how to eat like a bird

a kimchi bokum bap with egg

You can make so many things if you happen to have a tub of kimchi in your house at all times. One of my staple items, which I never tire of, especially when I have leftover brown rice on hand is this simple kimchi bokum bap, or stir-fry with potatoes, onion, kimchi and rice. Whether you use white or brown, leftover rice works better than newly steamed because there’s less moisture and little risk of it getting mushy. I like brown rice because it stays intact and has more of a bite to it, especially when you let it stick to the pan and get a little toasted in sesame oil.

Chop a smallish Idaho potato (or 2 large red potatoes) and half an onion into small cubes and stir-fry in a pan over medium heat. I usually start off with grapeseed oil, but you can use sesame. If you find that the potatoes are sticking to the pan too much, add a little water and cover with a lid. Also, salt and pepper the whole thing. Sometimes I add a dash of soy sauce.

When the potatoes are almost done (still too firm but edible), add a handful of chopped up kimchi. When the kimchi is fairly translucent (it should only take a couple minutes more if your kimchi pieces are small), I add sesame oil and my cooked rice. I stir everything together and turn the heat up, letting the rice sit in the pan and get toasty. Some people like a crust to form, like in a paella or a dol sot bee bim bap. And some people like to add Spam or ham, carrots or peas.

Basically you can use whatever you like or have on hand. It’s one of those dishes. It’s also one of those Jesus dishes, in that a small volume of a few humble ingredients can feed multitudes. Or well, at least three or four, as the above does. I also like to fry an egg in sesame oil and place on top. The yolk mellows out the acidity of the kimchi and it is all very yummy, indeed.

the best brussels sprouts

The Spotted Pig in the West Village can transform even brussels sprouts into something of an indulgence. My friend had ordered them along with some swiss chard because she needed something green against our backdrop of chicken liver on toast, gnudi in a butter sage sauce, creamy deviled eggs, and boozy prunes wrapped in bacon. And while the chard was salty, it served its function admirably, providing some vegetation that tasted lighter and cleaner than everything else at the table. But the brussels sprouts were something else altogether.

They looked innocuous enough, charred nearly black but unadorned in a simple bowl. But the outer leaves were a little crisp and nutty and rich enough that at one point I thought maybe they’d been finished with some Parmesan cheese. And the center was a sweet nugget with nothing cruciferous about it—it had more the molten texture of a roasted chestnut. Comfort food at its finest, yet seemingly still a vegetable.

I was flummoxed enough to inquire as to what was going on here—the first time I’ve ever asked a server how something is prepared. Usually I’m too shy or assume it’s too complex an issue to venture into. But she came back from the kitchen with the pleasingly simple response of:

1): Blanch them in highly seasoned water (stressing “highly”).
2): Pan-fry them in lots of butter (stressing “lots”).

So there it was. Not a secret at all, but rather, like everything else on their menu, an alchemy of salt and butter.

I don’t approve of recipes where vegetables are transformed with a lot of fat. Why would I want a cauliflower gratin when I can have macaroni and cheese if it’s virtually the same thing as far as nutritional components? But I was already hooked on these, and while the brussels sprouts were perhaps bathed in butter, they were still the mainstay of the dish, not hidden by 10 other ingredients. I’m a sucker for rustic simplicity (any dish with only three components), so I tried these at home.

I blanched (inserted in boiling water) them for a couple minutes in water with maybe three times the amount of salt I would use for pasta (you should use more), then pan-fried them in half a stick of butter, which was really much more butter than was needed for eight brussels sprouts. Most of it was left in the pan at the end, thankfully. The house smelled marvelous and my cat was beside himself as the butter turned nutty and golden-brown. I didn’t cook them long enough as I had to take them off the pan before the butter turned black, so didn’t get the same consistency. But the outer leaves tasted wonderful, and they were still pretty good.

My friend also ended up making these, and I think with better success. She blanched the sprouts in water seasoned with pepper and more salt than I had used for a longer period of time--about five minutes, before pan-frying them in butter on low heat, as if caramelizing onions, for at least 30 minutes. And she said they could have used 30 minutes more, perhaps. She used two sticks of butter for two pounds of brussels sprouts. They weren’t exactly the same as at the Spotted Pig’s, she said, but fantastic all the same. Even members of her family who didn’t like brussels sprouts really enjoyed them.

spinach with raisins and pine nuts

I'm not crazy about spinach (or raisins or pine nuts), but the reviews on CHOW convinced me to try this classic Catalan dish. And it was indeed delicious. Turns out I can overeat vegetables, too, which can only be a good thing.

This recipe comes from The New Spanish Table by Anya von Bremzen, who travels the world for Food and Wine, charming grandmothers, street vendors, and exalted chefs alike, into sharing their best secrets and age-old family recipes. In the cookbook, this innocuous dish reappears as a filling for a decadent cannelloni in béchamel sauce. (I remember being transfixed by the picture for several minutes). To add richness here, I topped it with a fried egg. --A poached egg would have been even better, but I was lazy and hungry and wanted to use the same pan.

I was tempted to fry the egg Spanish-style, which basically means frying it in a generous amount of extra virgin olive oil, all the while spooning oil over the egg, basting it with the stuff... but the spinach had a nice coating of garlic-scented olive oil already, so I thought it may be overkill without any toast to absorb some of the oil. If you have a nice thick slice of rustic country bread, by all means, go for it.

But for everyday eating, there's no reason not to enjoy this unadorned. It's tasty and absolutely healthy. (I cut the recipe in half because I couldn't bear the thought of washing more than one bunch of spinach, but spinach cooks down so much, that I pretty much ate three-fourths of it in one sitting. If you're sharing or want leftovers, make the recipe in its entirety.)

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.) 

a burrito of sorts: the summer roll

I've had a package of Vietnamese rice paper wrappers for about a year now. Guess what? They're fine! My friend Gloria brought over some organic basil, and we made these with seared tofu, cucumber, carrots, and alfalfa sprouts. But you can use shrimp and mint or whatever ingredients you want. The glass mung bean noodles weren't quite the standard rice vermicelli, but they were fine and suited our purposes well. The result, dipped in a nuoc cham sauce was refreshing, delicious, and surprisingly filling. Much more of a success story, said Gloria, than her previous attempt (made with beef brisket and salsa...see, you can put anything in these).

Making these summer rolls provides you with all the joys of cooking that one keeps hearing about, without the sweat and tears. The fragrance of the fresh basil hits you as does the visual pleasure in seeing all the colorful elements of your roll peek through the translucent wrapper, made delicate and pliable after a reconstituting dip in a bowl of water. Nevermind structural theory, place the most aesthetically pleasing items first so they will be sure to appear through the wrapper.

The most difficult part was julienning the carrots, which I then marinated in some of the fish sauce-based nuoc cham sauce. And I would, next time, press the firm tofu with a weighted plate for a few minutes to get the water out, then slice in strips and sear it on all sides. You can also dab a bit of Hoisin on the tofu, if you like. Here are more detailed instructions on wrapping a summer roll, along with a recipe for a peanut sauce.

Here is the recipe for the nuoc cham dipping sauce, which I prefer over a peanut sauce. The parentheticals are my notes.

Adapted from The Greatest Dishes: Around the World in 80 Recipes by Anya Von Bremzen.

Makes 11/3 cups.

• 5 tablespoons of sugar
• 2/3 cup water
• 1/3 cup fresh lime juice
• 6 or 7 tablespoons fish sauce, to taste (I used Golden Boy, which is supposed to be a good brand, along with these brands.)
• 1 large garlic clove, crushed
• 3 or 4 red bird's eye chilies, thinly sliced (optional)
• 2 to 3 tablespoons cilantro (optional)

In a small saucepan, heat the water and sugar until the sugar dissolves. Let cool. Add the other ingredients. Let stand for 30 minutes before serving.

a none-too-ravishing crespéou

This falls a little short of the nine-layer crespéou featured in the L.A. Times as the "Big Night of Provencal cooking." It looks more like a hangover remedy. But I think it embodies the original intent of the dish, which is to use up all the odds and ends of what's left in the vegetable bin by way of stacking thin, open-faced omelets, one over the other. I only had 11 eggs, so this is a five-and-a-half-layer crespéou. You can then compress the whole thing with some kind of weight (an additional plate held down with some cans), so it becomes one unit, and all the flavors meld together. --It tastes much better the next day. 

I basically followed the recipe, with some consolidation to save on time and eggs, placing spinach and shitake mushrooms in the same two-egg omelet to make one layer, and doing the same with anchovies and capers. I left out the piquillo peppers, and would next time leave out the tapenade from a jar which produced a ghastly purple middle layer. The top pesto layer was lovely but that also came from a jar, so my shortcut creation did not whisper "Provence" to me and send chills down my spine. The zucchini was fresh, however, and the day after, when it was quite hot and muggy, a cold wedge of the crespéou seemed the right thing for lunch (alongside a drumstick from one of those rotisserie chickens). (But still, all in all, a healthy meal. Even with the 18 eggs in the original recipe, this dish only has 274 calories per serving--and a little over 2 eggs per serving).

I would make this again, keeping the spinach, mushrooms, and zucchini, and adding potatoes and onion to make it more like a very light, free-form Spanish tortilla.

an heirloom tomato sandwich

Goal: To use bounty of summer as chance to wax poetic about Harriet the Spy, favorite childhood heroine who adored and insisted on a tomato sandwich for lunch every day.

Things Held in Common with Harriet: Fondness of own habits; fetishism of notebooks.

Things Not Held in Common with Harriet: Have never actually had a tomato sandwich; lack of domestic staff. 

Project at Hand: Purchase some heirloom tomatoes from the farmer's market; make homemade mayonnaise, using Julia Reed's mom's recipe. Slice tomato, slap between two pieces of bread lightly slathered in the homemade mayonnaise.

Execution: Not Good. Sigh...

Instead of listing a litany of things that went wrong, I'll list what I learned (too late): unless very fit in upper body, it may prove fruitful to invest in a $6 whisk, rather than try to whisk with a dinner fork, really fast; when your homemade mayonnaise is separating on you, you can add an egg yolk instead of chucking out the whole thing; fancy sourdough bread from the farmer's market doesn't really fit the bill--what you want is a soft, yielding bread like plain old supermarket Pepperidge Farm white bread; and lastly, a simple tomato sandwich is best enjoyed when it's simply put together at moment's notice, not when it's labored over.

Here is a lovely story on just this topic by Julia Reed, who can really make you nostalgic for times you never had. Notably, her family had domestic staff as well.