I’m not religious. I don’t have to explain why there’s pork, or fat-laden pork belly to be exact, in my biriyani.
Some truths hold themselves to be self-evident. Very few gets realized.
I also don’t have to explain this recipe’s utterly impure pedigree, a zig-zagging parentage between Southeast Asian and Indian and even a little of Chinese, making it an indecent, inglorious, bona-fide bastard. Drifted increasingly untethered to any particular nationality or culture, I feel somewhat of a kindred spirit to such mis-bred type, comfortable, reciprocal, defiant even. From one bastard to another, we know what we like, no reason needed, no apology given.
SOUTHEAST ASIAN AROMATICS, KOREAN CHILI PASTE, INDIAN SPICES, GREEK YOGURT, ITALIAN SUN-DRIED TOMATOES, CHINESE ANISES, AND IN THE END, A LITTLE PUSH OF ALL AMERICAN CHEESE. AN OTHER-WORLDLY CURRY THAT TASTES LIKE THE PINNACLE OF HUMANITY
I’d like to introduce you to world peace curry.
Why? Because curries are better than humans. Curries know how to coexist in unity. Even though at a glance it feels like an impossibility, a chaos without logics, a discord of competing self-interests and cultural clashes, but curries always find a way to be the most delicious repeal of our disbelief. Don’t believe me? I put it to the test. An unlikely coalition of southeast Asian aromatics, Korean chili paste, Indian spices, Greek yogurt, Italian sun-dried tomatoes, Chinese anise seeds, and in the end, an intrusion of American cheese?! It should end in war but instead, it rejoices slowly and bubblingly in a lusciously rich, creamy, intensely aromatic, complex yet beautifully balanced alliance of flavors, savoriness and tang. It tastes like the pinnacle of humanity, our best hope for world peace even against our cynical judgements. And also, perhaps most importantly, the best you’ll ever put in your mouth.
OK, here’s the thing. Mountains, and I mean mountains, of unattended laundries accumulated in the past 3 weeks that has led to a moment last night when I had to remind myself that, plastic bags aren’t clean underwear (put it down, Mandy, put it down…). I mean come on, we’ve all been there, so surely you can understand if I say, grab yourself a handful of these shrimp popcorns and give me a helping hand.
But of course, these aren’t just any shrimp popcorns. These are bouncy, minced black tiger shrimps mixed with soften lentils, grated gingers, anchovies, then just the right amount of curry spices and most importantly, let’s not forget, pancetta tartare. What-eh-whadat? Yes, finely, and I mean finely cubed fatty pancetta, are generously dispersed within every folds and turns, releasing pleasure-grease into each and every one of these little bad babies as they get thinly coated and fried to crispy weekend-delights. But it doesn’t end there. I mean if I expect these to be worthy of helping laundries, of course it doesn’t end there. They are then tumbled and blanketed under a magic dust of salt and spices that may make you sneeze and tear from joy.
So here, don’t mind your greasy fingers. After this load of bed-sheets, there are about 5 more.
INSIDE A RED PLASTIC BUCKET AND 2 GIANT ROARING WOKS BY THE HUSTLE AND BUSTLE ROADSIDE OF KUALA LUMPUR… NIRVANA
The best moment on a travel, for me at least, is when you’re already being in a place where you know you’d be drowned in delicious foods, standing at an unnamed corner in a lost moment, you still find yourself pleasantly overwhelmed. If that’s kinda your thing as well, then Malaysia is your kinda place, specifically, Kuala Lumpur and Penang.
I have been longing to return for quite some time now. But since I’m currently under some sorta physical lock-down, you can tell evidently from my effort since – a full-blown laksa, a slack-off laksa, and these bag-loads of banana donuts – that this is not my first mental prison-break. I want to remind you now that none of them were actually the climatic screaming food-gasm of that trip, but you already knew that. I mean of course, naturally, one does not jump hastily to food-gasm at hello. How rude. Because one induces foreplay first. A little bit of teaser here, and a little bit of appetizer there. In a slow and respectful courtship, 2 whole damn years after we left the streets of Kuala Lumpur, one says, OK. I think I’m ready to re-create the best damn fried chicken I’ve ever lay my tongue on in my entire life.
SNACK ON THIS WARM AND TANGY YOGURT-CREAMED SPINACH. I’LL BE RIGHT WITH YOU.
Let’s pretend that you’re scooching on my overly soft leather sofa, and while I’m making a considerable amount of noise in the kitchen getting the dinner ready. You guys pop a bottle of something white, and snack on this warm, mildly spicy and tangy yogurt-creamed spinach with garam masala. There are crusty baguette and sour dough on the table for your breaking, and you’re being harassed by a slobbering… borderline-obese blonde. You surrendered a small piece over.
“If you keep my secret. I’ll keep yours.”
“I heard that~”.
And I’ll be right with you.
Serves: 2 ~ 4
Garam masala is quite different from typical curry powder in my opinion, consisting more spices that are “warmer” and “sweeter” such as cinnamon, cloves and cardamon, and less coloring from turmeric. Nowadays it should be pretty common in supermarkets, and of course, online. This would serve great as a side-dish, or just as a simple meal with a loaf of crusty baguette or sour dough.
Ingredients:
17.6 oz (500 grams) of fresh baby spinach, or 1 1/2 cup (240 grams) of squeezed-dry frozen spinach
1/4 cup (40 grams) of golden raisins
2 tbsp of unsalted butter + 1 tsp for creaming
6 small shallots, finely minced
1 clove of grated garlic
1 tbsp of grated ginger
2 tsp of all-purpose flour
3/4 tsp of garam masala
1/8 tsp of ground cumin
1 cup (245 grams) of whole milk
1/2 cup + 2 tbsp (163 grams) of Greek yogurt
1 tbsp of chopped cilantro
1 tsp of salt
1/2 tsp of freshly ground black pepper
1/4 ~ 1/2 tsp of sugar (depending on the sweetness of the raisin)
Soak the raisins in hot water until plumped. Bring 2 cups of water to boil in a large pot. Wash and remove the roots from the spinach, add to the pot and cover with lid. Let steam for 1 min, or until the spinach has just wilted. Transfer the spinach to a large sieve and rinse under cold water until cooled enough to handle. One small handful at a time, squeeze as much water out of the spinach as you can with your hands and set aside (you should have approx 1 1/2 cup after squeeze). Finely chop the spinach.
Cook 2 tbsp of unsalted butter in a pot over medium-high heat until bubbly and browned. Add the finely minced shallots and cook until slightly browned on the edges, then add the grated garlic and grated ginger with 1/2 tsp of salt and 1/2 tsp of black pepper, and sauté a little bit until fragrant. Add the flour, garam masala and ground cumin, and cook for 1 min. Off heat, add the whole milk and stir everything together quickly to prevent lumping, then bring the mixture back to a simmer to thicken. Add the chopped spinach and raisins, re-season with salt’n pepper and sugar, and continue to cook over medium heat for 10 ~ 15 min until most of the liquid has reduced down.
Evenly stir in the Greek yogurt and chopped cilantro until creamy and cook until just warmed through. Do not boil the yogurt or it might break. Stir in the last 1 tsp of unsalted butter, and re-season with salt and pepper if need be.
Sprinkle with more ground cumin on top, and dried chili flakes if preferred. Serve with crusty breads.
” …WHOPPING 90% HYDRATION… SPRUNG LIBERATED OUT OF THE FOUNTAIN OF SECRET DOUGHS “
ALTHOUGH extremely rare, there are recipes that seem theoretically impossible at first, but somehow just come smooth-sailing under the first trial. They make recipe-developers feel invincible even just temporarily, like the lighthouse of success glowing just over the foreseeable shore. Handshakes with Batali and cold beers with Tony Bourdain, book-signing with fan-blown hair and the next dinner party, Ina Garten is bringing her cake. These occasions embolden even the blindest of self-confidence. But then, then there’s the opposite of such.
I call them, the kitchen nemesis… or for times, my baby kitchen unicorns. It’s a tormented, twisted love-and-hate relationship, with an adored food-item that hides a secret so beyond your grasps that failures of making it has been haunting you for years… even decades. The recipe of which you have ventured high and low for – with or without the luck of finding any at all – that in the very end, all greatly disappointed, again, and again. A lover, who’s not completely yours.
For the past 2 decades, my nemesis… my baby unicorn… has been but one thing.READ MORE
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