how to eat like a bird

a cabbage and egg stir-fry

This is one of those fast, thrifty dishes that harried moms make on the fly to feed their hungry brood. It's simple and comforting, but interesting enough to warrant a try even if you have all the leisure time in the world. There are only four ingredients, so the teaspoon or two of fish sauce is key. It turns what could be a bland vegetable dish into something far more savory and nutty, and even sweet. Serve as a side dish or with steamed rice.

Adapted from Into the Vietnamese Kitchen by Andrea Nguyen. Serves 4 as a side dish.

• 2 tablespoons canola or other neutral oil
• 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
• ½ head green cabbage, cored and sliced into ¼-inch-wide ribbons (4 cups packed)
• 1 to 2 tablespoons of water
• 2 teaspoons fish sauce
• 1 egg, beaten
• Black pepper

In a wok or large skillet, heat oil over medium-high heat until hot but not smoking. Add garlic and stir-fry for 15 seconds or until fragrant. Add cabbage and stir-fry for 2 minutes or until heated through and glistening. Add one tablespoon of water to facilitate cooking and prevent browning. Continue stir-frying, adding another tablespoon of water if the cabbage threatens to scorch.

After 2 to 3 minutes, when cabbage has softened but is still crisp tender, add the fish sauce, pour in the egg, and stir-fry briefly to distribute egg evenly. Remove from heat before the egg firmly sets--you want a slightly custardy texture. Serve with a generous amount of pepper for some heat.

(My notes: I halved the recipe, except for the egg because I wanted a higher egg to cabbage ratio. Be sure to slice the cabbage into ¼-inch-wide ribbons, as directed. I sliced mine thicker and it took longer to cook and was less delicate, I'm sure. There's no need to add salt because of the fish sauce.) 

goodbye liquid fast, hello Korean Thanksgiving

I spent the long weekend of my liquid fast concocting disgusting permutations of arugula, flaxseed oil, spirulina, cranberry, and pear smoothies (I was feeling perverse--the murkier, the better). I hid out from society and flitted about in white like some haunted figure living on an ashram--only from bed to blender and back again. But the closest I got to spiritual comeuppance was delving into my Molto Mario cookbook and fixating on the details of a baked pasta dish traditionally served over Easter. It involves Italian ham cooked until the meat falls apart and layers upon layers of pasta, cheese, and bechamel.

But the fast was not as futile as I feared. I felt and looked terrible on Saturday, the 10th day of my entire "detox" regimen, which is coincidentally or not how long Dr. Oz (of Oprah appearances) says it takes the liver to process toxins. So, hopefully I released some toxins in the process. And while I would not recommend a liquid fast unless you can be sure of keeping up your calorie intake to maintain your metabolism, I felt it served my purposes.

For I not only looked through cookbooks at pasta dishes I could not have, I also looked longingly at glossy vegetables and earmarked recipes I never would have noticed before--chicory soup with egg and Roman-style artichokes dripping in lemon juice and extra virgin olive oil. The first week of a restricted diet recalibrated my weight, my tastebuds, and my idea of portion size required for satiety. And the last three days recalibrated my standards for what I deem to be satisfying food, food worthy of being sought after (solids). Spinach with caramelized onions and black-eyed peas looked like food porn, and I hankered for the lentils from a few days ago.

Who knew that the Korean Thanksgiving day of Chuseok would follow Yom Kippur this year? I finished off 11 days of "detox" with a little rice, gim (toasted, salted sheets of seaweed), some radish soup, kimchi, a thumb-size portion of braised short rib, and three pieces of Korean pancake or fried pajun--one with meat, one with squash, and one with mung bean. It may not sound like much, but I probably overdid it. There seemed a plethora of items that overlapped in categories denied to me, which I didn't pause to think about before diving in. You would think everything would taste heavenly at that point, especially the piece of short rib, but I actually found the plain rice wrapped in toasted seaweed to be the most satisfying, the more heartening piece of food and, in hindsight, it was all I needed.

and on the seventh day...

When I started my "detox" plan, consisting of a preparatory week of a restrictive diet and four days of a juice fast, I thought for sure the juice days would be easier. It seemed far more clearcut--I wouldn't constantly have to think about what I could or could not eat because I wouldn't be eating. It appealed to my lazy side because I wouldn't have to cook (nor chew). I imagined myself happily accepting a wan existence, lounging in bed with one of those flexible straws hanging from my mouth at all times, drinking cranberry juice laced with ground flax seeds, arugula and papaya smoothies, and whatever other gross concoctions I could come up with.

But now my prep week is over, and has been over by a day, and I'm scared to start the next stage. And that's because it's been going so well. All the hunger I anticipated, the withdrawal symptoms from depriving myself of caffeine, sugar, and wheat (as well as meat and dairy)--the pounding headaches--never took place. Maybe because I had already stopped treating Coke as if it were an IV drip necessary for daily function, maybe because I was stuffing myself with fruit which contains natural sugars, but it was all a relative breeze, a walk in the park, far removed from my memories of many years ago when I was on the South Beach diet and made my friend uncomfortable with the way I was looking at her panini.

Yes, the first two days I felt a little tired and slept more, mostly because I was living on green tea, gazpacho, and Concord grapes. I wasn't getting enough calories (once again, being lazy). But then, the weather turned and in my rediscovery of lentils, I realized I could have comfort food on this diet. It buoyed me and beyond one grumpy night of an overexpensive, labor-intensive fruit salad when all I wanted was good pizza or maybe a lobster roll, I haven't had many overwhelming cravings. I tried not to resort to the typical diet visual of someone chomping on celery sticks for days on end. I had vegetable curry, lovely sashimi (fish doesn't count as meat, does it?), and a rich, creamy hummus from The Hummus Place.

All week, I've felt much better than I normally do. Never hungry, but never full to the point of excess. My skin seems a little brighter and my stomach flatter--it's soft like veal, but no matter. I didn't weigh myself at the start of the week because I wanted to make it more about health than weight, but I know what I usually weigh, and it looks like I lost five pounds. I fit into jeans that have been too tight for two years.

But what I'm most pleased with is the clarity of my head. Not in smarts--I'm sure I'm dumber--but in terms of congestion. I didn't realize how full of mucus I was. I usually have to blow my nose a few times when I wake up and before I go to sleep, and I sneeze quite a lot. But this week I've felt exceptionally clear. I can breathe. And I think because of this in part and because of my new found restraint, things taste better. A lot better.

Which is why I'm afraid to go on the more extreme juice fast. I worry that I will come out of it with an insatiable need for a lasagna with bechamel sauce. When right now, if I could have anything I wanted tomorrow, I would want either the hummus, with a side of falafel this time (the falafel is delicious there--vibrant and green inside, with nary a trace of grease) or the sashimi again. And it would satisfy. Normally if I were ordering sashimi rather than sushi, I would order the Deluxe portion plus an order of gyoza to ensure I had enough. But this week I had a Regular portion with a side salad, and got full before I finished.

I had a lot to do today, so didn't think it would be a good time to feel weak on a juice fast. But I'll give it a go over the weekend and try it for at least two days and we'll see how it goes.

a mujadara without rice or wheat

A girl can't live on salad alone. There was a definite shift in season over the weekend with everyone continuing to wear flip flops, but with hoodies zipped up to the collarbone. I wanted something cozy like an onion panade. But on this diet of no wheat and no dairy, I wasn't sure if "cozy" was possible. Then I spotted a package of lentils.

Now, I'm not one of those longstanding vegetarians who thinks lentils alone could make up a whole food group, alongside seitan and tempeh. Legumes, in general, have a lot of protein and nutritional value, but I never really liked lentils until I had my first taste of mujadara. Mujadara is a Middle Eastern dish of lentils, caramelized onions, and usually rice of some kind. It can be rather fluffy or the consistency of porridge. I like fluffy better, but either way is delicious because sweet caramelized onions punctuate the whole thing. It also appeals to my simple, frugal heart. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say my package of $2.99 organic green lentils could feed 16 (I did the math). It's almost biblical.

Here is my recipe, based on Orangette's recipe, without the rice and adjusted to my taste (I like a ratio of more onions to lentils and I add cumin and lemon). Either one is a good place to start. I thought mine tasty and my friend said she's never had such good lentils. But then again, she hasn't had the mujadara from Kalustyan's. This recipe follows instructions given by the guy behind their deli counter, and I must try it after my detox session. They use bulgar instead of rice, and theirs was that first, fluffy taste of mujadara I had that converted me to lentils.

Like many autumnal foods, all mujadaras will taste better the following day. Serves 2-3.

• 3 tablespoons of olive oil (This should suffice if you're using a nonstick pan; add another tablespoon if you're not, or add a little water if the onions start to stick too much to the bottom of the pan. It's fine if the onions get very dark and even burn a little--those taste the best.)
• 2 large yellow onions (If you use Vidalia onions, which are sweeter, it will cut your caramelizing time in half.)
• 1/2 cup green or brown lentils, picked over for stones and debris
• Water
• Salt and pepper to taste.
• 2 pinches of cumin, or to taste.
• 1/2 lemon

Cut onions into a small dice. In a large saute pan, skillet, or Dutch oven, heat oil over medium-high heat. When it shimmers, add the onions--it may look like a lot but they will cook down. Stir until onions are coated with oil. Turn heat down to medium. Season with salt and pepper.

Stir occasionally until they are deeply caramelized to the shade you want, which can range from amber to blackened. (This is the one time my bad knife skills come in handy, as my cuts of all different sizes result in a hodgepodge of doneness, which is what I want. Caramelizing onions can take anywhere from 25 to 60 minutes, depending on your stove and onions.)

Meanwhile, place lentils in a small saucepan and cover with an inch of water. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Let it simmer undisturbed for 15-20 minutes or until tender. Drain.

When onions are done, add the drained lentils to the pan and mix together. Taste and adjust for seasoning. Add cumin, if desired. Add juice from 1/2 a lemon.

--If you want more of a porridge consistency, add 1/4 cup of water to the pan of lentils and onions, bring to a boil (water level will be shallow, but nonetheless, should boil), cover, and simmer for about 8 minutes. Stir. This will look unfortunate and sludge-like, but if you set it aside, it will thicken. And if you put it in the fridge and eat it straight out of the tupperware container later, you will see that it's also good cold.   

vicarious feeding

Difara's Pizzeria from Chris on Vimeo.

I saw this ode to Di Fara's pizza posted on Slice and have watched it three times now, which is not as many times as I watched that You Tube clip of a baby panda sneezing, but this is longer and much more satisfying--especially for a girl off wheat and dairy for a couple of weeks.

You may think the stills alone would drive me delirious with longing and to curse the very day I thought of detox but, in fact, this video calms and lulls me into a positively beatific mood. Something about the timelessness of the atmosphere, how it's shot--the music and customers, Dom's craft, makes me trust that it will all be there long after my bout with wanting to be healthy. All in due time.

Disclosure: If I am to speak with frankness, I suggest people in the near vicinity get over there now because the man is not getting any younger. (Take the Q train to Ave. J in Brooklyn; they are at 1424 Ave. J.) Save some slices to take home, and eat at midnight.

a classic gazpacho

This chilled Andalusian soup is packed with flavor and almost laughably, transparently good for you. Yes, I omitted the bread for purposes of my detox week and halved the amount of extra-virgin olive oil, but I wouldn't mind going at this full throttle once I'm off my fast--taking the time to sliver tender basil leaves for garnish and broil day-old bread, brushed in fragrant Spanish olive oil, to make homemade croutons.

A taste straight out of the blender (or food processor) underwhelms, but give it a few hours in the fridge to meld and chill, and the small amounts of cumin and garlic used really come through. Bell peppers, which generally I'm not a fan of, provide a welcome zest here. I see why Andalusians guzzle this stuff down by the water glass on a hot day. It leaves you feeling like you're good to go.

Here's the full recipe. Adapted from The Greatest Dishes: Around the World in 80 Recipes by Anya von Bremzen. Serves 6.

• 3 pounds ripest tomatoes (von Bremzen says do not use Beefsteak tomatoes)
• 2 medium Kirby (pickling) cucumbers, peeled
• 1 medium green bell pepper, cored and seeded
• 1 medium red bell pepper, cored and seeded
• 1/4 medium red onion, peeled
• 3 garlic cloves
• Small pinch of cumin seeds or ground cumin
• 1/2 cup extra-virgin Spanish olive oil
• 4 tablespoons sherry vinegar, preferably aged
• 1/2 cup bottled water, or to taste
• Four 1-inch-thick slices day-old country bread, crusts removed, torn into small pieces
• Coarse sea salt
• Garnish, if you like, with slivers of basil, finely diced cucumber, green apples, underripe tomatoes, or tiny bread croutons fried in olive oil.

Squeeze out seeds and some juice from tomatoes over the bread. Crumble and massage the bread. Add 1 tablespoon of the vinegar and let it soak for 5 to 10 minutes.

Chop tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, and onions into a medium dice. Place in bowl, stir in 3 large pinches of salt, and let stand for 15 minutes so tomatoes release some liquid.

Pound the garlic to a paste with the cumin and 1/2 teaspoon of salt. Use a mortar and pestle (or side of a chef's knife or small food processor). Process paste with the bread mixture in a food processor until completely smooth. Add the vegetable mix to this, working in three batches, adding a third of the olive oil to each batch. Make as smooth as possible.

Pass the gazpacho through a sieve (Needless to say, I did not do this, but may someday.)

Mix in the remaining 3 tablespoons of vinegar and the water. Adjust salt to taste. Chill for at least 3 hours before serving. If making it a day ahead, don't add the garlic until 2 to 3 hours before serving. 

the rules

At sunset I started my detox regimen, which begins with a week of no's--no alcohol, no coffee, no sugar, no dairy, no meat, no wheat. But a resounding yes to flaxseed, flaxseed oil, milk thistle, and most of all, fruits and vegetables. Fruit contains natural sugars, but I'm okay with that.

This week will be followed by a simpler four-day juice fast. And after that, I hope to maintain a relatively "clean" diet: no processed foods, a preponderance of organic vegetables and fruit, a limited amount of organic animal products, and whole wheat in place of refined flour, with the occasional indulgence like the expense-account steakhouse dinner I already denied myself tonight, and which I hear was AMAZING.

But all in all, I'm feeling more chipper than rueful. I do love a new project. We'll see how I feel on Day 4.

goodbye Chicken in a Biskit!

                                       

What's trashier than a cracker that bills itself a "biskit," the main selling point of which is that it tastes like a chicken bouillon cube and has a mascot devoted to NASCAR? Well, a lot of things, actually. Cheese from a can, for one. (I at least ate these with real English farmhouse Cheddar, people!)

This box I had to toss because the crackers tasted like cardboard. I usually eat these "chicken biskits" (why not go all the way and call it "chiken in a biskit"? --it's not like any real chicken is involved) only when I'm at my parents' house in Virginia, partly out of nostalgia and partly because I spot them at Target, where everything seems so spanking new and cheap and American. There the turnover for these babies is so quick that the MSG in them really pops.

But here in my local supermarket in New York, it was one of three remaining boxes. It was covered with a thin film of dust and the expiration date looked to be October of this year. In non-perishable food years, that could mean this particular box had been sitting around for a year or two. But I was on a quest. After a conversation with some friends about trashy foods (Doritos has really diversified in the last ten years), I had decided I should have these sooner rather than later, as I didn't want to revert to bad form after my upcoming detox fast. Unfortunately they turned out to be leaden and kind of stale. Not at all the happy, savory chicken-powder conveyors of my youth.   

Oh, and they were $3.89. For the same four dollars, I could have gotten two pounds of farmers' market tomatoes, ripe and bursting, ready to be made into a lush gazpacho or this. Instead I find myself eating things not because I genuinely want them at the moment, but because I project I'll want them later once I can't have them. I even made a small ham cooked in Coke, but it turned out dry because I boiled it too long in my overzealousness to really saturate the thing in Coke flavor. All this rather defeats the whole purpose of a fast--filling yourself up with junk first, that is.

There was going to be a banana pudding run to Sugar Sweet Sunshine that I felt I must fit in and an arepas dash to Caracas Arepa Bar, but I will have all those things later, in moderation. Maybe not a day or two or even a week after my fast, but I know I will have them again. I needn't worry about trying to pack it all in at the eleventh hour. And, as for the Chicken in a Biskit, I trash them now, but perhaps I'll revisit that food group next time I'm in Virginia. . . although I do suspect the mystique is over.

bewitched by frisée (and a cookie)

Frisée is usually the last bit of stray green left on a salad plate. That's because the stuff is unruly, a little bitter, and seemingly impenetrable to the redemptive qualities of any old vinaigrette. In a picture of mild and tender mixed greens, frisée is the one that sticks out, the one "that does not belong."

The thing is, though, frisée has no business co-mingling with baby greens. It needs stronger counterparts like lardon, a poached egg, lardon grease, a stinky Roquefort, a dry martini. Here it is in a 'wichcraft sandwich packed to the gills, accompanied by marinated white anchovies, a soft-boiled egg, roasted onions; and tempered by a parsley-caper vinaigrette that matches the anchovies in briny saltiness and overall umami effect. It's a very good sandwich--cooling in its bright Mediterranean flavors but still soulful.

Caveats: sometimes they pile on the parsley-caper vinaigrette which makes it overly salty, but it's easy enough to scrape some off. While this is my favorite cold sandwich at 'wichcraft, my favorite overall is the grilled cheddar with smoked country ham that sometimes comes with pear and, in the winter, quince.   

I could have had half and saved the rest for later because the frisée retains its integrity so well. (But I didn't.) And look how cleverly they toasted the inside of the country bread so the ingredients wouldn't soak through. --I don't know if this was a one-time fluke or if they've always done this and I never noticed before because I'm usually so hungry by the time I eat lunch, things are a blur.

I also had a cookie, which I never feel guilty about at 'wichcraft because: 1) they're so good it seems rather parsimonious to pass up the chance, and 2) they're very small--about an inch and a half in diameter and $1 each, so it is a very singular indulgence (as compared to their equally good, very moist coffeecake which I suppose is only sinful because I squirrel it away for later, refusing to share). My favorite is the oatmeal cookie, which is tender and slightly chewy with a cream-filled middle that is more like a buttery and nutty light ganache than the sugar-packed monstrosity of Oreos and their like.

Caveat: not actual size.

a time to fast

Of all the articles in the food issue of The New Yorker, I am most captivated with the one about not eating. While Judith Thurman's time at the holistic fasting spa We Care is limited to three days and one colonic, the article goes beyond her personal experience and reminds us that not all fasting is about fad dieting embarked upon with foolish haste. Rather, human beings have fasted since biblical times (when everyone was skinny) and almost all major religions subscribe to a period of abstention associated with a time for introspection, atonement, and renewal.

Also, after a colonic a man once found a marble he had swallowed when he was five years old. Who knows the degree of crap inside us all?

I don't have thousands of dollars to live out my Magic Mountain fantasy. (The spa is a frequent stop for celebrities on the way to red carpet events, but, moreover, serves as a sanatorium in the desert for wealthy clients in need of detox who can stay for a month at a time). But I am in need of a fast. I'm not yet completely over my summer cold--after an unexpected chilly night, I can feel my throat close up and, more disastrously, suspect my taste buds are being muffled by layers of phlegm. I'm not quite as bad as David Sedaris, who admits in the same issue of The New Yorker that taste-wise he cannot tell the difference between an apricot and a peach. But I'm not enjoying my meals so much.

A friend and I dined at Perilla over the weekend. And while the famed spicy duck meatballs were even better than expected (delectably tender and juicy with a flavorful kick to them), I found the rest of the meal just okay. Very well done but a little boring. My friend loved her mussels in, I think, a green curry coconut sauce, but we both found her wolfish bland. Light and summery but not that flavorful. My skate with a pastrami and cabbage slaw was much better but I didn't clean my plate (the entree portions are pretty big) and don't feel the need to have it again. She really liked the slaw and while I thought pastrami was an inspired choice (usually people use bacon with skate), I would have preferred the cabbage braised to have a silky and sweet component against the crispy skate wing, and wished the whole thing which was tied together with a mustard sauce to be more mustardy. --But, see, maybe my palate is muffled or jaded. I am sure after a few days of fasting, everything will taste ambrosial.

As an aside, we did see the chef and winner of the first season of Top Chef, Harold Dieterle, slouched in a banquette talking to some people. He's a favorite for both of us and when you see someone you've seen on film or TV, you always note how different they seem in real life--she's a giant! or she's so petite! But Harold looks just the same. Maybe because he appeared in a reality show. The double chin he sometimes has is gone, but the grimace, the shrug is all the same, so that was rather endearing to see.

I'll outline the details of my fast later. --I'll be supplementing with some liquids and a lot of gazpacho so it won't be like I'm depriving myself of all sustenance. And I'm going to base the dates loosely to coincide with the upcoming Jewish holidays of Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish new year) and Yom Kippur (a day of atonement ten days after the new year.) I hope this is not heresy as I am not Jewish but thought it would make me feel better if a lot of other people were thinking introspectively, and well, repentantly, about their lives at or around the same time (as well as not eating on Yom Kippur). And after all, I am Korean and attended Catholic school. I read Ian McEwan. If I'm not already well versed with the ins and outs of atonement, I only have myself to blame.

But more on that later. First, there are some dinner plans to be met, produce to take advantage of before summer's end, and a small ham to be cooked in Coca-cola.