Tag: recipe

Smash Hit

It should look like a murder scene when you’ve done it right. Guts splayed out across the inky black hard wood on full display, hemorrhaging fast into the gutters, it’s perverse in how right it feels. Beauty in decay, creation through destruction… Or maybe just a fun way to dispatch a garden variety vegetable.

You know how they say there are people who have a very punchable face? That’s how I feel about English cucumbers. Like water balloons waiting to be thrown, their existence inspires an insatiable urge for a very specific, target aggression. Aside from the instant gratification of destroying something beautiful, bashing cucumbers rather than merely slicing them actually serves a very flavorful purpose. The uneven nooks and crannies created by forcing them to split open allows them to more readily absorb dressing, whereas smooth cuts yield slick surfaces that let it roll right off.

This technique is typically seen in Asian cuisine, paired with fiery chilies to contrast with the cooling effect of chilled cucumbers, but that’s not the only game in town. Inspired by a splash of leftover gin, so scant that it barely seemed worth saving, I turned the classic Cucumber Collins cocktail into a salad. An herbaceous yet subtle foundation, a touch of citrus, and a hint of sweetness turn this act of vegetable vengeance into a thing of elegance and refinement.

Allow yourself the raw, primal joy of intentionally obliterating your ingredients. Amid the chaos, there’s a different kind of harmony, and perhaps a deeper appreciation for their resilience. Broken open, the cucumber is only stronger, more flavorful than ever.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)9 Comments

Center of the Cinnamon Roll

It’s not every day, or even every year, that I get the chance to share a guest post on the blog, so you have to know that this one’s special. I’m lucky enough to have a local chef Craig Vanis of Bistro Vonish joining us to share a story that’s both personal and delicious. As someone with a deep love for food and tradition, Craig reflects on the small yet unforgettable moments that food can create. Especially as we near Mother’s Day, it feels especially poignant as he takes us back in time to his grandmother’s kitchen, where cinnamon rolls were more than just a treat, but also a symbol of connection and joy. It’s a real treat to have him share that moment in time along with the recipe that’s been a part of his family for years. -HK

Somehow, grandmas always have the best treats. It’s a fact. Maybe our memories of those goodies tasting so great is due to a childish regression. Or maybe, and I think this is more likely, everyone is factually correct in remembering their grandma’s snacks as superlative. Having those little treats at Grandma’s house is always going to be a little slice of joy so wholesome that Norman Rockwell wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Being a descendant of Bohemian immigrants, kolaches were a must have at Grandma Vanis’s house (only the sweet varieties are “kolache” in a Czech home, and the poppyseed filling is especially popular). But kolaches were not my favorite treat in her kitchen. My favorite? The Cinnamon Roll. Yes. Singular Cinnamon Roll. Specifically, Grandma’s Giant Cinnamon Roll (™). How giant? Giant. About 10 inches across. Approximately 120 cubic inches. It was as if a whole loaf of monkey bread was twirled to maximized cinnamon-sugar surface area. “Quick! Tell me about grandma’s cinnamon roll.” I’d say, “It’s huge!”

Her mid-western farm house was always abuzz with innumerable grand kids, and eventually, great grand kids. The Cinnamon Roll was an ever-winding solitary behemoth, spiraling out to the far reaches of a large pie pan. A horizontal monolith of hypnotic enjoyment. We would cut sections off of the outer edge as the circumference tightened in on itself (full disclosure: we probably used our fingers unless an adult was watching), relishing each delightful morsel while we caught up with the extended family.

There’s a delicate dance to this ritual where you do not want to fill up too much on the outer layers, lest you miss being the lucky duck whose final big bite includes the point from which all cinnamon-sugar elation radiates. The very concept of a dopamine rush made incarnate and leavened with yeast. The headliner in this amazing festival of treats. The checkered flag in the pastry grand prix. The Center. The Center of Grandma’s Giant Cinnamon Roll (™).

This is where the cinnamon-sugar is concentrated while being endlessly wound during assembly. It is where the icing pools and gently soaks in while the pastry race is in progress. And unlike other cinnamon rolls, this center is attained by beating your siblings and cousins in a criterium race to the treasure. Eat too little and you’ll never get there. Eat too much and you’ll be too full to compete at crunch time. It’s not just that the center is the moistest, or sweetest, or gooiest. The center of this cinnamon roll tastes like victory.

The rules to this game of Duck Duck Cinnamon Goose chasing bites around the pie pan are sacred. And it is this sanctity which keeps the calm and order during this adventure. And woe to whomever skips ahead to pluck The Center before it is time. That person will meet the wrath of this sugar-fueled mob, and feel the ire of a whole half of a family tree. This betrayal will plant a grudge that will persist for decades.

So be warned. This Ceylon-spiced key to delight can also unlock a bedlam not known since William Golding stranded that group of British school boys on an island.

Now that you know the stakes, I offer this recipe up to you, dear reader, in hopes of sharing a sliver of these happy memories with you and your loved ones.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)4 Comments

Finessing Fennel

Fennel is not a common line item on my grocery list. Apparently, the same can be said for most of America, judging by the distinct lack of bulbs chilling in the produce department. Fresh fennel is one of those ingredients that I’ll buy for a recipe, kick myself for not buying more often after remembering its brilliance, and promptly forgetting again. Though polarizing like cilantro, the licorice-like flavor is one that I love. That fresh, herbal flavor that shines through whether cooked or raw is utterly inimitable.

Most recipes focus on the crisp base itself, forsaking the stalks and fronds. After going through all the trouble (and expense) of getting fresh fennel, you’d better believe I’m not about to let any of it go to waste. Fennel pesto is an easy solution for zero-waste satisfaction.

Apply liberally anywhere you’d use basil pesto. Pasta; salad; bruschetta; rice pilaf; soup; anywhere you want a little botanical infusion can benefit from a spoonful. If you want a drink pairing, try any gin cocktail to pick up on the complex aromatics found within.

How could anyone forsake the delicate fronds and more robust stems of fennel, especially after going through the trouble of securing the whole vegetable? For your own happiness, health, and frugality, never throw away any part of fennel again. If you like it enough to cook with it, you’ll love squeezing out every last drop of flavor.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)7 Comments

Trash Talk

Sometimes you just feel like hot garbage. Other times, you feel like eating hot garbage.

Wait, stay with me here!

Good Garbage

Though I’ve long been an outspoken proponent of eating trash, salvaging scraps and otherwise wasted food, I’m talking about something else entirely here. “Garbage” is a term used more liberally in this case, as a flippant descriptor of such an unapologetically messy, overloaded pile of fried potatoes. Not every meal needs to be gorgeous to have instant appeal. It’s perfect for when comfort food cravings become increasingly urgent, overriding any concerns about sticky fingers or hot sauce stains.

My hot garbage fries were inspired by the silly little plastic trash can vessel, to be perfectly honest, but probably work even better on a plate. Every crispy plank of fluffy fried potato should be saturated with the mess on top; a creamy, spicy sauce, meatless steak, crunchy onions, and sliced jalapeños for a final fiery bite. The combination is so simple, so obvious, that it feels redundant to write out a full recipe… And yet, it does serve as a helpful reminder that yes, it is precisely that simple and obvious.

Make Your Own Mess

Use this blueprint to build your own French fry dumpster fire upon. A few quick and easy swaps include:

  • Vegan Steak: As a luxury item, this isn’t one I often have on hand either. Any beef-like plant-based protein works beautifully (or sloppily?) here, such as crumbled veggie burgers, chopped seitan, meatless grounds, or even old fashioned TVP chunks.
  • Yellow Onion: Some people don’t appreciate the raw edge of an uncooked onion, and while they’re wrong, that’s okay. Use sliced scallions or chives for the same allium essence, minus the harsh sinus stinging.
  • Cilantro: Similarly, some poor souls process the flavor of cilantro as being akin to soap. My condolences. Either omit it or try using fresh basil for a flavorful change of pace.
  • Jalapeños: If you want to really pump up the heat, opt for peppers that fall high on the Scoville scale, such as serranos, habaneros, or scotch bonnets. Proceed with caution!

Trash is Cash

Next time you’re having a trashy day, don’t fight it. Lean into the hot mess with an equally chaotic, disorderly, and satisfyingly sloppy pile of hot garbage fries. If it’s so bad that you need a good cry, you can always blame the hot peppers, too.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)5 Comments

Fiddle-Faddle Flädle

If you think about it, it’s a very fine line that divides bread and pasta. Leaveners; baking vs boiling; otherwise, it could be the same dough. There’s much more nuance to it, of course… And that’s where things get interesting.

Crepes, AKA pancakes, AKA pan-fried bread, could bridge that divide with remarkable ease. Such thin strips of a lightly toasted wheat batter are tender lengths of linguine waiting to happen. That’s the basic premise behind fläedlesuppe. Swirling in a clear broth, they add body to a brilliantly simple dish, the essence of comfort in a bowl. If you’ve enjoyed the warmth and soul-restorative powers of chicken noodle soup, you already know how compelling this combination can be.

We have the creativity of early Swabians to thank for this specialty. Flädle itself refers to the paper thin pancakes that are rolled and then sliced into delicate ribbons. Traditionally, fläedlesuppe consists only of these sliced crepes and a rich beef broth, perhaps with a few flecks of scallions or chives for color. In Austria, it’s known as frittatensuppe and in France, consommé célestine is essentially the same thing, though sometimes the pancakes are filled with cheese, as the French are apt to do.

Theoretically, it’s a brilliant way to use up leftovers, but practically, who has leftover crepes or pancakes? These are worth making fresh for the sole purpose of swimming in soup. There’s really nothing else to the dish, nothing more to be cooked, so it’s not any more work than it takes to whip up your average stack of flapjacks. If anything, it’s an ideal opportunity to practice your flipping skills; even if they end up torn or misshapen, they’ll just be sliced up anyway.

Especially on cold days, flädlesuppe feels like a warm embrace. It’s a dish that offers comfort in its simplest form—nourishing, soothing, and unpretentious. I see it as a very hopeful dish too. If bread can also be noodles, anything is possible. Even the most basic ingredients can turn into something extraordinary with creativity and care.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)6 Comments

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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Hannah (BitterSweet)8 Comments