Burnt Lumpia

Master of the Flying Mandoline

My skill with a kitchen knife is like that of a hobbled Bill Walton with a basketball...

Fundamentally sound, yet incredibly slow.

Yes, I can chop, dice, and slice with the best of them--I'm just chopping, dicing, and slicing at a much slower pace. I'd say it takes me the better part of an afternoon to julienne a couple of carrots.

And when it comes to dishes that require quite a bit of knifework, I'm often at a disadvantage because of the turtle-like pace of my knife-wielding hand and arm (depending on what is being wielded, my hand/arm speed varies. Kitchen knife=slow, typing unfunny jokes=fast).

So thanks to my dawdling and deliberate knife proficiency, I have more than enough reason to use a completely scary and potentially hazardous kitchen gadget: the Mandoline.

A Pair of Pandan Cocktails

Call me old-fashioned (or a drunk), but I'm usually a "beers during the week, cocktails on the weekend" kind of guy. But with all the doom and gloom being reported in the news lately (e.g. economic recession, food shortages AND escalating beer prices) I've taken to the hard stuff on a more regular basis to help me cope (and to help stretch out my own personal beer supply).

I do realize that spending more money on liquor does absolutely nothing in terms of battling the world's enviro-socio-economic-oh-oh-oh ills. But I take solace in the fact that while I don't have all the answers, I can at least forget some of the problems via a cocktail or two. At least that's what I tell the wife after she gives me the stink-eye for bringing home a bottle of Rye Whiskey instead of paper towels, eggs, and milk. Groceries, shmoceries I say!

Anyhoo, while I mostly tinker with old-timey classic cocktails like the Old-Fashioned, the Sazerac, or the Martini, I do enjoy incorporating Asian ingredients into my tipple from time to time. You do remember my Kalamansi Infused Vodka experiment don't you?

And since I've been throwing somewhat of a Pandan Party with my last couple posts (here and here), I figured it was as good a time as any to further experiment with some libations. After all, it ain't a party without a couple of cocktails, right?

Pear-Shaped?

Appearances are often deceiving.

Take the Asian Pear for instance, which, at first glance, can easily be mistaken for an apple. Asian Pears are stout and round like apples, and lack the curvy bottoms of their sisters Bosc, Bartlett, or Anjou pears.

(It's kinda like how Storm Shadow and Snake Eyes are both ninjas. You can immediately tell that Storm Shadow is a ninja because he looks like a ninja. But when you first take a gander at Snake Eyes, he can easily be mistaken for a welder. Or an S&M enthusiast. Or both. But in fact, Snake Eyes is indeed a ninja. A mute ninja armed with hand grenades. And a dog. But a ninja nonetheless.)

And despite being shaped more like Ina Garten than Rachael Ray, Asian Pears are pears nonetheless. Aside from shape, Asian Pears are also different in that they are often more firm, crisp, and juicy than other pear varietals. As such, I thought that Asian Pears would be a great vehicle for poaching since their inherent firmness would make them less likely to disintegrate into a mushy peary pulp after a long simmer in pandan-perfumed liquid.

Yup. Pandan-Poached Asian Pears.

It has a nice ring to it doesn't it?

A Taste of Pandan

I've read in a few places that Pandan is to Asia what Vanilla is to the Western world. Since I've never worked with Pandan in the kitchen before, I was a bit confused by this analogy and assumed that there was a less-than-mediocre, one-hit-wonder, wannabe rap artist by the name of "Pandan Ice" running around Asia.

Shay with a gauge and Pandan with a nine.

Turns out I was wrong. Which is a good thing. One Vanilla Ice is more than the world can stand.

Anyhoo, the Pandan/Vanilla comparison actually pertains to the wide use of Pandan in a variety of Southeast Asian dishes. Like vanilla pods, the long green leaves of the Pandan (AKA Screwpine) plant are very fragrant and aromatic. Also similar to vanilla, the unique aroma of pandan leaves is used to flavor many sweets. In the Philippines for example, Pandan is usually paired with coconut in desserts like Buko Pandan salad--a sweet mixture of pandan-perfumed milk, gelatin, and coconut.

However, it should also be noted that Pandan tastes nothing like vanilla. Some say that the aroma and flavor of Pandan is similar to that of coconuts--which is strange considering that the two ingredients are usually paired together. To me though, the flavor of Pandan is wholly unique but tastes kinda banana leafy, sorta grassy, a little bit nutty, and a lot like Jasmine rice--all at the same time. Despite my best efforts at pinning down a flavor description, the taste of Pandan is almost indescribable.

But don't let Pandan's uniqueness discourage you from using it your cooking. Even though it tastes and smells nothing like vanilla, I used some Pandan leaves in much the same way I would use vanilla pods. I steeped the leaves in some warm milk and cream to extract the wonderful Pandan fragrance and flavor--instead of plain ol' vanilla ice cream, I made Pandan ice cream.

Marrow Escape

If you were to look at my old man's life resume, a laundry list of bullet points would be on display under the "Skills" heading. Among his wide and varied talents would be the following:

• Throat Punching
• Beer Drinking
• Marrow Extracting

It could be argued that both "Throat Punching" and "Beer Drinking" are hobbies rather than skills, so I'll focus on the last item in that list for now: Marrow Extracting. Or, to put it more plainly--sucking the fatty and unctuous meat-flavored butter from animal bones. Yum!

Ah yes, bone marrow. A delicacy that seems to be catching on in many fine dining establishments these days, but something that many cultures have been feasting on for thousands of years--or at least since the 80's.

I remember many a meal at our dinner table when I was a wee lad--before I discovered the joys of marrow consumption.  My brothers and I were always instructed to give our leftover bones, from whatever we were eating, to my father. Then, with gustatory glee, my father deftly (and loudly) sucked the marrow from the bones of the creatures felled for our dinner: chicken legs, pork ribs, beef shanks, magical unicorn horns, etcetera etcetera.

Such behavior always seemed to leave my mother appalled, whereas I thought it was fairly awe-inspiring. As they say, the kalamansi doesn't fall far from the tree--I've taken quite a liking to the fatty, tasty goo found at the center of hollow bones. And for the longest time, due to my upbringing, I thought eating bone marrow was the norm. But it turns out that (besides vegetarians) there are those who are kinda grossed out by the whole idea of eating bone marrow. Strange, that.

For example, my wife and I recently joined a couple of friends for an Italian dinner at a nice restaurant. One of the appetizers on the menu was "Roasted Bone Marrow"--which I immediately ordered with zero hesitation.  When the platter of three-inch thick, oven-roasted beef bones (I'm guessing from the shank) arrived at our table, I gleefully scraped the gelatinous mass from their bony containers, spread the goo on some toast points and sprinkled on some sea salt and parsley leaves. It was good. Sinfully, deliciously good.

After a couple of delectable bites of the marrow-spread bread, I shook myself from my crazed carnivorous haze to find the rest of my table looking at me as if I had just eaten a baby.  Sure, everyone had a taste of the marrow that night, but it seemed I was the only one who truly enjoyed that appetizer--I ended up finishing the whole thing myself (not that I'm complaining).

I guess eating bone marrow could be a cultural thing--not everybody grows up with a dad that inhales the innards of animal bones. And not everyone grows up with Bulalo, AKA "Bone Soup"--an incredibly easy, yet delicious, Filipino soup made from beef shanks and bone marrow.

Lucky me.