and leave the house. My feet were aching, and I was starting to feel like an underdressed clown amidst the sea of perfectly coiffed executives. Deciding to brave the rain, I eased out of the taxi queue and went off in search of a bus-stop. And guess what cranky ol' me had to flip-flop past? Three dessert places. Ice-cream. Pastries. Perfectly iced cupcakes.

That's when it dawned on me. I should have bought dessert instead! A box of macarons or chocolate truffles, or maybe a tub of ice-cream. That would have saved me the late-night baking sweatshop and a prior trip home. Instead, when I had volunteered to bring the sweets, I had, without any further thought, already set my mind on baking something. Buying a readymade dessert could not have been further from my mind.

Thanks to the string of work-related recipe testings, cooking and baking from scratch have become so ingrained in me that I never thought to consider non-culinary possibilities. For a person who loves convenience and efficiency, and who only in the past year roasted a perfect bird, fully overcome her fear of knives and really derived pleasure from cooking, this change is huge. It's monumental. And I love it.

Next up? Bread and homemade ice-cream, me thinks. Can't wait. And here they are, the babies born out of Thursday night's baking sweatshop. I couldn't be prouder.

earl grey cupcakes with vanilla bean and cream cheese frosting

adapted from Chocolate and Zucchini gâteau au yaourt, and a million other recipes

The pantry diaries.

So, I was lounging on the couch with Sophie Dahl's cookbook on my tummy, mentally running through my pantry as I lingered over any recipe that caught my eye. This is a routine I've been through for several years, way before I began my career in food writing. I almost always end up dismissing the recipes as, more often than not, I do not have the ingredients in my pantry. The kitchen really is still the domain of my Peranakan aunt and I didn't see the point of stocking up on bottles of balsamic vinegar, apple cider vinegar and all those fancy schmancy things Western recipes ask for. Granted, I don't always want to cook the dishes, but being the female that I am, I like having the option of actually trying out a recipe without having to lug back a cartful of condiments I wouldn't use for another two years.

But as I flitted through the beautiful Sophie's book today, it dawned on me that a good portion of the ingredients the recipes called for were already in my pantry. Balsamic vinegar, check. Fleur de sel, check. Rolled oats, check. Grapeseed oil, check. I may not have nicely fillet pieces of sole waiting in my fridge, but as far as condiments and dry ingredients go, I am pretty much covered.

And that, my friends, is the beautiful byproduct of the many recipe testings I have to do every month. A job in publishing may hardly pay the bills but boy, does it stock your pantry!

{image from weheartit}