Magical Pork Pie

Change has been the general theme for us around here. There's been the start of school with a new teacher in a new classroom to adjust to, a bit of travel thrown in, and of course there's the weather which is being its usual Pacific Northwest self: predictably unpredictable.

I've been realizing more and more, though, that that's okay. To have things shift around, make you suddenly crazy-busy or just feel crazy. To not be sure if it's going to rain downpourishly for the five days or not. We just can't predict much of it, but we can adjust to the changes as they happen.

One of the main reasons why I've been thinking this way, in addition to the above mentioned stuff, is that we've had a lot of incredibly challenging moments recently with Kingston, in terms of his behavior. It is absolutely developmentally normal for kids of his age (four going on five) to want to say just what they think (often in a less than kind way), assert themselves boldly and completely ignore what you or any other grown up asks them to do.

This is hard.

Okay, that was an understatement.

It is terribly, terribly hard. But I've learned, with the help of some very smart and loving people in my life, that it's okay to feel that it's just awful and that what a kid who is not behaving and even being aggressive needs more than anything is a combination of empathy and authority. Hold the boundaries! Set limits! But do it with warmth and love.

One person even described it to me like this: "You're the benevolent queen...Act like the benevolent queen."

After she said that, things just clicked. Kingston and I started to get along better. As the queen of my kingdom, I said enough when it was enough (Um, like, no, we can't put "Froggy Went A' Courtin'" on a loop so that it's the only song that plays for every single second of the day just because that's what you want even if you scream about it.).

And things have started slowly to change. My little minion (said lovingly, of course) seems to be getting that I'm firmly saying no or correcting him because I love him and don't want him to grow up to be a narcissistic terror of a person. Or maybe, he doesn't understand it that way, per say; he just knows that mama loves him. Period.

Underneath that sometimes tough queenly benevolence, good things have come to the surface for us. I've been feeling cautious relief. Especially when we have moments like yesterday, when we lay in bed in the morning and drew tons of spider webs together in an old notebook. Or, later the same afternoon, when we sat at the table and drank hot chocolate together, addressing one another as Mr. Dog (him) and Mr. Cat (me).

Life reminder: when you can ride through the changes, the really difficult moments, allowing the stuff underneath to rise to the surface, you'll be surprised, maybe even grateful. Oh, and don't forget that you are the benevolent ruler of your own little kingdom, indeed.

“In his dream he had gone to the pantry to fetch someone a slice of magnificent pork pie. But when he cut the pie open he found that there was very little pork inside it. Most of the interior was taken up by the city of Birmingham. Within the pie crust forges and smithies smoked and engines pounded. One of the citizens, a civil-looking person, happened to stroll out from the cut that Stephen had made and when his glance fell upon Stephen, he said...”

— Susanna Clake, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell

Speaking of what lies beneath the surface... I don't know why it took me so long to read Susannah Clarke's wonderful novel, but an 800-page book about magic and fairies and spells to summon anyone you want through time and space... Well, that was a good, escapist thing to be reading while going through my ups and downs with my child. One day, snatching a few minutes to read while locked in the bathroom (okay, other parents, feel free to admit that you have done this), I came across the above passage and decided I had to make my own pork pie. Nothing, nothing at all like an English pork pie, which is packed to the limit with various incarnations of pork products so that it's actually more like a crust-encased terrine. Nope, this is my version, which probably more closely resembles a sort of pot pie and is packed with potatoes and apples instead. Magical in its own way. Enjoy!

Magical Pork Pie

Ingredients
One recipe for double-crust pie, such as this one.
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium red onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 lb. ground pork
2 1/2 tablespoons fresh sage, minced
1/4 teaspoon of dried red chili flakes
3/4 lb. potatoes (about 3 medium), peeled and cubed
1/4 cup water or broth
2 medium apples (such as Golden Delicious), peeled and cubed
salt and pepper

To finish
1 egg yolk
tablespoons water

Instructions
Roll out half of pie dough into a 14-inch diameter circle. Place in glass pie pan. Trim so that there is a 1-inch overhang. Wrap well and place in fridge. Roll out top crust in same manner and place on a baking tray. Cover well and place in fridge. Crust should be chilled for 2 hours to overnight.

Prepare filling. In a large pan, heat oil over medium-high heat. Add onion and 1/2 teaspoon salt. Sautee until softened, 8 to 10 minutes. Add garlic, cook for another minute then add pork, breaking up with wooden spoon. Add another 1/2 teaspoon salt. Sautee until pork is browned. Add sage and chili flakes. Give the mixture a good stir then add potatoes, stirring to combine. Add water and remaining salt then cover, turning down heat. Cook on low for 10 minutes. Uncover, then add apples, cooking for additional 10 to 15 minutes.  Add freshly ground pepper. Taste and adjust for salt as well. Remove filling from heat. (I like the filling to be at least lukewarm when putting this into the crust, but it will also work if you're in a rush and filling is hot. Just work quickly!)

When you are ready to put the pie together, preheat oven to 450°F. Spoon filling into prepared bottom crust. Cover with top crust, cutting vent holes for steam release. Beat egg yolk and water together. Brush egg wash over top crust. Place pie on middle rack. Bake for 15 minutes then turn temperature down to 400°F. Bake for an additional 45 to 50 minutes, until crust is golden. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Japanese Curry: My Ultimate Comfort Food

This month five years ago, Marc and I pulled into my brother's driveway here in Bellingham, our truck packed tightly with everything we thought necessary plus the poor dog who was allotted about one square foot of space for the 2,000-mile journey. All along the way, boxes kept falling down on his hairy head and not once did he complain.  

We had, after some deliberation, decided that this was the place where we were going to put down roots. Marc and I didn't know where we would exactly live in our new town, but a month later, after I'd started to settle into my private practice, we found a house next to the woods. We have been here since. 

Two or even three years in, there were moments where I would suddenly forget where I was. I would open my eyes in the morning, feeling disoriented at seeing the walls of a room other than those of our old bedroom in California. Or, I'd be driving along by the lake and take a turn, expecting to arrive somewhere in L.A. 

Somewhere in the middle of living my life, though, that unsettled feeling drifted away. It took a while. My former life in Southern California feels like a dream and now my roots reach down, firmly anchoring me to this place of clouds, rain and wetland woods. 

I don't miss the heat, the perpetual summer. What I miss most about my hometown is people -- friends I haven't seen in so long, family I no longer get to spend time with on a regular basis.

There are a few other things, like food, for instance. I know L.A. has changed so much since we left, and the food with it. Just today, I was listening to Evan Kleiman's Good Food on KCRW. She was talking about the rise of Latino coffee houses all over Southern California, including Tierra Mia a few blocks from my old high school. I hadn't heard anything about that before turning on the podcast.

When it comes to food and my hometown, I miss Little Tokyo, or J-Town most and the yummy stuff we'd regularly eat there. Like mochi and mochi ice cream from Mikawaya and warm red bean cakes from Mitsuru Cafe called imagawayaki (see video below) that are cooked in rows of copper pans.

Most of all, I miss our weekly, sometimes twice-weekly visits to the Curry House.

Have you ever had Japanese curry? It seems not that many people up here in our town, at least the ones I've talked to, know about it. In many American minds, Japanese food equals sushi and not curry. But in Japan, it's a comfort food cooked at home, one of those well-loved dishes where each family makes it their own way. Everyone loves it, kids included.

It's my ultimate comfort food.

Kare raisu, as it is known, falls into the category of yoshoku. This style of cooking takes Western ingredients and transforms them into something to suit Japanese tastes. Though most of us think of curry as an Indian spice, rather than something from the West, it's thought to have been introduced to Japan by the British. Hence, kare raisu's yoshoku status. At its most basic, kare raisu is a curry-flavored gravy with onions and may also contain beef, pork, chicken or veggies. As the raisu part of the name points out, it's typically served over rice. 

At Curry House, you can order your dish in many different ways. You can get a deep-fried meat cutlet over it, or a ground beef patty. You can have it topped with tofu or boiled egg. It's completely customizable.

Here's the version we cook in our house. It's the one we like and now eat at least once a week as we hold onto memories of friends, family and visiting our favorite place in Little Tokyo. 

Japanese Curry (Kare Raisu)

Adapted from Serious Eats.

Ingredients
For the roux:
2 tablespoons vegetable oil (such as sunflower), OR unsalted butter
1/4 cup rice flour (or all-purpose)
1 tablespoon hot curry
1 1/2 teaspoons mild curry
1 3/4 teaspoons garam masala
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1/4 teaspoon cayenne (use more if your prefer your curry more spicy)
1/2 teaspoon mild honey OR half a finely grated apple

For the curry
2 teaspoons vegetable oil
2 medium onions, halved then thinly sliced
4 carrots, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch chunks
4 cups vegetable broth
1 1/2 pound firm-fleshed potatoes (such as Yukon Gold), peeled and cut into 1/2-inch chunks
2 teaspoons salt
3/4 cup peas

Instructions
In a large, heavy-bottomed pot heat oil over medium heat. Add onions and saute until they turn golden and are just beginning to caramelize, 10-12 minutes. Add carrots, then vegetable broth. Bring to a boil then add potatoes and salt. Cover and simmer for about 30 minutes, until potatoes are tender.

In the meantime, make the roux. In a large saucepan or a wide skillet, heat oil. Add flour, both curry powders and garam masala. Stir for a minute or two, incorporating the ingredients together. Add Worcestershire sauce, tomato paste, cayenne and honey, stirring and pressing mixture together. You will have a dry paste. Turn off heat. Set aside.

Once your vegetables are done, ladle out about 2 cups of the liquid. Turn heat back to low for the roux. Add a small amount of liquid to the roux at a time, stirring after each addition, until all of the broth has been added.  You will have a very thick gravy. Add all of this back to the pot with the vegetables and stir gently, until a rich gravy develops. Add peas and allow to warm through. 

Serve over rice. I like my curry garnished with red pickled ginger (beni shoga). And here! Come watch how they make goza soroh (another name for imagawayaki). They are delicious!

Beef, Lamb and Spinach Meatballs with Yogurt Sauce

A few days ago, Kingston asked me to try out one of his new markers which are supposed to change colors. So, I skeptically put some scribbles and blobs on a piece of paper with the red-to-yellow marker. 

The next day, it was still red. Nothing had happened. No magic, no alchemy. We wondered, how does it turn yellow? The following morning, when we looked at it still sitting there on the table unchanged, we wondered aloud again. 

I stared at it for another moment.

"Let’s change it,” I said. Kingston nodded in agreement.

I looked at the shape of it, the blob of ink. Suddenly, I thought it looked something like an alligator's head. So I made it into one.

Kingston, being four and bossy and therefore a natural art director, began telling me what to add. 

“Put legs! Then a crow eating the alligator!” I added a body and legs then drew a little crow pecking at it. Hm.

“Now the clouds!” He said. “Oh, and snow! And ants climbing on the alligator!"

Now we were really cooking. The orginal patch of color on the paper had taken on its own life and become something quite other than what it had been. 

How elements – ingredients, objects that seem to definitely be one thing, or perhaps a mark on paper – can be quickly transformed into something else has always fascinated me. 

Maybe it comes from being a kid and watching my brother, Warren, draw as he sat in front of the TV. If I kept my eye on his hand moving across the blank sheet of paper, a few scratches and lines might turn into something magical like a cat sitting in a window, gazing out at the world.

For me, this was better than anything on television. 

Or, maybe my fascination with transformation came from watching women I knew cooking in the kitchen. The essential nature of cooking, after all, is alchemy. 

For example. Take a carrot, some celery, onion, chop everything up and add water, and you have a very simple vegetable broth.

Leave some heavy cream out on the counter overnight with a spoonful of buttermilk in it and it becomes a thick and delicious creme fraiche. 

But what comes to the front of my mind when I think back to the kitchen and being really little is watching my mother toss a live turtle into a smoking hot wok then clamping the metal lid down before the creature could crawl out. 

Later that same day, we took the soup (thank you transmuted turtle) to my Uncle Fish, who was very sick in the hospital. The healing liquid was poured out of a green thermos and spooned into his parched mouth.

Alchemy, yes.

Cooking is transformation itself and something we can all partake in. Who, after all, would turn down a bit of magic in their lives? Not I.

Beef, Lamb and Spinach Meatballs with Yogurt Sauce
I have a few people in my life who don't eat lamb for whatever reason. A mental repulsion or perhaps it's "too gamey" for them. The greens and beef used here, along with spices and the yogurt, transform these ingredients into a well-flavored meatball that I think is truly delicious. You can make more small ones for an appetizer or larger ones as a main. Up to you.

Lightly adapted from Jerusalem.

Makes 16-18 medium-sized meatballs. 

Ingredients

For the meatballs:
1/2 lb. ground lamb
1/2 lb. ground beef
1 bunch fresh spinach, stems removed and washed or 1 - 10 oz. package of frozen spinach, defrosted
1/4 cup finely minced onion
1 large egg, lightly beaten
2 tablespoons chopped parsley
2 tablespoons chopped cilantro
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper, freshly ground
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
5 tablespoons neutral oil for searing

For the yogurt sauce:
1 1/4 cup Greek yogurt
1 tablespoon finely grated lemon zest
1 tablespoon lemon juice, freshly squeezed
1 clove garlic, minced
1 1/2 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper, freshly ground
1/2 teaspoon sumac, or substitute in another tablespoon of lemon juice

Instructions
Make the sauce first. Stir together all ingredients in a small bowl and chill until needed.

Preheat oven to 425°F. 

If using fresh spinach, heat a large saute pan over medium heat. Add spinach leaves and cover for 5 minutes. Leaves will be wilted and will have released a small amount of liquid. Allow to cool. When cool enough to handle, squeeze out excess liquid then chop roughly. If using frozen spinach, squeeze out excess liquid then chop roughly.  

In a large bowl, combine lamb, beef, spinach, onion, egg, parsley, cilantro, garlic, cumin, salt, and both peppers. Combine gently then with your hands then form into balls, small or medium. 

In a large frying pan, pour oil and heat oil over medium-high until it is hot. Sear the meatballs for about 4 minutes, until golden brown. 

Transfer the meatballs to a baking sheet and place in the oven for 5 to 7 minutes until they are just cooked through and tender. Serve warm or at room temperature with the yogurt sauce.

Tangy Kimchi Mac n' Cheese

“In the dark wood, by the sodden ground, I found my way by the whiteness of his collar.”

— Franz Kafka

I've been thinking a lot about the darkness. Ever since November arrived and we turned our clocks back, it seems the rainy, low-light days of northerly living are inevitably here. 

It's been almost six years since we moved. Coming from the relentless heat of the Pasadena chapparal, adjusting to the darkness of Western Washington falls and winters has taken me a while.

I'll admit, there were days during those initial Decembers and Januarys when I would turn on the TV to watch Hawaii 5-0 with its shots of bright Oahu beaches. It was my...sun porn (Is that a real term?). This, so I could pretend that I lived with the full glory of the tropical sun and imagine that I was about to dive into the ocean sans rain pants or waterproof boots in the middle of winter.

I've finally made a discovery that in retrospect feels like it slowly crept up on me. Or, was it blantantly flinging itself at me without my noticing -- until now? 

Darkness is not terrible or even bad.

Just as we need the light and warmth of summer to really enjoy things like walking alongside the lake or savoring the flavors of the berries we've picked ourselves, we need the darker days for slowing down and reflecting. As in, who am I? How do I relate to others? How do others see me? 

You just can't do that sort of wondering in broad daylight. Somehow it doesn't match up.

So let's give a cheer to the shorter, darker days. Celebrate its necessity as a counterpoint to all that is wonderfully outward and external about summer. 

There is beauty within each of us, and this is the time of year when we should slow down, just be, and take a look inward to explore and renew our connections to ourselves.

While you are holed up this fall and winter in your cabin by Walden Pond or another such appropriate place, don't forget to also make an occasional foray into the world.

Reach out to friends. Remember to check in with the people you love. You can even invite a bunch of them over to cook up and share a bubbling casserole with you. This one, perhaps.

Tangy Kimchi Mac n' Cheese

Adapted from Serious Eats.

Serves 6.

I had forgotten all about the jar of kimchi I’d made a couple of months back in an attempt to use up some napa and savoy cabbages and a sad-looking daikon. Upon finding the jar, I promptly opened it up and gobbled some down (ummmm! tangy! funky in a good way!). Then I decided I had to put it together with that ultimate comfort food, macaroni and cheese. The richness of the cheese tempers the kimchi while the buttermilk adds to the tangy flavor, bringing the dish into balance. 

Ingredients
1 pound elbow pasta
2 eggs, lightly beaten
2 ½ cups buttermilk
1 ½ cups whole milk or evaporated milk
1 tablespoon powdered buttermilk (optional)
½ teaspoon dried mustard
1 teaspoon hot sauce, such as Frank’s Red Hot
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
8 ounces cheddar, grated
8 ounces jack or other melting cheese such as gruyere, American, Gouda, grated
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1 ½ cups kimchi, finely chopped
salt

½ cup panko breadcrumbs
2 tablespoons melted butter
1 tablespoon finely ground red chili, such as Korean gochugaru
1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt

Instructions
Preheat oven to 350° F.

Butter a 9 x 13" casserole dish. Set aside.

In a medium bowl, mix together eggs, buttermilk, whole/evaporated milk, mustard, and hot sauce. Set aside. In another bowl, toss together cheeses with cornstarch and set aside.

In a large pot, bring water to boil. Add salt and cook pasta to al dente, about 7 minutes.

While pasta is cooking, make bread crumb topping. Mix together breadcrumbs, butter, red chili, and salt. Set aside.

Drain pasta and return to pot. Over low heat, add butter. When it has melted completely into the pasta, stir in milk mixture. Add cheese and stir gently, allowing sauce to thicken. Stir in kimchi then taste for salt, adjusting to your liking. 

Pour the pasta mixture into the prepared pan. Top with the seasoned breadcrumbs. Place on middle rack of oven and bake for 30 minutes, until the top is golden-brown and crispy. 

Serve on its own, or complement it with a green salad.