Level Nineteen, Unlocked

Time really does accelerate as we get older. At least, we experience it differently, as days blur into the next, one after another in a largely unremarkable stretch, until we find ourselves at another milestone, seemingly out of the blue. So here we are, entering the 19th year of BitterSweet, in some unfathomable twist of fate. It was never meant to endure through such trials and tribulations, becoming such a pivotal part of my career and the subsequent life built around it, but it’s truly taken on a life of its own. Now verging on adulthood in its final teenage year, I think it’s here to stay, for as long as I do.

For this anniversary, which seems like a forgettable one, just on the precipice of the big two-oh, I thought I would share recipes to follow suit. Instead of compiling the most popular options, I’d like to shine a light on 19 forgotten recipes. These are pieces that I personally loved, going through great lengths to create, capture, and preserve in digital form, but for whatever reason, never hit it big and became lost in time. It’s to be expected when you have 200 recipes housed on wholly separate pages of this antiquated, unintegrated online platform.

I’m honestly thrilled whenever someone pulls out a lost gem and leaves a comment so please, dig deep; laugh at my old, terrible photos; taunt me for my overwritten intros; and of course, tell me what you love and hate about the recipes! Even for my beloved regulars that dutifully carry this burden, I’d implore you to take a look back. Given that even I forget about some of my work, I bet there are some hidden treasures you’ve overlooked, too.

Cheers to another year… Long live BitterSweet!

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A Night Market To Remember

Have you ever had an insatiable craving for a food you’ve never had? Like nostalgia for something you’ve never done before, it feels so intimately familiar, so deeply embedded within your psyche, that it’s impossible to separate from your actual lived experience. For me, such is the case for Taiwanese popcorn chicken.

I can smell the fragrant oil infused with five spice and soy sauce, feel the crisp batter shattering between my teeth, and taste the heady umami of the entire composition blending into one arresting high note, like a flavor so loud you can actually hear it. Forgive me for waxing poetic, but if there was ever a dish to command such flowery prose, this is it.

Ingredient Upgrades

For me, the barrier to recreating my false memory of Taiwanese popcorn chicken isn’t replacing the poultry. Thick, juicy Donko Sugimoto shiitake mushroom caps, which come with the added bonus of ample umami already built in, make that a snap. Rather, it’s the mental block I encounter when considering deep-frying foods. Tending all that scalding hot oil just isn’t a fun prospect when cravings strike, which is why I opted for the healthier, less dangerous approach of air frying. Don’t worry, it’s not a sacrifice; the results are every bit as golden brown, crispy, and delicious.

Shining a Light on Taiwanese Night Market Street Eats

Taiwanese popcorn chicken, or yan su ji (鹽酥雞), is a beloved street food that’s a fundamental pillar of Taiwan’s bustling night markets. Quick to prepare, cheap, and easy to eat without breaking your stride, this snack is often served out of bags and eaten using toothpicks. Meant for sharing, perfect to pair with a few drinks, it’s a solid plan to either kick off or wind down your evening with an order.

Unforgettable Flavors

Deceptively simple, as many of the best things are, because the secret is in the seasoning. White pepper and Sichuan peppercorns create a warm, tingling heat that grows without stinging the sinuses, introducing a mala (mouth-numbing) sensation with a citrus-y brightness. You can feel the flame without getting burned, wild as that may sound. It’s hard to describe because it’s more than a basic flavor, which is a large part of the appeal.

Fresh basil leaves get the same treatment, fried for just a moment, until crisp and almost translucent. Balancing out the complete array of flavors with an herbal, sweet, and pungent finish, it’s another example of contrasting elements working in harmony. It’s a perfect microcosm of Taiwan’s approach to food: bold, intricate, and crafted with finesse.

Swaps and Substitutions

Given such a short list of ingredients, each one counts. Donko Sugimoto shiitake mushrooms are a non-negotiable. Firmer and thicker than plebeian shiitakes, they have a deeper, more concentrated and intense umami flavor to match. If you don’t spring for the real deal, it won’t measure up. Aside from that core component, there is some room for adaptation and substitutions:

  • Soy Sauce – Tamari or coconut aminos are great swaps, and you can opt for low-sodium versions if you’d like.
  • Chinkiang (Zhenjiang) Black Vinegar – Sweeter and more mellow than most vinegars, this is one I could drink straight from the bottle. In a pinch, aged balsamic can take its place.
  • Five-Spice Powder – Ratios vary depending on who you ask, but here’s how I like to mix mine up at home. Combine 2 Tablespoons Ground Star Anise, 2 Tablespoons Crushed Cinnamon Stick Pieces, 2 Teaspoons Ground Fennel Seeds, 2 Teaspoons Ground Ginger, and 1/4 Teaspoon Ground Cloves in a coffee or spice grinder and pulverize everything to a fine, consistent powder.
  • Granulated Sugar – It’s a teeny tiny mount, but if you must keep things strictly sugar-free, use a drop of liquid stevia or monk fruit concentrate instead.
  • White Pepper – Ground ginger or mustard, while not an exact match, can fill the gaps, though I’d strongly suggest you not trying to make this trade for best results.
  • :Tapioca Starch, Cornstarch, or Potato Starch – Still need more options? Fine! Pick a starch, any starch: Arrowroot, wheat starch, sweet potato starch, cassava flour, rice flour or any combination should do the trick.
  • Sichuan Peppercorns – There’s no replacing the mala sensation, but you could create a reasonably satisfying piquancy with ground black pepper and a pinch of lemon zest.
  • Shiitake Powder or MSG – You can never have too much umami. Though optional, these put the dish over the top.

Memories In The Making

Even without legitimate memories of Taiwanese popcorn chicken, popcorn shiitake far exceeds them. Rich, meaty shiitake mushrooms have a big umami advantage, and use a fraction of the oil it would take for the traditional deep-fried approach. You get all the spicy, crispy, savory satisfaction to create a fresh, lasting impression—for real this time.

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Unseasonable, Not Unreasonable

Eggplant and tomatoes, in the dead of winter? Oh no, that’s not very seasonal of me. Such a terrible faux pas, such an obvious insult to The Natural Order Of Things. I should have just saved this for a few months and pretended it was devised in that moment, in the warm sunshine of late June, when flowers are blooming and an abundance of produce explodes back into farmers markets. I did consider it, strongly, but I also considered the fact that a little bite of summer in the middle of a dark, cold, forbidding day might be what we all need.

Let’s not kid ourselves: these ingredients are still in grocery stores across the world. It doesn’t matter where you live, or where the vegetables came from, because they’ll find their way to your local market whether you like it or not. We can thank globalization and climate change equally for that. In no way would I suggest that they’ll be as flavorful and ambrosial as peak season produce, locally grown in organic soil, mind you. I’m only suggesting that we have the option to indulge, in this small way, as a preview of what’s to come. When you need a little reminder that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, you already have the tools to see it. These vegetables will exist anyway; it would be a shame to let them languish, unloved.

Graffiti eggplant is a particularly arresting specimen, striped as if colored with gentle brushstrokes of glossy purple paint. No different from Italian globe eggplant otherwise, in terms of shape, size, or flavor, but an eye catching reminder that the fruit itself exists (and yes, it is a fruit, botanically speaking.) Best when on the smaller size to reduce the amount of watery seeds, it cooks quickly and easily in the air fryer. Sure, it would no doubt be brilliant on the grill, but let’s not forget about the actual temperature outside right now. Tender to the point of melting onto your fork, that silky sensation is heightened against the cool, toothsome pop of raw cherry tomatoes. Basil, the harbinger of midsummer revelry, feels mandatory in this situation, bright and citrus-y, bold and fresh.

That’s all it is: Eggplant and tomatoes. I would apologize for my crime against sustainability, but honestly? I have no remorse. In fact, I’d do it all again, and encourage you to as well. Like celebrating Christmas in July, sometimes we need to do what brings us the most joy, not what makes the most logical sense.

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Turnip The Beet

As much as I love a good food pun, I swear, this was completely unintentional. Up until the moment I started peeling away the outer skin, I thought for all the world that I was working with rutabaga. Then, that distinctive smell hit me; sharp and pungent, more like a radish than the sweet and starchy tuber I expected. Simply trying to use up odds and ends after another recipe photo shoot, I suppose it was fate that pumped up the volume to create these accidental turnip and beet hash browns.

Fleeced by Flannel

Red flannel hash is simply your traditional potato-based hash with addition of chopped beets, tinting all the spuds a rich ruby hue. You could perhaps squint and see it as a checkerboard arrangement with all its squares overlapping hues to account for the name. That said, it’s a bit of a misnomer because flannel itself is simply a woven fabric, regardless of pattern, despite the frequent association with a plaid or tartan. Semantics aside, it’s a humble, hearty, and comforting breakfast staple that will never let you down. Potatoes aren’t the only vegetative foundation that can support the concept.

Root Revelry

Sitting on the outskirts of most mainstream markets, turnips and rutabagas have more in common than not. You’d be forgiven for making the same mistake. Both come from the cabbage family and have a very similar appearance. Pale beige with a purple top, it’s easy to mix them up at a glace. Turnips are a bit rounder and more pale, whereas rutabaga have a darker, more yellow tint and tend to be a bit more oblong. As far as flavor goes, turnips have a subtly peppery bite, especially if eaten raw, while rutabaga have a sweeter flavor, like carrots, and a creamier texture when cooked. Fortunately, you can use both with great success; the results will be delicious regardless, just in different ways.

Serving With Style

Earthy and warming, this particular hash honors the legacy of the potato while giving it a more nuanced upgrade. The natural sweetness of red beets with punchy turnips pairs easily with almost anything to round out the plate. Infused with a smoky, savory, and subtly tangy flavor, it’s so much more than just bland, boring filler.

Serving suggestions include:

Hash It Out

Make some noise for the accidental smash hit of the winter! You’ll want to turnip the beat, on repeat, once you give it a spin.

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