Week #34 Dim Sum

I'm convinced that "dim sum" is Chinese for "mealtime free-for-all." It would certainly seem that way, at least if you do it right. To have dim sum by yourself would be about as pointless as watching Rocky Horror Picture Show at home all alone. Some things are just made to be enjoyed in a group, and dim sum is one of them. The more people at the table the more fun it is, even if you do end up in a chopstick duel over the last dumpling.

They're all goners...tasty, tasty goners...

Frankly, it's difficult to discuss dim sum as a cuisine like you would other cuisines, because its primary distinguishing characteristic is that it's essentially communal small-plate dining, Chinese style. Dim sum originated as a snack in the tea houses of southern China several centuries ago, but it has since evolved into a full blown meal that comprises cooking styles from across this vast country.

Himself and I were among a party a dozen strong that went to East Gourmet Seafood Restaurant in the San Gabriel Valley to indulge in one of those free-for-alls. Our friends Bob and Grace, who treated us to Chinese hot pot back in the winter, organized this food fest. While Grace is nowhere near grannydom yet, she's already in serious training. This is important, because what's crucial is to find the best dim sum possible for the least amount of money. If you've selected such a place you'll know by the sheer numbers of Chinese grannies you find there. If you don't spot any--particularly if you're there on a Sunday morning--do a rapid U-turn and keep looking. Grace's radar is especially attuned to good seafood, so we were in capable hands for this feast.

This dish, with its abundance of really good lobster and a tiny, tiny price tag, is the main reason she suggested this particular restaurant. But I pushed the lobster aside in favor of the noodles. They were freshly made and divine, flavored with everything that's sitting atop them--noodles bathed in the essence of all that lobster. (Well, okay, I had a couple of bites of lobster, and yes, it was fine stuff, too.)

The eggplant was stuffed with seafood and topped with black beans, peppers, onions and sesame seeds. It's difficult to tell, but there are four servings here. This was a strong contender for "Best Dish of the Meal," even in the face of unfair competition from an obscene amount of lobster.

And this is fried tofu stuffed with seafood. Are we noticing a theme here? Well, yes, it is a seafood restaurant. I've never had both seafood and tofu in the same bite, but it works, it really does.

This small plate looks pretty modest, with a bite of a half-dozen different things. But when you eat it all, and then more comes out and you eat that, and then more comes out and you eat that...you realize at some point that you shouldn't have had that last go-round. But it was all so gooood... By the way, that rather ghostly looking little pink dumpling to the right was filled with the fattest, juiciest shrimp I've ever had. And the pork bun in the foreground would have made a good dessert, with its sweet barbecue sauce. Note those sad little green beans nestled in there, trying to make up for everything else we were eating. They were no match for all that deep-fried, saucy goodness.

This photo doesn't adequately display the onslaught, for as soon as a steamer or plate was emptied, it was quickly whisked away. But you can tell that by this point, we were all starting to slow down and sink deeper into our seats.

Bringing order out of chaos: SOMEBODY'S gotta do it! (I did finally eat those green beans, by the way.)

"Dim sum" more or less translates as "touch the heart," which originally had to do with the business of having a light snack to tide you over. But I prefer to think of the heart touching aspect of sitting down to eat with a group, with the conviviality, abundance and happy confusion involved in spinning the lazy susan and trying to grab a bite of something before it goes whizzing past. Of gloating over having scored that final piece. And of sharing a bite of it with someone else who was after it, too.

By the end of the meal Himself and I were almost in a coma, thick of head and slow of gait. As we staggered toward our car, we agreed: Too much dim sum will make you dim and then some. But in a good way. ;)

Sweet Dreams of Thai Cuisine

It's 3:14 a.m., and here I sit, typing. This is no way to conquer jet lag. But right now my body thinks it's 6:14 the coming night, and it is, at least it is in Thailand. I was awake at this hour the night before, too. And the night before that.

Jet lag is a bitch.

My minister sympathizes but reminds me: "Epiphanies come in the early morning hours. I think that is why monastics get up at 3 a.m. to pray." I'm sure she's onto something, but at this moment there's nothing more profound going through my head than how much I'd like to find a 24-hour Thai restaurant and have a big bowl of tom kha gai, a super-charged soup made of chicken and coconut milk. It's flavored with the Holy Trinity of Thai cuisine: lemongrass, galangal and kaffir lime leaves. None of these items has an adequate substitute, and while there are plenty of Thai restaurants here in the Los Angeles area, unless the ingredients are really fresh, the soup pales in comparison to what you find in the land where it was created.

Bubbling and fragrant when it arrives at the table,
one pot of tom kha gai and the world is at the rights...

Ah, the glories of Thai cuisine--and the Thai spirit. A people who understand the value of a well turned out meal as a way to show warmth and hospitality are a fine people indeed. Note that I didn't say an expensive meal. Or fancy, although Thai presentation is some of the most glorious I've ever seen. Cooks think nothing of placing fresh orchids on about every dish they prepare!

These scallops were served on their shells, atop of tiny beds of rice noodles and smothered in a sauce that was rich and bold--and hot!

Thailand's food is amazing in its variety, flavor and freshness. I've certainly never had so much excellent seafood so well prepared, with such attention to the balance of the five flavors in every dish: salty, sweet, sour, bitter and spicy (hot).

This poor guy doesn't stand a chance--
we'll lay waste to him as soon as I lower down the camera...

Food is typically served family style, and people casually serve each other's plates whether they're asked to or not. It's possible to sit at table and discuss nothing but the food, which is a welcome relief from world news and the heat, which is what necessitates all those spicy dishes. It's nature's quite efficient way of cooling us.

A fixture at every meal is a tray of assorted fruits, all cut up and ready for nibbling.

Dessert in Thailand is typically an array of the freshest fruit you can imagine. When fruit is this sweet and good--and plentiful--it makes me want to forsake lesser forms of dessert. It serves a dual function of finishing off the meal with a light sweetness while aiding digestion. Smart.

More on all of this later. I have hundreds of photos to paw through and a notebook filled with scrawlings about my experiences and impressions. And sleep to recover. I must toddle back to bed now, before Himself stirs and, realizing I'm not there, comes in to check on me. And we both talk about Thai food until the sun comes up.

In the coming days I'll recall more of what I want to share about the food on this trip. Please indulge me any unfocused ramblings that I'd like to put down to jet lag but know could well be my enthusiasm for the subject matter. I was already a cheerleader for Thai food, but having visited the source for this amazing cuisine, I'm nothing short of giddy on the topic now.

Good night, sweet dreams and if you eat before I do, bon appetit!

***The obligatory disclaimer: I went to Thailand as a guest of Thai Tourism Authority. That said, I'm not interested in urging you to stay at particular hotels or to dine at particular establishments or to seek out specific amusements. But rather to enjoy the cuisine, whether you dine in Thailand or in a Thai restaurant in your hometown. And to take a crack at making Thai dishes yourself. There's much to love about a cuisine so varied and flavorful.

Week #17 Southern Italian: The Feast of the Seven Fishes

La Vigilia, The Feast of the Seven Fishes, is a Christmas Eve meal featuring, you guessed it, fish. While communities throughout Italy celebrate La Vigilia, this meal is more a feature of southern Italian and Sicilian tradition, one carried to the United States by immigrants and popularized here. Even if they've forgotten why, even if they're not Catholic, many people still observe the custom of eating fish on Christmas Eve--at least one type, and in some households, as many as a dozen or more.

I snapped this photo in a Tuscan fish market. Most of Tuscany is landlocked, but that doesn't prevent its citizenry from adoring a good piece of frutti di mare fresh from the Mediterranean or Adriatic.

Traditionally, Catholics ate no meat on sacred days, of which Christmas Eve is one--in this case, in honor of the birth of the baby Jesus. Since we're Christian but not Catholic, it was still a learning experience for us. We enjoyed this feast with our friends Patricia and Aaron. They included us in their family Seder during Passover earlier this year, so it was a fine symmetry sharing this Christian feast with them. We convened at Angeli Caffe in West Hollywood, where they served The Feast of the Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve-Eve-Eve. Two days early is close enough for me.

Why seven types of fish? Stories explaining this number are as plentiful as, well, fish in the sea. Most of them are numerological in origin: seven is thought to be the number of perfection, since God rested on the seventh day. Then there are the seven sacraments, the Seven Hills of Rome, the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit and the seven utterances of Christ on the cross. Seven shows up a lot in the book of Revelations, too. Practically speaking, though, the number of fish people eat on Christmas Eve seems to have more to do with availability and wealth than any other factor.

Traditionally the seven fish include baccalà, dried, salted cod. It is so prevalent in Italy that I think it must be the national fish. But we didn't have baccalà, and frankly, I'm not sorry, because it is stout and aggressively fishy, without the delicate texture and flavor of most fresh fish. I once knew a man who broke up with a beautiful Italian woman because she served him meal after meal of baccalà, until he'd finally had enough. We all have our limits, I guess.

Antipasti

Our antipasti plate got us off to a good start: a piece of seared tuna dressed with a saffron and red wine vinaigrette--I could have stopped right there and just ordered another six or eight pieces; seared sardines--my favorite part of that was the fried Meyer lemon slice with which it was topped--sweetly zingy!; and an Insalata di Mare alla Griglia, that is, grilled seafood salad that included shrimp, mussels and calamari. It was like having a high-quality sampler platter.

Next was a slice of pizza alla puttanesca with anchovies, which were cooked into the sauce, not just slapped on top and left to scorch in the oven. Notice that nice hunk of garlic in there? That made me happy, as did the capers and kalamata olives. And Angeli's pizza crust (and their bread in general) is a sublime thing. Take a good look at this slice, just in case you've never seen a real pizza crust before. This is not of the mass-produced, thick-n-chewy chain restaurant/delivery outlet/cardboard box/meat-lover's/cheese-lover's/manly-man ilk. It is crispy on the outside with a bit of chew inside. It's perfectly balanced and every bit as flavorful as what's on top of it--not just merely a carrier for the toppings. When eating lesser pizzas, I toss out or give away the "bones" (a.k.a. "the pizza handles"), but a well made pizza crust is good all by itself. I didn't leave a crumb on that plate. (It's time to stand up for your right for decent pizza, but that blog is for another day.)

For our paste we had trofie, a homemade pasta cooked perfectly al dente and served with shrimp and fennel. Alongside it were cannelloni al mare (in this case stuffed with salmon), an eggplant parmesan roll and a large mushroom stuffed with veggies. Since Pat and Aaron keep kosher, they passed on the shellfish and got extra helpings of the cannelloni and mushrooms.

We had homemade cannoli for dessert. No fish in this one, thankfully, but really good freshly made cannoli that balanced lightness and heft. If you can fry a pastry in such a way that it is neither greasy nor heavy, and fill it with a mixture of lightly sweetened ricotta and chocolate so that it doesn't weigh a ton, give up your day job and do this for a living. A well-crafted cannoli is a delight. Clemenza must have had this in mind when he told Rocco in The Godfather, "Leave the gun. Take the cannoli." Even if it does mean you do have to leave the scene of the crime a couple of seconds late!

So we got our seven fish in there--I counted eight. Well, fish and seafood, if we must split hairs. And I won't. I'll just say...

Belated Happy Hanukkah!

Buon Natale! Merry Christmas!
Happy Holidays!

Brazilabaisse?

During the latest public television begathon, Himself and I watched a very early episode of The French Chef in which JC made bouillabaisse. She seemed to think skinning an eel is a lot more fun than I do--of course when I did it in culinary school to make waterzooi, my eel was just a shade past its prime. Not surprising to me that there aren't tons of Belgian restaurants around. Maybe I just haven't had waterzooi under the best of circumstances yet.

See that steam rising from the clay pot filled with moqueca, and all those ripples in there? It continued to cook for several minutes after arriving at our table.

Anyway, this weekend we ventured into a Brazilian restaurant at Oxnard Harbor and ordered the dish for which the restaurant is named, Moqueca. This fish stew is essentially the Brazilian version of bouillabaisse, a hearty fisherman's stew. It was loaded with mussels, clams, shrimp and rings of calamari. The clay pot was so hot that the stew continued to cook for several minutes after the dish was set on our table. I imagine that just before it was brought to us, the broth was poured into this rippin' hot pot and raw seafood stirred in. By the time it arrived, the seafood was cooked but not overcooked. No rubber band stew for us, thankfully! The seafood was tender and delectable, the broth robust and flavorful. We ladled it over a bed of rice and seasoned it with pirão, a fish gravy, and pimenta malagueta, which was some serious sinus clearing stuff. I rank it in the "see God" category of peppers. Just the tiniest bit stirred into our moqueca enlivened the dish and added a lovely dimension to an already fine stew. I discovered later that moqueca is made with palm oil, an African influence, which is probably even less healthy than lard. So much for our feeling like we were getting a lean and healthy meal with all that seafood! Well, as long as it's an occasional splash of palm oil and not a regular thing...

Moqueca is another example of dishes that are more or less the same, being prepared in different parts of the world, using the local ingredients. This fisherman's stew was traditionally made of whatever was left after the morning's catch was brought in and sold. There does seem to be disagreement over whether or not adding coconut milk is legit, but essentially, this stew of fish, tomatoes, seasonings and fish stock sounds a lot like bouillabaisse to me. While you serve moqueca over rice, with pirão and malagueta for a boost of flavor, you serve bouillabaisse over grilled French bread and season it with a fiery rouille. These two dishes are at least cousins, I'd say, along with Portugal's caldeirada, Italy's cacciucco, San Francisco's cioppino--and even Belgium's waterzooi, I guess.

This stew is so important that these people named their restaurant for it! All around, it was a wonderful meal served by a gracious staff. Obrigado, Moqueca! We can't wait to return and sample more great Brazilian fare.