Snap Pea Salad with Red Chile, Feta, Mint and Lettuce

With all the beautiful produce showing up recently, it's been hard not to have salad on the brain. In fact, it's easy to start daydreaming about being Yotam Ottolenghi, the vegetable master, flipping all sorts of gorgeous possibilities around in my mind. Red chile? Snap peas? Feta? Yes.

There is much to hope for in a good salad. When seasonings and textures are in harmony and the freshest ingredients used, a salad can be invigorating. Uplifting, even. This is especially true on those hot days when we feel droopy to the point of not wanting to eat - or hope for - much of anything.

Salads can veer off into wild exuberance, with acidity, for instance, nearly taking over only to be pulled back from the edge by just the right amount of salt. Crunch can get piled on top of more crunchiness and crispness, each element steeped in its individual flavor. If they are put together right, a mouthful is bliss on a sunny day.

I know people like my neighbor, Heather, however, who dreads putting a salad together for fear of not doing it right or making it "too bland." I'm not sure where this fear comes from, but it must be set it aside. 

Those intimidated, would-be vegetable artists need to step up to the task of salad making with courage and determination. Not to do so would mean missing out on life.

"Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people," writes the very wise Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird.

But really, when it comes to warm weather produce and what to do with it, this line could be rewritten as: "Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the salad."

This means, be brave and pull it together. Don't be afraid of making a salad with what you have. Don't worry too much about the outcome. Dare to let your veggies be great. 

Walk through the farmer's market or the produce section and grab what pleases you. If you are fortunate enough to be asked by a neighbor (such as mine) to water her garden while she is visiting Southern California or even have a small plot of your very own, pick what is ready and calling out to you. 

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Step back and gaze at the pile of things you have collected and thunked down on the counter. In what ways could they possibly be encouraged to live happily together?

Maybe just a dressing will do? The simplest one I can think of for a large head of lettuce washed, torn, and thrown into a bowl is made with the juice of half a lemon, a few glugs of good olive oil (twice as much as the juice) and a generous pinch of salt.

Knit them together with a quick, energetic whisking. If no lemon is in sight, a lime will work just as well. Or use a vinegar instead.

Taste as you go along. Make sure that you have yin to balance out the yang of your vegetables. If something is crisp, add an element that may be soft or silky. Tart? Add sour. Bitterness? Add sweetness. And so on. Just have fun with it and should anything go amiss, it can always be corrected. 

In the worst case, when you can't quite figure it out (with practice, this will happen with less and less frequency until it becomes a non-concern) you will at the very least, still have something fresh and healthy to eat.

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Snap Pea Salad with Red Chile, Feta, Mint and Lettuce
Our neighbors did ask me to water their veggie garden while they were away for ten days recently. They had plenty of snap peas, which I had to snatch away from Kingston, who ate them out of hand. I had the lettuce, chile, onion and a hunk of feta in the fridge already. Mint and tarragon were in my herb box on the back deck. So, this was a salad about using what I had. These, for me, are always the most enjoyable kinds of meals. Simplicity itself. 

Serves 3 to 4.

Ingredients
2 cups snap peas
1 small fresh red chile
1 small fresh banana pepper (optional)
1/3 cup crumbled feta cheese
6 or 7 Boston or Butter lettuce leaves (larger, outer leaves)
Fresh mint, enough leaves to make 1 teaspoon when roughly chopped
Fresh tarragon, 1 sprig, leaves torn off
1 teaspoon black sesame seeds, plus more
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon olive oil
salt and pepper

Instructions
Cut snap peas on the diagonal into 1/2-inch pieces. Mince the red chile. Cut banana pepper lengthwise then again crosswise into thin pieces, about 1/8-inch each (if using). Roughly chop mint and tear or cut tarragon into small pieces.

Whisk together lemon juice and olive oil. Add salt to taste, keeping in mind hat the feta will add saltiness as well. Just a small pinch was enough for me.

Add torn lettuce pieces to the snap peas and peppers. Drizzle dressing over the veggies and scatter sesame seeds and then the feta. Add a grind or two of fresh black pepper. Toss salad gently but thoroughly with your hands or with tongs. Make sure all of the vegetables are coated with a bit of the dressing.

Serve in a big salad bowl or on individual plates. Scatter a pinch more of the sesame seeds over the salad before serving. Eat immediately.

My Bird's Nest Soup

Chris and Aslan, two of the very capable guys from Flying Colors Painting Company came by our house recently to pressure wash and paint the exterior. We shut all of our windows, as (sensibly) instructed. Then the wet, noisy process began.  

I have to admit, it was exciting, especially for our family's younger set, who stood patiently by each window watching, moving to the next suitable viewing point as the areas of washing shifted and water cascaded down around us.  

Since our house is adjacent to the woods, we end up with a lot of dampness and dirt, moss and leaves over the whole structure. Because of where it sits, our house (and yard) is the perfect receptacle for catching all the stuff that gets blown about and out of the woods. After many years of going without, the washing was much needed.

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The other thing that happens due to our location is that certain animals, birds especially, seem to view our house as an extension of the woods. This means that in the Spring, all sorts of interesting activities start up around us.

This year, a pileated woodpecker appeared (again), hammering away at a metal vent high on the east side of our house. The noise echoed loudly enough to set my back teeth on edge. This went on for what seemed like weeks. Bunnies hopped out past the rhododendron and onto our lawn. The deer -- well, if you've been reading this blog, you've already heard plenty about them.

For me, though, the most interesting visitors this year were the pair of robins who settled under one of the eaves out front. We watched them every day after they first arrived. They were so busy gathering twigs and bits of soft, sphagnum moss from the lawn that they didn't even notice us at first. 

I admired their work ethic and drive to protect the nest. My son and I would quietly lean over the edge of the porch together to examine its changes each day. The nest was beautiful in a fecund sort of way and surprisingly large, with wisps of light green hanging down from it.  It looked like something out of a children's book.

The hatchlings arrived and quickly became strong enough to fly off. Thankfully, the robins were done with the nest before the painters came.

After the pressure washing was done, the nest, which had been knocked out of the eave lay sideways and empty on the ground. Everything does have its time and season.

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My Bird's Nest Soup
When I was growing up in Chinatown, we would enjoy traditional bird's nest soup at wedding banquets. The authentic Chinese version is made from the spit of swallows, which lends the soup a viscous quality. Even as a child, I never found it (or the idea of it) either weird or disgusting. It was always just utterly delicious. This clean, simple and completely non-traditional version is my ode to Spring and our robin visitors. It makes a perfect light lunch or supper.

Serves 2.

Ingredients
1-8.8 ounce package of angel hair nests
6 cups good-quality chicken or vegetable broth, preferably homemade
1/3 of a bunch of fresh spinach, leaves wash and torn into pieces
2 very fresh, large eggs
1 teaspoon vinegar

Sesame oil for drizzling
Cilantro, parsley, basil or other soft-stemmed herbs, chopped
Fresh pepper and salt

Instructions
Place broth in a medium pot over medium heat. Once the broth comes to a simmer, turn to low to keep it hot. Taste for seasoning. If the broth is homemade you may need to adjust for salt.

Split the torn leaves between two wide soup bowls, placing them at the bottom. Set aside.

Bring a medium pot of water to boil. Salt water generously. Add two angel hair nests and cook according to package directions (mine were Delverde brand and took 3 minutes). Don't break up the nest shapes. They will cook through even undisturbed.

Bring another medium pot of water to boil. Add vinegar. Crack one egg at a time, placing eggs into separate ramekins or small cups. Using a wooden spoon, stir the water to create a vortex motion and slip one egg at a time into the water whites first.  Cook for three minutes. With a large metal spoon, scoop each egg out one at a time, cutting off loose strands of white with the edge of the spoon. Place one egg on top of each angel's hair nest.

Ladle hot broth along the sides of the bowl, making sure to cover the spinach and part of the pasta nest. The heat of the broth is sufficient to wilt the leaves.

Drizzle with sesame oil and garnish with fresh herbs and pepper.

Rice Porridge (Jook/Congee) with Sauteed Chard

When I was growing up in LA’s Chinatown, it was our family’s ritual to head over to the dim sum parlor on Broadway every Sunday morning. The restaurant was always crowded with families waiting by the front and loudly talking over one another. My mother always seemed to know one of the wait staff who would sneak us in before it was actually our turn on the waiting list.

Once inside, a pot of Bo Lai tea would be placed on our table. It was a bountiful scene. There were shrimp dumplings, tender egg tarts and stewed chicken feet, among many other things that we wanted to stuff right into our mouths. Food seemed to magically appear as one by one the dim sum ladies pushed their full carts up to our table. They would loudly announce their goods and if necessary, cajole us if we turned them down.

But, what I often wanted more than the rich dumplings and pork-stuffed rice noodles was a large bowl of rice porridge called jook (or congee). At its plainest, it is made of nothing more than rice, water and perhaps a bit of salt and pepper. It is a food that was eaten during war and famine. A food that has its origins in hardship and want.  

Inevitably, I would ask one of the ladies for some jook (the restaurant version being enriched with chicken stock and bits of meat, sometimes pork and “thousand-year-old” eggs). This would result in my mother declaring once again how she couldn’t understand why I wanted to eat that when there were so many other good things to eat: We ate it when we were running from the Japanese! When we were starving and there was nothing else! We would use one cup of rice and ten cups of water to make a pot of jook to feed everyone!

Once you make this recipe, you might start to understand my love of this simple dish and how it was able to sustain so many hungry people who had nothing but a small bit of white rice to share between them. It is soothing, settles the belly and warms you. Its flavor is subtle and clean.

Glorious Chard, Fresh and Nutritious...

Here, I have added chard that was sautéed separately in plenty of oil infused with garlic and a piece of ginger. The silkiness of the greens is perfect with the porridge and the whole thing is even better when finished with a drizzle of scallion oil, sesame oil and a shower of chopped green onions. When the oils hit the hot porridge, the smell is just intoxicating. 

If you want, you can make variations of this. The easiest one is to simply use chicken stock instead of water to enrich it. You can substitute the greens with shredded chicken, pork, beef or yes, even a Thousand-Year-Old egg (a duck egg preserved in lime, causing the egg white to turn brown and the yolk to transform into a gooey green in the process). Japanese and Korean versions often add a raw egg that gets stirred in and cooked by the heat of the porridge.

Many of my favorite things to eat are simple, plain and uncomplicated. This is at the top of my list.

Rice Porridge(Jook/Congee) with Spring Greens

Ingredients

1 cup white short grain rice
10 cups water
2 teaspoons salt
1 or 2 pinches of ground white pepper
1 bunch swiss chard, stems removed (save for another use), rinsed, and leaves chopped into ribbons
1 clove garlic, smashed
1 slice fresh ginger, smashed
2 Tablespoons sunflower oil

For garnish:

Chopped scallions, greens and whites
Dark toasted sesame oil
Black sesame seeds

Green Scallion Oil 

Instructions

For greens

1. Heat pan on medium-high. When pan is hot, add oil, garlic and then ginger. Remove garlic and ginger after 2-3 minutes.

2. Add greens and stir, coating greens with oil and sauté. If your greens become too dry, add a tablespoon or two of liquid, stirring. Cook until nicely wilted, about 5 minutes. Set greens aside.

Jook/Congee

1. Give rice a good rinse to remove any talc. Place in large heavy-bottom pot.

2. Add water, salt.

3. Turn heat to medium high and bring to a boil.

4. Once it boils, turn it down to low.

5. While porridge is simmering, make greens (see above).

6. Simmer partially covered for an hour, or until mixture resembles a heavy cream.

7. Place a small pile of greens in bowl. Ladle porridge in around the greens. Garnish with chopped scallions, sesame seeds. Drizzle sesame oil generously. Drizzle scallion oil on generously as well.

8. Eat, share. Eat some more.

Coin Purse Eggs...Hello Spring!

Winters here in Western Washington can sure feel long. By the end of February, the consistently dark and wet days begin to feel like they will never end. You wake up with your house solidly encased in darkness, turn all the lights on (for mental health reasons) and before you know it, your afternoon goes from murky dampness to pure blackness once again. And it’s not even anywhere near dinner time yet.

Lately, our still drizzly days have been punctuated here and there by an actual sunny day. That’s when you’ll find us running outside dressed in tee shirts and shorts. Who cares if it’s still a bit cold out? Who even notices that we are blinding one another with the full moon glow of our winter skin?

We tilt our faces up to the sky, grateful for the light. We greet our friends, whom we haven’t seen since we traded cookies and jars of hot fudge in December, with hugs and say things like, “You made it through the dark months!”

Hello Spring. You are here!

For me, Spring is about fresh eggs. Not those bland ones from the supermarket that we dye for Easter. I’m talking about rich, Omega-laden yolks like the ones local pastured hens have been busy laying now that there is more light each day (Did you know, chickens need about 14 hours of daylight to be able to lay consistently?).

Eggs make me think of my little Chinese mom who raised six hungry kids by herself with a simple dish of steamed white rice and coin purse eggs. We ate a lot of this stuff. It was filling and cheap but still felt special. After all, each “coin purse” contained the promise of wealth and prosperity.

Fresh Eggs From My Brother's Hens

Before you start on the eggs, make sure you already have a pot of cooked rice done. Long-grain is good. So is medium-grain brown. Today we made haiga, a Japanese type which is almost white but not quite brown rice. The bran has been removed, but the germ still remains. It's an in-between thing. Anyway...

It’s time to start your eggs.  

You’ll be cooking one egg at a time, but the whole process goes pretty quickly. You'll be eating very, very soon. I promise.  

Heat two tablespoons or so of oil of your choice (I like sunflower or peanut) in the bottom of curved cooking vessel – like a wok, for instance. Make sure it’s good and hot. This is important!

Take one fresh egg (now’s definitely the time to splurge on organic, farm fresh) and crack it into your little pool of heated oil. Alternatively, you can place your egg in a bowl or cup and then slide it in. But we live on the edge around here. Crack it right in, I say!

Once it goes it, it will sizzle and pop in a most satisfying way. The white should puff up and start to set around the edges. I like to tip the pan to one side to encourage the white to stretch a bit toward one side. This will make it easier to fold.

At this point, swirling the oil a bit around the whole egg is good too. The bottom will start to become crispy and develop brown spots. The yolk will still be wiggly with some uncooked white immediately around it.

It’s been about a minute-and-a-half now. Take your spatula and carefully work it under one side of the egg.

Gently fold the white over the yolk so that it comes together with the opposite edge of white. Introduce them. Let the edges be friends.

This next part might get a little tricky, especially if you are cooking on a flat surface. You might need to tilt the pan a bit and try to nestle the egg into the curved inner part. You will need to hold your spatula for a few moments keep the egg used to its new position. It will quickly set.

When you let go, you’ll see that you’ve made a chubby purse-shaped package with a delicious yolky “coin” inside. So cute. It wiggles when you touch it.   

The proper way to eat it?

Scoop some rice into a bowl. Gently lay your egg on top. Add a splash of soy sauce and a sprinkling of green onions. Shower it with some sesame seeds and it's practically fancy. Poke the soft yolk and let it run down into the hot rice. Mix this rich, sunshine-y concoction up with your chopsticks then savor each bite.

Here’s to sunny days ahead! Enjoy!

Note: If you have some greens lying around in your veggie bin (Radish greens are great – we don’t like to waste anything around here), go ahead and sauté them with a little garlic and oil. Add that to your bowl and you will have a beyond satisfying meal.