MITCH IN THE KITCHEN

shanghai noodles with bacon and eggs

After returning to New York, I immediately went on a shopping spree in Chinatown to stock up on Chinese New Year supplies and other things that I hope will help me cope with how much I miss the food in Taiwan (when I can’t get out to Flushing, that is). Funny though, I also got a shipment of nice-looking bacon in the mail. What to do?

Jumble everything together, of course.

about 8 ounces fresh Shanghai (thick) noodles
3 strips bacon
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2-inch segment of ginger, minced
3 dried shiitake mushrooms (soak them in water for several hours beforehand), or a handful of fresh ones, or a mixture, sliced
lots of baby bok choy, halved lengthwise
1 scallion stalk, cut into 1-inch segments
3 eggs

for the sauce:
1 teaspoon corn starch
1 cup water or broth (or the water you soaked the dried mushrooms in)
1 tablespoon soy sauce (I mixed the dark kind and the light kind)
1 teaspoon rice wine
1 teaspoon sesame oil

Combine sauce ingredients and set aside.

Bring a pot of water to a boil and cook noodles according to package directions. When noodles are done, drain them and toss with a bit of sesame oil so they don’t stick together. (I try to time things so that the noodles are done cooking riiiight when I need them but this doesn’t always go as planned. But it’s always worth a shot.)

Meanwhile, cook bacon in a large pan over medium-low heat until crisp (but not burnt!). Set aside on a paper towel. Remove most of the bacon fat, leaving enough to barely coat the surface of the pan.

Turn heat up to medium. Add garlic and ginger. After a few seconds, add mushrooms and stir them around. Cook for a few minutes or until mushrooms are lightly browned (if you’re using fresh ones). Add bok choy and cook until the leaves are a bit wilted.

Cut bacon strips crosswise into 1/2-inch pieces. Add to vegetable mixture, along with scallions and sauce. Add noodles and coat them evenly with sauce. When sauce begins to thicken, push noodles aside and add the eggs to the pan, scrambling them a bit. Scrape them around. When eggs are mostly cooked, mix them into the noodles.

creamy garlic and herb noodles

I had a whole bunch of fresh CSA herbs piling up, and a garlicky buttery cream sauce was the perfect repository for them. These noodles were lightly slick with cream, not creamy in the gloppy, mouth-coating, fettucine Alfredo kind of way. Basically, they’re not so heavy that you’ll need to unbutton your pants and take a sweaty nap afterwards, which is great because there is sunshine to be enjoyed outside, dammit. They are, however, just rich enough to go with a glass of crisp white wine and/or a crisp green salad.

[Updated on July 14 because I forgot to include cream in the recipe. Oops. Thanks to Cho for the heads up.]

(serves 1)

3 oz spaghetti, linguine, fettucine, or other dried noodle-shaped pasta
1/2 tablespoon butter
3 tablespoons heavy cream
as much minced garlic (and/or garlic scapes, since it’s that time of year) as you’d like
a scant 1/4 cup whatever leafy fresh herbs you have, minced (I used sage, oregano, parsley, and summer savory)
a couple shaves of lemon zest (optional)
salt and pepper, to taste

Cook pasta in boiling salted water. Drain and set aside.

Heat butter and garlic in a small pan over medium-low heat until the butter is foamy but not brown. Add cream, herbs, and lemon zest. Season with salt and pepper. Heat gently until sauce is slightly thickened. Add pasta and toss it around in the pan with the cream sauce. Top with grated cheese if you’d like.

cold and spicy sesame noodles

I’m still on this cold/picnic/unintentionally vegan food kick. Cold sesame noodles are a classic Chinese takeout dish that easily please. They also make good use of leftover cooked noodles and warm summer days spent indoors poring over class lecture notes (no one has to smell my spicy garlic breath). I like my sesame noodles extra spicy and without peanut butter. Strips of cucumber add a little textural contrast and help cool off your tongue a bit. You can also add shredded chicken to make it a full-on meal.

(serves 1)

4 ounces fresh wheat or egg noodles, (or you could even use spaghetti)
2 tablespoons well-stirred Chinese sesame paste
1/4 teaspoon finely minced ginger
1/4 teaspoon finely minced garlic
2 teaspoons soy sauce
1 teaspoon rice wine vinegar
1 teaspoon sesame oil
garlic chili sauce (Sriracha works too) and/or hot chili oil, to taste
julienne cucumber, scallions, and toasted sesame seeds for garnish

Cook noodles according to package directions. Drain and rinse under cool water. If you’re using leftover cooked noodles sitting in the fridge, loosen them up a bit by placing them in a colander and running some warm water over them. This way, you don’t get a giant, stuck-together clump of stiff and sticky noodles.

Combine remaining ingredients (except garnishes) to make sauce. Combine noodles with sauce and toss to coat evenly. Serve with cucumber, scallions, and sesame seeds.

lime and peanut noodles

My dad has a saying that has profoundly informed the way I live: “There is always time for food.” Had the world actually ended this past Saturday, I probably would’ve died mid-bite while the Earth crumbled around me. An old friend of mine once legendarily missed a flight to his sister’s wedding because he was stewing lentils. I would be lying if I said that I don’t understand why anyone would do that.

Thankfully, I came up with this easy-to-make jumble of rice noodles, fresh herbs and vegetables, and other crunchy things about 30 minutes before I was supposed to leave the house to attend a wedding (congrats Chris & Valentina!). We arrived on time and no one had to listen to my stomach growl. I’ve made these noodles three times now, most recently as a welcome-home dinner after I returned from a quick trip to L.A. to attend another wedding (congrats Chris & Valerie!). The key is to take mise en place seriously so that nothing gets accidentally overcooked. These noodles are also a perfect vehicle for leftover shredded meat or sliced tofu.

serves 1

a few ounces of dried rice noodles
about 1/4 of a small head of cabbage, shredded
1/2 medium carrot, cut into strips
1 clove garlic, minced
1 small shallot clove/bulb/segment/whatever, minced
1 1/2 teaspoons palm sugar or brown sugar
1 tablespoon soy sauce or fish sauce (or a combination of both)
almost all the juice from half of a lime
a handful of peanuts, lightly toasted and coarsely ground, crushed, or chopped
garnish: cilantro, scallions, fried shallots, Sriracha chili sauce

Soak rice noodles in warm water while you prepare all the vegetables. Combine sugar, soy/fish sauce, and lime juice. Set aside.

Heat some oil in a pan over medium heat. Add garlic and shallot. Stir and cook for about 30 seconds, making sure they don’t burn. Add remaining vegetables. Cook until vegetables are slightly softened but still crunchy. Drain noodles and add them. Stir them around and add a splash of water to soften them up more. When water has evaporated (should be after only a few minutes) add lime juice sauce. Toss noodles around to coat evenly. Garnish with peanuts and everything else.

homemade udon noodles

Udon noodles, it turns out, are not terribly difficult to make. All they require is flour, salt, water, and putting your hands to work. I followed this guide, using a large bowl and wooden spoon instead of my small food processor. The noodles are best thick and chewy, and you can take them whatever direction you want from there: languishing in hot soup, cold with all kinds of toppings and a bit of broth on top (this is called bukkake udon, laugh away!), or stir-fried in a dish called yaki udon.

To make yaki udon (2 servings):

Cook fresh udon noodles (about half of the recipe above) in boiling water (7 to 10 minutes, depending on how thick they are). Drain and rinse.

While noodles are cooking, combine 1 1/2 teaspoons dark soy sauce, 1 1/2 teaspoons light soy sauce, 1/2 teaspoon rice wine, 1 teaspoon brown sugar, 1/2 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce, and a tiny drizzle of sesame oil. Set aside.

In a large wok or pan, heat a bit of oil over medium heat. Add a few handfuls of small mushrooms (or sliced mushrooms) and let cook until lightly golden. Add 1/2 onion, sliced; 1 small carrot, julienne; and 1/4 small head napa cabbage, shredded. Stir fry until vegetables are softened. Add fried tofu* and cooked noodles to the pan, along with sauce. Toss to coat evenly. Serve garnished with shredded pickled ginger, sesame seeds, fried shallots, and/or a big dollop of chili sauce.

*Alternatively, you could marinate sliced meat in a bit of corn starch and soy sauce and cook in in the pan (and set it aside) before the vegetables. Add the meat back at the end, with the noodles.

pad see ew

Pad see ew is a standard item at Thai restaurants across the country, including my local takeout spot that got drunk dialed (and drunk visited) by me recently after an awesome afterschool hangout with my grad school comrades. I’ve already sung the praises of pad kee mao on this blog, and though it seems appropriate to dine on drunken noodles after three pints of Stone IPA (side note: delicious beer), I stuck with my usual pad see ew (soy sauce noodles).

But enough about me and my end-of-semester antics. Chez Pim has a most excellent guide for how to make pad see ew at home. I used dark soy sauce with a pinch of sugar in place of the thick, syrupy, sweet stuff called for by the recipe. Chinese broccoli is the vegetable of choice for pad see ew, but broccoli rabe or even regular old flowering broccoli are easy substitutes. The plus side of making your own is not being knocked out on the couch afterward from all the grease and sugar that goes into (strangely and occasionally comforting) takeout fare. This Thai restaurant may be seeing less and less of me.

spaghetti + meatballs

Let me start by saying that this Sunday supper took forever to prepare and should not be attempted unless you have time and patience (and a lot of wine). The most recent issue of Cook’s Illustrated points out that meatballs are a lot of work, so you should make a whole bunch all at once. Their recipe swaps out veal for gelatin and prosciutto, and milk-soaked bread for panko (flaky Japanese breadcrumbs) and buttermilk. We roughly halved the recipe. Instead of baking the meatballs, I insisted on frying them in batches in a pan and making a simple tomato sauce in that same pan. During a moment of good judgment, I ditched the original plan to make the pasta ourselves and pulled out a package of some fancy dry spaghetti we’d been gifted awhile back. We went back and forth between the living room (homework and televised sports) and the kitchen (frying meat, simmering sauce) to divvy up all the steps. Several dropped meatballs, sauce splatters, and glasses of wine later, we sat down to (wolfed down) a satisfying meal that tucked us quietly into bed. Even better, we have two batches’ worth of leftovers that will probably come out of the freezer during study-freak finals season or in November if we completely mess up Thanksgiving dinner.

pad kee mao (drunken noodles)

Most of you probably have a standard dish you like to order for dinner at your local Thai takeout joint. John and I robotically call in an order for one pad see ew and one pad kee mao, both with veggie duck, and no utensils please, whenever we’d rather not cook. While these are staples on the menu of pretty much every American Thai restaurant I’ve ever been to, stir-fried noodle dishes are more of a street-food thing in Thailand. There are carts (and clusters of carts in what resembles a food court) that sell boxes of hot, spicy, greasy, cooked-to-order noodles throughout the night for about $1.50. No waiters, no cocktail menu, and no impressively designed restroom fixtures, as you’d expect in New York City. Just free outdoor seating on the muggy streets of Bangkok (or Udon Thani, where I also got a chance to scarf down some pad thai a few years ago).

Pad kee mao translates to “shit drunk noodles,” or in more menu-friendly terms, “drunken noodles.” When done right, it’s very spicy (unfortunately mine weren’t, thanks to weak ass supermarket jalapeños). But there is no alcohol in the dish itself. There are a few origin stories about the name floating around (as there are for plenty of other dishes):

• You’ll get really drunk trying to soothe your burning mouth with that beer in your hand
• You’d have to be drunk to be crazy enough to eat something this spicy
• The dish is a favorite among late-night partiers
• The chef was drunk and added too many chilies
• It’s a great hangover cure

It seems like every other pad kee mao blog post out there notes that these noodles are good enough to eat while sober. I have to agree.

6 to 8 oz dried rice noodles (or the fresh, wide kind)
8 oz protein of your choice, sliced or ground (chicken, beef, pork, shrimp, mock duck/seitan, tofu, etc. etc.)
1 to 1 1/2 bell peppers, sliced
1/2 small white or yellow onion, sliced
1 large clove garlic, minced
1 jalapeño or serrano pepper, or a few Thai bird chilies, chopped
2 small tomatoes, cut into wedges (optional)
2 eggs (optional)
2 tablespoons oyster sauce
3 tablespoons soy sauce
2 tablespoons fish sauce
juice of one lime
pinch of sugar
basil leaves (Thai basil if you can get it)

If using dried noodles, soak them in a large bowl of lukewarm (not hot!) water while you do all the other prep work. They should be pliable but not soggy.

Heat a big pan or wok over medium-high heat with some canola, peanut, or vegetable oil. Add whatever protein you’re using. Stir-fry until protein is mostly cooked through. Add onion, bell pepper, garlic, and hot peppers and cook until softened.

Add noodles to the pan, and mix in with the vegetables. They should soften up a bit. Add tomatoes.

Combine oyster sauce, soy sauce, fish sauce, sugar, and lime juice. Push all the noodles and vegetables to one side of the pan. Add sauce mixture to that space in the pan and bring to a simmer. Toss sauce with noodle mixture to coat evenly.

Push noodle mixture to one side of the pan again, and add eggs. Scramble them with a spatula. When they’re mostly cooked, stir into the noodles. Throw in some torn basil leaves (not shown).