Hungry Mole

Hi,

I’ve recently been concentrating on writing for my food-related blog, Hungry Mole Journals. Please follow my ponderings there.

Perhaps, when I’m ready again, I’ll be updating this blog.

xo

Michelle

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Torn

I am torn.
I am torn between preferring
quarter-moons to be drawn
with the scooped-out
part facing left
versus the scooped-out part
facing right.

By: Wayne Hogan of Cookeville, TN
Lilliput Review

"

(Source: google.com)

"

Torn

I am torn.
I am torn between preferring
quarter-moons to be drawn
with the scooped-out
part facing left
versus the scooped-out part
facing right.

By: Wayne Hogan of Cookeville, TN
Lilliput Review

"

(Source: google.com)

Charles Bukowski, “Style”

Style is the answer to everything. A fresh way to approach a dull or dangerous thing. To do a dull thing with style is preferable to doing a dangerous thing without style. To do a dangerous thing with style, is what I call art. Bullfighting can be an art. Boxing can be an art. Loving can be an art. Opening a can of sardines can be an art. Not many have style. Not many can keep style. I have seen dogs with more style than men. Although not many dogs have style. Cats have it with abundance. When Hemingway put his brains to the wall with a shotgun, that was style. For sometimes people give you style. Joan of Arc had style. John the Baptist. Jesus. Socrates. Caesar. García Lorca. I have met men in jail with style. I have met more men in jail with style than men out of jail. Style is a difference, a way of doing, a way of being done. Six herons standing quietly in a pool of water, or you, walking out of the bathroom without seeing me. —Charles Bukowski

(Source: blog.ahfr.org)

I think too much: One giant balloon

Why is it that my thoughts are always unfinished and my mind jumps from place to place? I’m constantly up in the air no matter how much I really want to be grounded. If you look through my Finder, I have countless unfinished essays, letters, notes, Moleskin journal entries, and blog posts all orphaned and waiting for my return. They are like thoughts that are just floating in the air, in balloons either waiting to be popped or set free. My room is filled with balloons and I feel smothered by them right now.

A therapist would say that it’s because I am running from thoughts and emotions and it’s probably true. (Everything is about that.) I never let them mature because I can foresee its pain even in its infancy.

Perhaps, it’s all just one giant balloon. 

I think too much: Decay

I just went to the bathroom and saw Mike’s deodorant in the trash can. It surprises me how he could finish a seemingly endless stick of Natural scented Right Guard deodorant. This has no connection to the fact that I don’t use deodorant and am therefore incapable of knowing how long deodorants last. When his bar of Dove soap shrivels to the size of a bean, when our tube of Extreme Clean toothpaste runs out of steam, when my mascara runs dry, all these mark time and loss. It makes me wonder how I myself am also part of this process. Those who know me know that I am sentimental, I think too much, and my feelings flip flop as fast as a butterfly flaps its wings. (Though don’t you think to bat would be a more appropriate word to describe the movement of butterflies? Its wings are like fake eyelashes that bat flirtingly.) I can be childishly amused with cutting a gecko’s tail one day and feel distraught with the death of a cockroach the next. “Rest in peace. I allow you to do the same to me in our next life,” I often say to insects that I kill. I cut my hair yesterday and Yutaka chopped off the last inch of my dyed ends. Eerily it marked the end of my past. I dyed my hair only a month or two before I met Mike whom I will be marrying to next year. My hair grew the length of a long ruler since I met him. Wow. Time. Growth. Death. Loss. Decay.

I think too much: Even Brad Pitt has friends

Most recently, my friend, Nadia, was casted to play a small but important guest role on the TV series, Blue Bloods.  She was saved by the guy from NKOTB. According to my other friend, this is a big deal; I suppose he’s right. She’s been trying this acting thing since we graduated from college in 2005 and, while she’s been in several off-Broadway plays and indie films, she has never done anything with this kind of exposure. 

The truth is I have always found it hard to watch her act not because she’s bad but for the simple fact that I have known her since we were teenagers. I just can never get into her characters. She will always be Nadia to me. It’ll always be Nadia pretending to have a FOB accent or Nadia pretending to be ten years younger than she really is. You know when you cringe every time you hear yourself speak in a home video or something? That’s exactly how I feel when I see her act. It’s as if she’s me. I mean what do Brad Pitt’s friends think when they watch his movies? Do they crack up or do they shout, “Bravo!?” Did they giggle just a little bit when he pretended to be a broody ghost (or whatever he was) in Meet Joe Black? Did they think, “Good acting! How did you do that?,” when he smooched Angelina Jolie realistically on Mr. And Mrs. Smith? Better yet, how did they feel when Brad Pitt became an old baby in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button? 

What is wrong with me? Should I feel horrible that I cringe every time I see my friend on TV or hear her instructional voiceover reels or should I be embarrassed by how uncultured I am because I can’t appreciate acting? If one day, she becomes the next Lucy Liu or Zhang ZiYi, I would be so proud of her. But I can’t guarantee I won’t laugh out loud, when she does the high kick followed by a “Hiya!” 

I eat too much: My attempt at vegetarianism at home

I know there are people who hate vegetables, probably most people do or at least most Americans do but I never thought that I would have to live with a veggie-hater! I live with a man, my soon-to-be-husband, who thinks that I should give him a medal every time he eats the lettuce and tomatoes, vegetables he calls, in his burger. Can you just see my eyes widen as I say this? Or perhaps you think I am crazy for making such a big fuss. Elitist? Dumb vegetable lover? With the 101 things that enter into my mind every day, realizations of what I potentially have to live with forever, this has been on the top of my list recently. How can I live with a man who has to eat meat every single meal? More importantly, how can I eat meat every single meal?! 

It was only recently that I realized how diverse my food options were growing up. My friend, Nikki, who I have known since first or second grade and who I recently met up with after more than 10 years of separation, reminded me of how much of a spread my lunch box was when we were little. Even at home, we always had a meat, a fish, and a vegetable dish and, when it was only me and my mom who would eat at home, we would scarf down two pounds of plain green vegetables, as if it were fried chicken or something. Of course, I only know what I know from how I grew up and vegetables are part of my normal. I need to accept and understand that for my boyfriend vegetables are just not part of his. From a guy who grew up on steak tips (I still don’t know what are steak tips) and, according to him, have never seen his mom chop a vegetable, not even an onion, in his life, I should really reward him for anything green that he puts in his mouth.

But because I am selfish and a fatalist (how can I live life without vegetables?!?!?!?!), I decided to enforce my normal on him even for just once a week. Yesterday, I began Vegetarian Mondays at home. I cooked up a chow mein dish (I made a successful version last week, but with flank steak and peppers) this time with lots of mushrooms and some brocollini. His poo-poo face was more pitiful than our dog’s when we deprive her of a treat. But like a trooper, he at least ate one bowl. When I asked him if he was going to get his usual seconds, he grumbled an insincere “maybe.” Probing him for a confession, he finally revealed that, for him, vegetables are an appetizer and not a main course. I had to make a batch of banana nut muffins just to gain back the points that I lost.

As for me, I stuffed myself with the rest of the chow mein those vegetarian banana pecan muffins, too, maybe because I was feeling so depressed about my situation. (I’m not going to lie. I’m a big chomper, too.) My first Vegetarian Mondays was a disaster and, if I continued to lobby this idea, I prophesy hearing things like “I’m too busy to eat at home” or “I have a business meeting” in future Mondays. I mean all I want is for us to eat a healthy diet. We have already converted to eating local organic produce as much as possible. The next logical step is to eat less meat. 

How do you reconcile the opposing diets of two lovers especially when food is at the center of both of our lives? What are my options? Eat the way he does? Cook a different meal for myself? Sneak in veggies to our meals as if he were a 10 year old? When I’m not with my fiance, I try and tend to eat vegetarian. I can’t help but think that, in some ways, it’s kind of like shielding a part of who I am from him like listening to jazz, reading poetry, or philosophizing about feelings. Stuff that I want to share with him. Wow, this post about being vegetarian for a day just became sad. For now, Vegetarian Mondays is on-hold. I’m going to try that sneak-the-vegetables-in thing or just take the extra time and effort to make a vegetable side dish that he could get in to.

Do you share a similar experience with your significant other?

I eat too much: Kin Shop

Last Friday, my bf and I went on a little date to try out Kin Shop. This is one of the two new buzzy “Thai” restaurants right now, the other one being Lotus of Siam. I don’t believe the restaurant is trying to go for authenticity. And I don’t really care about authenticity either; I only care about good food. In any case, as if a disclaimer, Kin Shop describes its food as merely a contemporary nod to Thai dishes and its ingredients. I went there a calm soul who had no expectations, in spite all the raves (see Serious Eats review and other press), and no desire to reminisce my numerous visits to Thailand. 

Chef Harold Dieterle’s so-called inspired dishes never took flight for me. The meal didn’t transport my taste buds to a contemporary Thailand, bored me when I wanted to be excited, and tipped me over when I sought balance.

We started our meal with two specials: the Roasted Bone Marrow served with Roti and the Prawns with Lime and Black Pepper Sauce. As with any bone marrow dish, greasiness is a concern and so I appreciated the effective and creative use of radish greens on top of the marrows. I love Roti, Bad Roti, Fresh Roti, Frozen Roti, Good Roti. Give me any Roti. However, serving the marrows with these lovely doughiness made me feel like I was eating oil on top of oil. Not to mention, I was shocked that they can get away with serving two pieces of these average version Roti (it reminded me of ones I can buy frozen in Chinatown’s Kam Man supermarket) at a hefty $5! The prawn appetizer, which was sold per piece, was so intensely flavored, I was glad we only got one each. Don’t get me wrong. I love flavor but eating the lime marinated prawn reminded me of the japanese Super Lemon candy that punked me as a child. And I’m supposed to dip this into another intensely flavored massaman black pepper sauce? Flavor explosion but not in a good way.

The main courses were a conscious mix of meat, fish, and vegetables. As an eggplant lover, there was no way I wasn’t going to order the Selection of Grilled Eggplant. We also tried the Massaman Goat Curry and Steamed Red Snapper. I hate to sound like a complainer but the goat was bland, the red snapper was mooshy, and the grilled eggplant, which only arrived quite late into our almost finished meal, was undercooked, underwhelming, and certainly didn’t deliver on the variety a “selection” promises. On the bright side, the goat was tender in a pressure cooked kind of way and the red snapper sauce was quite tasty. 

I wish I could have played a game of mix and match with our meal. The black pepper massaman tasting sauce would have been awesome with the goat. It would’ve given it the punch of flavor that I was craving for. The lime in the shrimp could have been rationed for the bone marrow dish. That could’ve made me not mind the oily Roti. 

I didn’t watch the first season of Top Chef and so I put Dieterle in the pedestal of an unknown chef who just wants to show us that he is good. For this reason, I want him to be good, too. If the promise is a new take on Thai, Kin Shop succeeds. I don’t think his interpretations are a blasphemous attempt at South East Asian cuisine, unlike the SEAs and Spices of this world. As a matter of fact, I respect his respect for Thai food. It’s been, what, 2,3 months since Kin Shop opened? I don’t think I saw Dieterle in the kitchen on that Saturday night. Perhaps, he was tending to his flagship, Perilla. Maybe he just needs to spend a little bit more time in his new kitchen. 

I eat too much: Buckwheat pancakes with pineapple maple syrup recipe

It’s definitely Winter now and it’s harder to get our butts out the door to munch on our brunch favorites. That means it’s time to bring weekend brunches indoors. 

This morning, we made some buckwheat pancakes topped with a pineapple maple syrup served alongside some crispy bacon. Why buckwheat? Three reasons: It sounds healthier. I have a whole bag of buckwheat flour that I need to use up (thanks to a buckwheat spatzle recipe I made a few weeks ago) and I am simply just obsessed with it! The nutty, fragrant, buckwheat flavor is so unique. 

On with the recipe.

I started with the pineapple maple syrup. All I did was cook down some fresh pineapples I had in my fridge (about 1/2 quart for 2 ppl) with the help of a bit of water. I used a medium heat in a small saucepan to do this.

I went ahead and started my buckwheat pancakes which were a mixture of the following.

• 1/2 cup buckwheat flour
• 1/2 cup AP flour
• 1 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp baking soda
• a pinch of salt
• 1 egg
• 1 tbsp molasses (Feel free to substitute with honey or even sugar, just add a bit more milk or something since you’ll have less moisture)
• 1 cup milk (Buttermilk would be yum. I am also curious to see what a cup of plain yogurt would do-not greek though)

I find that the well-method works best here. So, mix the dry ingredients in a big bowl first. Gently beat the wet ingredients in a small bowl. Make a well in the middle of the dry stuff and just slowly pour the wet into the well while incorporating some of the dry ingredients back to the middle of the well. I use a fork and use a stirring motion. I think whisks are too clumsy and who wants to clean them?! When all of the wet ingredients are in the bowl and you don’t see any flour anymore, stop stirring. You’ve got your batter!

By this time, your pineapples are softer and you can break the chunks up using a simple fork or a potato masher. It’s up to you how chunky you want your pineapple to be. Pour in as much maple syrup as you think you’d use up. I must’ve poured in 1/2 to 3/4 cup in mine. I bet some butter in it would taste good, too, but I didn’t do it this time. Continue boiling the compote-y syrup-y sauce making sure that you don’t burn it. Turn off the heat when you feel like the pineapples are cooked enough. It’s really up to you. Don’t be scared to taste it!

Heat up your non-stick skillet about medium to medium-high heat, put a bit of butter into the pan. The way I gauge if my pan is at the right temperature is that if the butter burns, the pan is too hot, but if the butter doesn’t bubble while melting, it’s not hot enough. The idea is that it should be hot enough to create a good crust on the pancakes but warm enough to make sure our batter cooks before our pancakes burn. A quarter cup of batter should make 1 pancake.

To serve, I loosely pile 4 pancakes on a plate, top it with a few strips of crispy bacon, then spoon some pineapple maple syrup on top. Nom.