Beef Short Rib and Kimchi Soup

Recently, a bronchial bug took hold of our household. We stayed in for days, glancing occasionally out the window as the cherry plum tree in our back yard slowly blossomed. At the beginning of the week, buds were visibly emerging from bare stems. Just four days later, the tree was filled in with blooms like a girl wearing hundreds of poofy pink bows in her hair, ready for a party.

Maybe it was the sight of the blossoms, or the appearance of blue skies two (two!) days in a row. Either way, we definitely started to feel more energetic. After lunch on the second day, we happened to look out the window to see a flash of bright yellow. Kingston immediately recognized it.

"Wood chipper!" He yelled running toward the door.

"Put on some shoes!" I shouted, "And a jacket!"

He stumbled over the piles of sneakers, boots and slippers in the front hallway and managed to shove his bare feet into a pair of snow boots. I hurled a jacket at him, and threw one on myself. Oh! And shoes. 

When we reach the cul-de-sac a minute later, we could see the city parks department guys already working, cutting off branches from a slightly tilted alder tree. One guy clutched a pole saw while the other worked from the high reaches of a cherry picker bucket. 

We watched from a safe distance and ended up staying for at least two hours, perched together on the edge of the curb. Kingston hardly took his eyes away from the whole operation while asking me question after question:

Q: "What that black thing on top of that part over there?" (Asked while pointing to the bright yellow woodchipping machine with the name "The Bandit" stenciled on its side.)
A: "Maybe that is part of the engine?" (Answered with a hopeful shrug.) 

I did my best, keeping in mind what I had once read in the Penelope Leach book, Your Baby and Child. There, Ms. Leach advises that if you don't know the answer to question, try to give one anyway. According to her, it isn't at all reassuring for a young child to hear an adult say, "I don't know." I don't doubt her one bit, as this definitely holds true for myself, an adult. When I have a question, I need answers!

While Kingston and I were still spectating though, one of the tree guys came over to tell us he was going to leave split firewood, cherry and alder, for anyone to take. Kingston declared that we should bring some home. By dinnertime, we had managed to move three Radio Flyer wagon loads up the hill. Then, with our hands, we reached into the wagon and plunked the wood down until we had a helter-skelter pile next to the house.

Hauling wood is tiring. It makes your arms and shoulders ache. It makes your belly rumble. So I was very glad that there was a pot of soup in the house, one I'd made over a couple of days. It is by no means an "authentic" or "traditional" Korean recipe, though the dish it might most be like is kimchi jigae. Rich and umani, this soup is neither too salty nor spicy, and is filled with fall-apart tender beef. It's fortifying and just right for the changing seasons, the return of health and hands on, spirit-lifting work. 

Beef Short Rib and Kimchi Soup
I like what Andy Ricker has to say about "authentic" and "traditional" foods in his Thai-centric cookbook, Pokpok: "The words imply an absolute cuisine...Both terms are nonsensical designations -- as if traditions are the same everywhere, as if they don't change, as if culinary ones don't evolve with particular speed." I wasn't trying for authenticity here. I just wanted to make some that's warming, soothing and super flavorful.

This is a weekend project type of recipe for most people, so do it a bit at a time. For example, cook the onions in the days prior, then the short ribs the day before, maybe squeezed in between other things you happen to be doing around the house. For me, this soup is easiest and most relaxing to make when I do it over a couple of days.

Adapted from thekitchn.com and Momofuku.

Serves 6.

Ingredients
3 large yellow onions, halved and thinly sliced
4 teaspoons neutral oil, divided
2 lbs. beef short ribs, bone in, English cut
8 cups beef broth, divided
6 cups kimchi, preferably napa cabbage or a mix of napa and daikon, roughly chopped
Couple handfuls of dried bonito flakes (katsuobushi)
3 tablespoons mirin, plus more to taste
3/4 cup sliced rice cakes
kosher salt, if needed
fresh black pepper, to taste

scallions, sliced on the diagonal, for garnish
julienned carrots, a couple of handfuls, for garnish

Instructions
For the short ribs:
Sprinkle short ribs with salt. Set aside. 

Heat a dutch oven or other large, lidded pot over a medium-high flame. Add 2 teaspoons oil then the sliced onions. Saute until they begin to soften then lower heat to medium-low, stirring every few minutes so that the onions don't burn. Continue cooking onions in this manner, lowering heat as needed, until they begin to caramelize, about 30 minutes. Remove onions from pot and set aside.

Turn heat to medium-high. Add another teaspoon of oil to pot. Sear the short ribs, allowing each side to brown before turning them using tongs. Once they are well-browned, about 15 minutes, return onions to pan and add 3 cups beef broth. Bring to boil then turn heat to very low, cover tightly and allow to simmer on stovetop for 2-3 hours, checking intermittently to make sure there is enough liquid so that it won't burn. Add broth as needed. You may alternatively cook this in a slow cooker for 8 hours on low. The meat on the ribs will be tender and gelatinous. Remove from bone and cut meat into bite-sized pieces. 

For the soup:
Heat a dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add the last teaspoon of oil. Add kimchi, black pepper and bonito flakes and saute until warmed through. Stir in mirin, remaining broth and any remaining juices from the kimchi. Add short ribs, along with the onions and any juices and broth left from cooking the meat. Heat until meat and broth are warmed through. At this point, taste and adjust seasonings. If the soup is overly spicy, you can add a bit more mirin to temper it. Adjust salt and pepper to taste. Once you've adjusted the seasoning to your liking, add the rice cakes to the soup. Cook until the rice cakes are warmed through. 

Ladle into soup bowls and garnish with scallions and carrots. Serve with cooked rice on the side. 

Everyday Kimchi & Lou Reed

“Looking for another chance
For someone else to be
Looking for another chance
To ride into the sun.”

— Lou Reed

I was stirring a cup of roughly chopped kimchi into a pan of sauteeing onions the other night when Lou Reed's "Ride Into the Sun" came blasting through the kitchen speakers. I couldn't remember the last time I had heard that song, but just as I was thinking this, a feeling of joy surged through me. I paused, holding my wooden spoon in mid-air.

It's always surprising when a strong emotion shows up unexpectedly during an otherwise mundane moment. You're just doing what you do, minding your own business. In my case, I was making dinner by myself while everyone else in the house was happily engaged in other activities.

The song itself reminded me of being young, discovering Lou Reed's music for the first time in the form of The Velvet Underground. I remembered listening to it at the age of fourteen and feeling then that somehow the world was suddenly different, I was different, and that my life would never be the same again. The things he wrote about! Drug use, addicts, Holly from Miami F-L-A who "plucked her eyebrows on the way/shaved her legs and then he was a she" -- people who lived on the margins of the margins of society. I was a Chinatown- and Chinese Baptist Church-raised girl, but somehow he spoke to me. 

Fourteen. It feels so profound and real, whatever you're feeling at that age. You're alive in a way that no one else is. You're convinced of this undeniable fact, certain that you are connected to the deepest, truest parts of yourself. You hear your favorite song, or one that has those lyrics that mean something, and you are rapt as you suddenly feel altered yet again...and forever. I made such feelings known to the world by way of the canvas bookbag I carried everywhere; I'd painted Lou Reed's face on it so that it covered the entire front flap. Stomped around in my Doc Martens.  

Perhaps that's what it was, the feeling that had appeared when I was tossing some kimchi into a frying pan that particular night: a deep sense of aliveness. It was as if a gap had opened up in the everyday which allowed the slender glimmer of another time to slide back into my momentary existence, just like that, before disappearing again. Such moments, nearly forgotten gifts of the past. 

But I started off talking about kimchi and cooking, didn't I? Well, let's talk about it then, shall we? I've posted about kimchi mac n' cheese and my family's kimchi pasta, but I've never posted an actual kimchi recipe. Well, that's being remedied here today. 

If you're not very familiar with kimchi, it is a staple of the Korean diet, which Lauryn Chun of Mother-In-Law Kimchi describes as "more than one type of recipe; it is one of the most versatile pickling techniques." Kimchi can be made using a wide range of vegetables, from napa cabbage and chives to bok choy and even butternut squash. Here in the West, the type we most often see is napa cabbage or daikon mixed with a seasoning paste containing salted shrimp or fish and red chili flakes.

This version makes a smallish amount, which is a good place to begin, is very easy and adds just the right bit of joy and aliveness to my life these days. Here it is, along with a bit of Lou Reed. 

Everyday Kimchi (Napa Cabbage and Daikon Radish)

Makes 3 pints

Adapted from The Kimchi Cookbook.

Tips: Use glass or ceramic bowls and containers for mixing and storing. Pack your vegetables very tightly. Keep out of sunlight. Resist the temptation to open the jar when you are initially fermenting this at room temperature. Opening it up will introduce oxygen which can promote the growth of mold. You'll be able to see some bubbling up, which means that things are happening. Also, note that the ambient temperature will affect the fermentation rate. Somewhere in the 65°F to 70°F range is ideal. If it's cooler than that, it will take slightly longer and if it is warmer it will ferment faster. At Momofuku, they put their kimchi straight into the refrigerator to ferment rather than leaving it at room temperature, so that's an option too. Just know that the fermentation process will take longer.

Ingredients
For the initial vegetable brine:
1 medium head napa cabbage (about 2-3 pounds), cut into 1 1/2" squares
1 medium daikon radish, cut in half lengthwise then sliced into pieces 1/8" thick
1/4 cup kosher salt

For the seasoning paste:
1/4 cup thinly sliced yellow onion
2 teaspoons minced garlic
1 teaspoon peeled, finely grated ginger
2 tablespoons anchovy sauce, such as Red Boat
1/2 small apple, peeled and grated
1/4 cup Korean chili pepper flakes (gochugaru)

2 green onions, green parts only, cut into 2-inch pieces
2 tablespoons water

Instructions
Set aside three clean glass pint jars. Mason jars work well.

Combine the cabbage and daikon with the salt in a large bowl. Set aside aside for about an hour. Drain the liquid. Rinse the vegetables to remove any residual salt. Drain in a colander for about 20 minutes. Alternatively, place the veggies in a salad spinner to remove extra water.

In a mini-chopper or blender pulse together yellow onion, garlic, ginger, anchovy sauce and apple. A paste will form. Transfer it to a bowl and add the chili pepper flakes, combining well. Allow mixture to sit for at least 15 minutes so that the flavors can come together.

In a large bowl, mix together seasoning paste, vegetables and green onions. Combine thoroughly, flipping the vegetables and seasoning paste around so that the paste is evenly distributed throughout. Pack as tightly as you can into the clean jars. Add the water to the bowl and swirl it around to collect any remaining seasoning paste. Pour this into the packed jars, dividing evenly. Cover the jars tightly. Place a tray or plates under the jars. The vegetables will expand as they ferment, which may cause an overflow of liquid.

From here, you can let the jars sit at room temperature for about three days before placing into the refrigerator. Or, place them directly into the refrigerator for a slower and longer fermentation process. Your kimchi can be eaten beginning in about 7 days if initially left at room temperature. I like it best at about 14 days. It's alive and will continue to age and ferment, changing in taste and texture. This is best eaten within 6 months.

From his 1972 album Lou Reed.

Magic Eggs

There is magic in early childhood. Given the proper chance, it's a time when a child can know with certainty that the woods are full of underground creatures called gnomes, that ash trees growing together by the side of a trail are indeed a fairy house that can be climbed into, that sand and mud can be pushed into mountains with endless vistas into another domain. 
 
Young children see the world with such wonder. Even the smallest discoveries are huge and thrilling. To be reminded of how interesting the world really is -- that's one of the best side benefits of spending time with a small human. Since I live with a four-year-old, I'm a lucky person to be around that kind of excitement and magic daily (though admittedly between some rough patches typical of this age).

When I was thinking about this today, I wondered if Kingston's worldview has rubbed off on me a little. This is because I realized that I have developed a tendency to call many things "magic" or "magical," things which in adult eyes would seem utterly banal.

Somehow, for instance, I have started calling our dog "Magic Dog." He has taken to coming into Kingston's room with us to do the bedtime routine each night. If he doesn't, I find myself saying, "Come, Magic Dog! Time for bed!" He usually obeys and pads in after us.

If I had to tell you what is actually magical about our dog, well, I'm not exactly sure what that would be. He doesn't fly. He doesn't glow in the dark. He doesn't grant wishes. Maybe the fact that he is constant in his gentle mood and ever-loving toward us is magic enough. 

Even scrambled eggs have become magical in our house. It began by necessity. Kingston would only ever eat egg whites and not the yolk. Initially I saved them for other things, but there are only so many recipes for using up yolks. In my wiliness, I realized that if I called the eggs I cooked "magic," Kingston might actually eat them in their entirety, yolks and all. 

It's not just in the name, though. While these eggs may appear to be unexceptional, they are anything but that. The first time I made them, I turned to Marc as we sat down to breakfast and said, "These eggs are magical." He nodded in agreement, as he silently shoved another forkful into his mouth. I had cooked them with leftover Ethiopian spiced butter, or nit'er kibbeh, based on a version from Marcus Samuelsson. Originally, I had made the butter as I was getting ready to cook the Ethiopian chicken stew, Doro Wat (nit'er kibbeh is an essential flavoring ingredient for the dish).

The basic idea with nit'er kibbeh is to infuse flavors into unsalted butter by simmering the butter with onion and spices typical to Ethiopian cuisine, including turmeric, cumin and fenugreek. By the end of the simmer, you essentially have clarified butter with a beguiling aroma that provides additional layers of flavors to whatever you are cooking, be it a chicken stew, or in this case, scrambled eggs. Ni'ter kibbeh is worth making and having on hand for when you want to add a little magic to almost any dish. 

Magic Eggs
For these eggs, use a gentle hand, cooking on medium-low to low, and they will be magically irresistable to anyone, including a four-year-old.

Serves 1-2. Nit'er Kibbeh slightly adapted from Marcus Samuelsson.

Ingredients
For the nit'er kibbeh:
8 tablespoons unsalted butter (1 stick), cut into pieces
1 onion, coarsely chopped
1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
1 cinnamon stick
2 garlic cloves, peeled
2-inch piece of peeled fresh ginger
sprig or two of rosemary

To cook the dish:
3 eggs, preferably organic
1 1/2 to 2 tablespoons Ethiopian spiced butter
salt

Instructions
First, make the spiced butter. Place butter, onion, turmeric, cinnamon stick, garlic, ginger and rosemary in a small saucepan. Turn heat to low. Slowly melt butter, then simmer very gently for 30 minutes. Do not allow the milk solids to brown. Let the butter sit for 5 to 10 minutes to allow the solids to settle to the bottom. Pour butter through a piece of cheesecloth or fine sieve to remove most of the solids. This is your ni'ter kibbeh for cooking the eggs.

Whisk eggs until well beaten. Place an 8-inch skillet over medium-low heat and then add the butter. Allow butter to melt then pour in the eggs. Allow the eggs to begin slightly setting then use a spatula to stir and scrape eggs from the middle. I like to sprinkle a small pinch of salt over the eggs at this point. 

Jiggle the pan so that the still-liquid egg from the other edges flows toward the middle. Cook for another minute or two. Scrape eggs and flip. Continue doing this until the eggs are cooked to your liking. I prefer my eggs quite soft, almost runny. Remember, they will still continue cooking after you turn off the heat. Serve garnished with some chopped herbs. Toast, which some would consider magical all on its own, is a worthy accompaniment.

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. 

Lapsang Hot Cocoa & Thoughts About Vulnerability

Many years ago, when I was a graduate student in psychology, I read about the work of the Italian researcher, Alessandra Piontelli, who had done ultrasound scans on mothers of fraternal twins. A number of times, she watched as one particular set repeatedly pushed against the thin membrane that separated them, reaching toward one another. 

Piontelli visited the various mothers and twins a year after they were born, including that specific brother-sister pair. She observed the now toddlers playing a game where they stood on opposite sides of a curtain, pushing against it with their hands, trying to locate one another. 

Though many years have passed, this is an image that still suddenly pops into my mind. Each time, I am surprised by the emotion that wells up in me. It feels like yearning, perhaps a simple recognition that the image has everything to do with the human impulse to be connected to another person -- an impulse so basic that it can appear even when we are in the womb.

The image also makes me think about vulnerability, which is essentially a reaching out toward another. This is not always an easy task and can stir up many emotions, including anxiety.  It can feel dangerous, an act of exposure. Yet, making yourself vulnerable and being willing to reach toward someone else without knowing what will come back to you is also the best way to ensure a deep connection to another human being.

I did just that a few nights ago, reached out, when at a post-New Year's get together with my writing group, I shared a personal essay. I was nervous because it was about some traumatic things that had happened to me as a very young child, not things either easily shared or taken in. Over time, though, it has seemed increasingly important to write about and share these experiences with people in my life.

As I began to read aloud, I knew that I was among sensitive souls with whom I felt safe. So I continued on, until I reached the bottom of the second page. My words and everything they embodied were accepted with empathy and kindness. 

I was grateful. The experience made me consider how vulnerability goes together with authenticity, being willing to reveal to others the truth of who you are. It felt good, a relief, to do this with my fellow writers. Afterward, I felt more solid in myself. Less a pile of wobbly little pebbles, more a mound of stones that mostly fit together without rolling away at the slightest touch.

By making yourself vulnerable, you give others the chance to feel what it is to stand inside your experience. It can feel a little strange and contradictory -- to feel more real, more anchored inside yourself, the more you are exposed. 

But this, I believe, is what we need more than ever -- to be willing to allow others to know what it is we know and feel, in order to create a world of greater compassion and understanding. 

This new year, let's not make generalizations about others or act in the belief that we already understand all there is to know about the world. Let's listen to what the people around us far and near have to say. Let's dare to open ourselves up. It's not impossible. Perhaps a first step can be taken by sharing a meal, a cup of hot cocoa or even a simple sip of tea.

Lapsang Hot Cocoa
I know it might sound weird to some of you, but the smokey taste of lapsang souchong is so delicious with the richness of chocolate. If you aren't familiar with it, lapsang souchong is a Chinese tea that has all sorts of myths and lore attached to it. It is essentially a black tea that is smoked over pine needles, absorbing all the aromatic flavors. If you want the smokiness to be stronger in your beverage, let it steep longer. I like mine to have a good balance between the tea and the cocoa flavors, so five minutes works just right for me.

Makes enough for two.

Ingredients
1 teaspoon Lapsang Souchong tea (loose leaves)
2 cups whole milk or milky beverage of your choice
4 tablespoons sugar
4 teaspoons high-quality cocoa
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
pinch of ground cinnamon
pinch of salt

Instructions
Heat milk in a saucepan until hot. Place tea leaves in a tea ball/strainer and steep in the milk for five minutes (more if you like a smokier taste). Remove tea then whisk in sugar, cocoa, vanilla and salt until everything dissolves and is slightly frothy. Divide between two cups and serve with a long conversation.