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.

Asian Collard Wrap with Garlicky Pork

The sun came out today, but only briefly, shining bright and hard before the clouds raced to pull their gray curtain, heavy and damp, down to the ground. By lunchtime, perpetual twilight again prevailed. 

Yes, it's the January doldrums.

This is the time of year when I need inspiration and color from anywhere I can get it, especially in my food. A quick pickle of carrots and parsnips, though still wintry, reminds me of brighter days ahead. Freshness, spice and a bit of richness -- this wrap offers flavors we need to get through the gray days. So go make it.

While you're in the kitchen, you might want to consider cooking up some Doro Wat or Japanese curry from scratch (throw out those old MSG-laden cubes you got three years ago at the Asian market, please). I've been making plenty of both dishes, each of which are warming and thoroughly satisfying. They're relatively simple to make as well.  

I know many of you are working on your resolutions to eat better and be healthier right about now. Up here next to the woods, I've been focusing on my goal of learning how to bake bread using levain, basically a sourdough starter made with just flour, water and any wild yeast drawn from my kitchen, or even my hands as I mix together my ingredients.

It's been fascinating and exciting to learn the basic principles, with help from bread bakers like Josey Baker, Ken Forkish and Chad Robertson. This week I've been reading through the Tartine books and getting inspired. These books! They contain way more than just recipes. They embody the thinking behind ancient and healthful ways of creating bread that are completely relevant today. 

Whatever your resolutions and goals may be, don't let the January doldrums hold you back. Stay inspired by everything and keep moving ahead.

Asian Collard Wrap with Garlicky Pork
Adapted from Hot, Sour, Salty Sweet

Serves 3-4

Ingredients
For the meatballs:
1 pound ground pork
1/4 cup minced shallots
1/4 cup minced garlic
2 tablespoons fish sauce
1 teaspoon honey
1 teaspoon sriracha
2 teaspoons potato starch
Generous grinding of black pepper
neutral oil, such as sunflower

For the quick pickle:
2 carrots, peeled and shredded
1 parsnip, peeled and shredded
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
3 teaspoons coconut sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt

For the spicy mayo:
1/4 cup mayonaise
2 teaspoons hot sauce, such as sriracha

1 bunch collard greens

Instructions
Preheat oven to 350°F. 

In a small bowl, whisk together rice vinegar, sugar and salt. Add carrots and parsnips and toss to combine. Set aside.

In a large bowl, gently combine pork, shallots, garlic, fish sauce, honey, sriracha, potato starch and black pepper. Form into 1" balls or small patties. Arrange on baking sheet and place in refrigerator for at least 30 minutes. 

Meanwhile, using a paring knife, remove tough stems from the collard leaves, making sure to keep the leaves otherwise as intact as possible. Set aside prepared leaves.

Add enough oil to a skillet to cover the bottom and set over medium-high heat. Add meatballs, flipping and turning as needed until they start to brown, about five minutes. Cook in batches if necessary to prevent crowding. When browned, transfer meatballs onto a rimmed baking sheet and place in oven for ten more minutes to finish cooking through.

For the spicy mayo, in a small bowl, whisk together mayonaise and hot sauce. 

To assemble the wrap, drain pickled vegetables. Lay a collard leaf down on a work surface, tucking together the parts where the stem was removed. Place a portion of the pickled vegetables on the leaf. Drizzle with spicy mayo and lay a row of meatballs on top. Roll, tucking in ends of leaf. Serve alone as an appetizer or with steamed rice, for a light meal. 

Friekedellen - Flemish Meatballs with Cherry Sauce, & My Belgian Sister

It's summer. We're supposed to be eating salad and ice cream and grilling hot dogs and burgers. So who makes meatballs in the middle of July, anyway?

I do.

A couple of weeks ago, I posted a picture of some cherries Kingston and I were buying at a roadside farm stand. Such glorious fruit! In my post I asked if anyone had ideas for what we should do with them. I was expecting suggestions on the sweet side, like some kind of ice cream, sorbet, or that summer classic, cherry pie.

My sister, Margie, responded almost immediately with, "Flemish meatballs with cherry sauce!" 

Margie was in college when she traveled to Belgium one summer and met Patrick of Flanders who lived on a boat. After she came home, a period of feverish correspondence ensued before she soon returned to marry him.

They have three children: Brett, Macy and Matt who grew up just outside of Antwerp in the northern, Flemish-speaking part of the country. My sister was so far from all of us here in the U.S. as she and Patrick raised their kids. But these young people! So beautiful. Sensitive and kind.

Soon after her suggestion on Instagram, Margie sent me a recipe for the meatballs. Reading through it, I suddenly missed her more than anything. It might seem a little silly to get teary over reading about meatballs and not even while actually eating them (which would be more sensible, or at the very least might make more sense), but that's what happened.

It surprised me that a recipe, this recipe, could do that. I had never eaten this dish before, never shared it with Margie, neither cooked it nor even heard of it until she mentioned it from thousands of miles away.

But food will do that, won't it? Remind us of people we love and miss, bridge vast distances and encompass the complexity of all sorts of emotions.

Really, it's miraculous.

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In 2013, when Kingston was about to turn two, we traveled to see Margie and her family on a two-week visit. It had been a long, long time since we'd seen each other. Here she is in beautiful Bruges, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, with Kingston. What he recalled for a long time after that trip was hearing the "klop klop" sound of the horses hooves as they took tourists around town. 

I remember gobbling down hot, fried potatoes at the frites stand (or, fritkot) in the center of town. Feeling befuddled as I stood downstairs at The Chocolate Museum, where I could not understand even a word of the heavily-accented English of the chocolatier who was giving a demonstration. Throwing a look at my sister, who was not trying to laugh in that moment.

I also can't forget all the waffles I ate during (necessary) multiple trips to Désiré De LiIle either, or the tender braised pork cheeks at the iconic 7Schaken off the Grote Markt in Antwerp.

But what I remember most about our journey is slipping back into a feeling of comfort with my sister, one that even after such a long period of separation remained intact. That feeling was like having a warm blanket wrapped around my shoulders, old and familiar.

Traveling as a family is a luxury for us, so we do it less often than we would like. Even as far apart as we are in distance, I think of our Belgian family often, wonder what they are up to, imagine them walking down streets that smell of warm bread or cooking waffles.

People we love can come alive for us through a photo, a call and of course, even a dish. This one ties me to my sister.

My Friekedellen, Flemish Meatballs with Cherry Sauce
This recipe steps a little bit away from the traditional version of this dish. I know, I know. I did my best to stick with the original recipe, but there were a few things I couldn't help changing. First, in the traditional recipe, you are asked to make huge, fairly plain meatballs that you then boil (I think this is because they are so huge). I pan fried mine instead. 

Second, there are very few additions to the original version other than meat, salt, pepper and some nutmeg. I wanted more tenderness and flavor, so I made some additions, as you'll see below.

Third, taking a cue from the Scandinavian versions of this homey dish, I decided to add a gravy. It seems silly not to when you are pan frying, since all the flavor ends up in the bits that collect in the bottom of the pan. Scrape it up, add some liquid, flour and in this case, a bit of tangy buttermilk and you've got yourself a really tasty sauce. Serve it all up with a rich cherry sauce and you have a worthy tribute to long-distance sisterhood.

Makes about 36 meatballs.

Adapted from Fans of Flanders.

Ingredients
For the meatballs:
1 lb. ground pork
1 lb. ground beef
1 large egg
2 slices of white bread
1/2 cup whole milk
1/2 a large onion (or 1 small onion), finely minced
1 1/2 teaspoons allspice
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg, preferably freshly grated
pinch of fennel seeds
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
black pepper
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, plus more if needed
2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more if needed 
1/2 cup buttermilk

For the cherry sauce:
2 lbs. red cherries, halved and pitted
1-2 tablespoons of honey
2 tablespoons water
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon unsalted butter

Instructions
For the meatballs:
Soak bread in milk for about 30 minutes. When it is very soft and has soaked up all of the milk, add pork, beef, onion, allspice, nutmeg, fennel, salt and a grind or two of fresh pepper. Use hands to combine together and knead gently. Form into balls slightly larger than a walnut, rolling between your hands so that their shape holds and they are fairly compact. 

Heat 1 1/2 tablespoon butter with 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large skillet. Fry meatballs over medium to medium-high heat until they are well browned. It's best to leave them for about 6 minutes before turning them the first time, then cooking an additional 4 or 5 minutes. Cook in batches or use two pans. If cooking in batches, wipe out skillet, then add more butter and oil before frying additional meatballs. Transfer meat to a platter, along with any onion bits from the bottom of the pan.

Sprinkle flour into the pan and stir with a wooden spoon. Add a tablespoon of butter and let it melt, stirring the flour and butter together until smooth and scraping up any additional bits at the bottom of the skillet. Remove pan from heat and slowly add 1 1/2 cups of hot water, mixing it in quickly. Return to heat and stir in the buttermilk until a smooth sauce forms. Adjust for salt and pepper. Add the meatballs (and onion bits) to the sauce in the skillet, cover, and cook for an additional 10 minutes until the sauce has thickened slightly and the meatballs are soft and tender. 

For the cherry sauce:
Place cherries in a large saucepan. Cook over medium low heat until the fruit softens and give up some of its juices. Stir in honey. Use more or less depending on how tangy you like the sauce. Combine flour and water in a small bowl.  Stir into the cherries and allow to cook until it thickens. Once the sauce has thickened, add the butter then give it another stir. Your sauce should have a soft, glossy appearance.

Serve meatballs with cherry sauce on the side. Friekedellen!

Pork and Chive Pot Stickers with Dandelion Greens

When I was growing up, pot stickers were an exotic thing to me. The "Chinese" food we ate in our house was almost entirely of the Cantonese variety. There were some small exceptions, like the jars of smokey, wok-stirred chili oil that my aunt from Shanghai would make. Pot stickers - a northern Chinese or Taiwanese specialty called jiaoze, were something we only had on occasion and never at home.

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Chinese hands, rolling out dough. 

There were infrequent trips to the Taiwanese dumpling place outside of Cantonese Chinatown where we lived. Bottles of vinegar and dark soy sauce sat on the tables. My mouth always started watering as I got ready to dunk the puffy, crispy dumplings into the vinegar and soy dipping sauce. So good.

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Thin, but not as thin as a wonton skin.

When my mom comes to visit a few times a year now, we make wontons, the Cantonese cousin to the pot sticker. We put together massive quantities that require every able-bodied person in the house to help. We eat many then freeze as many to consume slowly until the next time “Po Po” (grandmother) comes to visit.

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Half a tablespoon of filling per dumpling is plenty.

Our most recent group cooking effort included pork wontons seasoned with coriander, cumin and turmeric. We get adventurous and step outside of the usual taste parameters around here when it comes to meat wrapped in thin dough skins. These got eaten before my brother suggested we try serving them in a cream sauce.

While wontons are light and ethereal, cloud puffs that float to the top of a clear, clean-tasting broth, potstickers are made of thicker, egg-free dough. The bottoms brown to a crisp before water is added, creating billows of steam that cause the tops to puff and the meat filling to cook through. The liquid cooks off, reinforcing the bottom crust.

Good pot stickers are moist, crispy and chewy. Just a few will fill you up. They are satisfyingly of the earth while wontons are of the sky, for the dreamers among us. In some ways, potstickers are the complete opposite of wontons. The yin to the wonton’s yang.  

Start from the middle, make one pleat then work to the right, adding two more pleats. Cute, huh?

Lately, I’ve been craving potstickers. And, I was thinking about how my mom would use garlic chives that we kids would forage from along the railroad tracks behind our house in northeast L.A. I had no idea what these greens were called as I yanked them from the sandy soil. To me, they were stinky and unruly looking weeds.

Our mom cooked with them unapologetically. Back then, we didn’t care that there was brake dust, creosote vapors, or god knows what else on our greens. They grew freely and were, well. Free!

I’ve included a liberal amount of regular chives here, since they are growing in our garden. They aren’t anywhere near as pungent as the flat-leaved garlic chive variety of my childhood. So, I've added some actual garlic to the mix. 

I've also included some of the slightly bitter dandelion greens we "weeded" out from under our plum tree this morning. Nothing wrong with some free greens, right? Especially if they are nutritious and tasty.

The filling is thus slightly onion-y and definitely garlicky, with a bitter edge to round out the pork's richness. Pot stickers indubitably of  the earth. 

Also included are directions for making the dumpling skins. I urge you to make them instead of buying them. Homemade definitely tastes better here and this soft, pliable dough is easy - and even dreamy, I'd dare say - to work with. 

Hope you enjoy these earthly dumplings as much as I did.

Sorry dreamers, there will be a recipe just for you soon!

Pork and Chive Pot Stickers with Dandelion Greens

Makes 40 to 50 pot stickers – enough for a party or to freeze

Ingredients

Filling

7 cups finely chopped napa cabbage
1 cup finely chopped dandelion greens
½ cup finely chopped chives
1 pound ground pork (a little fat helps make the dumpling juicier)
4 tablespoons finely chopped fresh ginger
3 tablespoons finely chopped garlic
3 tablespoons soy sauce
4 tablespoons toasted sesame oil
1 ½ tablespoons sea salt
2 eggs, lightly beaten

Dough
2 cups boiling water
4 ½ cups all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons oil for pan frying (sunflower, grapeseed both work)

Instructions

For the filling:
Combine the cabbage, dandelion greens and 1 ½ teaspoons of the salt in a bowl and set aside for 30 minutes. Place the cabbage and greens in a kitchen towel, gathering it together. Wring as much water as possible out. This will help the filling come together better.

In another large bowl, combine cabbage, dandelion greens, pork, chive, ginger, garlic, soy sauce, sesame oil, remaining salt and egg. Mix gently but well.

For the dough:
In a large stainless-steel bowl, stir together the flour and salt. Add the boiling water slowly and in small increments, stirring in between additions until a ball is formed and the dough is no longer too hot to handle. More or less water may be needed, depending on the day’s humidity. Knead dough on a floured work surface for at least 15 minutes. You may also use a stand mixer with a dough hook attachment for 7 minutes instead. Form dough into a ball and place it in the same bowl covering it with a damp towel. Allow to rest for 1 hour.

To make the wrappers, add a generous coating of flour to the work surface. Divide dough in half. Shape one half into a log (I roll it between my hands forming a “snake”) until it is about 1 inch in diameter. Cut into ½-inch pieces. Stand each piece on its cut end and press down with the palm of your hand. Roll into circles 3 inches in diameter and 1/16th of an inch thick.

Fill the wrappers:
Place about ½ a teaspoon of filling in the center of the wrapper. Fold in half to form a half-moon. Seal the top center of each dumpling by pressing between your fingers. Starting there, make 3 pleats going from the middle toward the right. Repeat, going toward the bottom left. Press your dumpling gently to flatten the bottom.

To cook:
Heat a large skillet over high heat. Add the oil and swirl to coat. When oil is hot, add the pot stickers with their flattened bottoms down. It’s helpful to place them in rows going in one direction. These dumplings enjoy snugging together, so let them. Cook undisturbed on medium-high for five to six minutes. Then, add about ½ cup of water and immediately covered (or you will be getting a steam facial!). In another minute, lift the cover to check water level. You want to make sure about 1/8 of an inch of water remains. If not, add more water. All pot stickers to steam until water has evaporated, up to 10 minutes. If your water evaporates before the pot stickers are done, add water in ¼ cup increments. If the opposite occurs and the pot stickers seem done but liquid remains, drain the liquid and put the pan back on the heat to evaporate any remaining liquid.

Allow pot stickers to recrisp on the bottom, another 2 to 3 minutes. Cook the pot stickers as above in batches.

You may serve the pot stickers with a dipping sauce made by mixing together equal parts soy sauce and rice wine vinegar and a spot of toasted sesame oil. Sometimes I also like to mix in a bit of honey or sugar.

And there you have it: Jiaoze!