Genetically Modified Taste Buds

Posted: June 7, 2011 | Author: emily | Filed under: desserts | Tags: Asian Food, Microwave, Red Bean | 4 Comments

Do you ever wonder what makes a person love or hate a particular kind of food so much? Is it a strictly chemical reaction, our genes, a stigma attached to that food (i.e. insects or frog’s legs), or some combination of all of these?

I think our food preferences are a mixture of nature and nurture. I have grown to love many of the foods I disliked as a child, but I don’t think I will never get over my aversion to coconut – something my mother says that I inherited from my dad. Actually, nobody on my dad’s side of the family likes coconut.

In November, I visited the aforementioned clan of coconut haters in Taiwan. My aunt was delighted to learn that many of my favorite foods were also her favorites. She exclaimed that it was proof that we were related; it was our blood that made us love red bean, black sesame, and cabbage so much.

Red bean is one of my favorite foods; I would gladly eat it by the spoonful. So would my aunt. And on this trip, I found out that my grandmother loves it, too. She can’t eat a lot of solid foods anymore, but I was happy to see that one of the few edible treats she can still enjoy (in moderation) is red bean mochi — a dessert made from sweet rice flour. It’s soft enough for her to mash between her gums, and she likes sucking on it like candy.

I won’t ever have the privilege of having a traditional, warm-fuzzies relationship with my grandma. I can’t even share a direct conversation with her, since we don’t speak the same language. But when my aunt told her how much I, too, love red bean, my grandma looked over at me with a sweet smile of recognition on her face. I felt closer to her in that moment than ever before.

I know it’s strange, but that day, I felt proud of myself for loving red bean; it was like my taste buds had passed some sort of genetic test with flying colors. Such is the power of food. Which leads us back to the original question: Are our culinary preferences passed down from one generation to the next? I don’t know. But does it really matter? Not really.

Still, if you like mochi, perhaps the chances are high that your family members will like it too. In Taiwan, it’s fairly easy to find street vendors who make mochi from scratch. However, here in America, I’ve noticed that packages of red bean mochi in Asian supermarkets often contain preservatives, since they were shipped from elsewhere.

Avoiding preservatives is always a plus. It’s actually fairly simple to make mochi from scratch. Traditionally, mochi is steamed, but I love the fact that you can make such a seemingly impressive dessert in the microwave.

Red bean mochi - from the microwave.

5-minute Microwavable Mochi

Ingredients
3/4 cup sweet rice flour (mochiko flour)
3/4 cup water
1 tsp vanilla extract (optional)
1/4 cup sugar (optional – feel free to omit if you’re going to fill the mochi with sweet red bean paste)
Corn starch, for rolling out the dough
a plastic knife

Directions
Combine all the ingredients except tapioca/corn starch in a microwavable bowl; stir until smooth. Cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap and microwave for 5 minutes on high. While that’s happening, sprinkle a generous layer of corn starch on a cutting board or other clean surface. When the mochi is finished heating, it will be opaque and sticky. It shouldn’t be runny at all.

Remove the bowl from the microwave carefully with a towel or oven mitt, since it will be hot. Undo the plastic wrap, being careful to avoid the hot steam as it escapes.

Use a spoon to scoop the mochi onto the prepared cutting board. It will be extremely sticky. Don’t panic if you can’t get it off the spoon. Just do your best. Corn starch will be your new best friend for the next few minutes. Make sure to coat your fingers with it before attempting to handle the monstrously sticky mochi. Cut it into manageable chunks with a plastic knife (amazingly, the mochi doesn’t seem to stick to the plastic much, and it gives a clean cut). You can either eat it like this, on top of ice cream or frozen yogurt (a la Pinkberry), or you can make red bean mochi.

Sweetened red bean paste is basically made by cooking red beans until tender, and then mashing them with sugar into a smooth, thick paste that is similar to the texture of refried beans. You can buy it at the Japanese market, packaged either in a pouch or tin can. I prefer the pouch because if you don’t finish the package, you can store the rest in the fridge. (Hint: It’s surprisingly delicious in oatmeal.)

To make the red bean mochi, simply squeeze some red bean paste onto a flat disc of mochi dough (it’s OK if it’s coated with corn starch) and shape the dough around the filling to form an enclosed ball – kind of like wrapping a dumpling. Unfortunately, you may find that your fingers will get slightly scathed from handling the hot mochi, but it’s easier to shape the dough before it gets too cool. The mochi can be stored in an airtight container for up to 3 days.

Die Not Rhubarb Pie

Posted: June 3, 2011 | Author: Felice | Filed under: desserts | Tags: rhubarb pie | 3 Comments

My grandparents were the number 10. He was tall and skinny and she was short and round. He was quiet, worked hard, and was humble and grateful for everything she cooked. Sincerely grateful–like he had never had such good food in his life, yet he ate from her magic plates every day. She was feisty and determined and was always at work trying to find ways to improve anything in her life that dissatisfied her. However, no one was dissatisfied with anything she created in the kitchen. There is well known lore about my grandmother that if there were only 5 random ingredients in the kitchen, she would find a way to make something delicious. She was Macgyver in an apron.

As a child I used to sit on the floor in a corner of her kitchen and watch in awe, lulled by the swishing sound of her nylons (or maybe it was a girdle) as she moved from one side of the kitchen to another. Her soft face was always dewy with a thin layer of perspiration. She made everything “from scratch.” She may have even ground her own wheat. I wouldn’t be surprised. They were both from a small farming community in Utah, and even after years of living in different places, they still had a naive country quality about them. They trusted everyone. This made them prey to a few swindlers, but for the most part, it was their greatest quality.

My grandfather was a civil engineer and used to work building bridges and dams, so they moved around with his work. They had 7 kids, and the money was never quite enough, so may grandmother always found a way to make more. When my grandfather was working on a bridge in Eastern Washington, she rented a giant house and took in boarders (other engineers and people he worked with) and their board included meals. I guess if you are already cooking for so many, what’s a few to 10 more?

This meant that the kids had plenty of cooking chores. My oldest aunt spent a lot of time in the kitchen with her mother. At the time, I think she resented it, but my aunt Tanja is also a fabulous cook.

I got the best of both worlds and inherited my grandma’s cooking skills and my grandfather’s metabolism. Which means that I can actually enjoy my own cooking, unlike my grandmother, who was always dieting. I never diet. To me, diet is “die” with a “t.” It helps that I eat healthy and I don’t go crazy over sweets. But this week I did something I rarely do. I made a pie.

I am very snobby about pies. I will only eat a home-made pie with home-made crust. I usually make apple pie if I am going to make one, but somewhere out of the deep unexplainable came a craving for rhubarb pie. Rhubarb is apparently a country pie (most people in the city don’t know what rhubarb looks like–they are missing out). So it took a few weeks of searching until I finally found rhubarb, and I made a pie that would have made grandma break her diet.

I finally found it at Whole Foods

Isn’t it strange and gorgeous? It looks like red celery. It is tart, and so when you add sugar and orange juice to it sings.

Here is the recipe:

Rhubarb Filling:

4 cups chopped rhubarb

3/4 cup all-purpose Flour
1 1/4 cups white sugar (I used organic cane sugar)
3 tablespoons orange juice

1/2 tablespoon butter

Crust:

2 1/2 c. flour

1/2 c. butter (one stick), chilled

1/2 c. solid vegetable shortening, chilled

sugar

pinch salt

4 Tbsp ice water

1 tsp cinnamon (optional)

beaten egg (for glazing)

Directions:

The secret to pie crust is to use half butter, half shortening. This makes the perfect flaky yummy crust. All butter or all shortening just doesn’t taste as good. Also, I like to always use the highest quality ingredients–like organic and non GMO products. Because why make an awesome recipe with low-grade ingredients that may actually be killing you? But enough about that.

Mix together flour, sugar, cinnamon and salt, then cut in butter and shortening into bowl or food processor. If you don’t have a food processor, do it the old school way like I did, with a fork. Cut till resembles fine crumbs. Slowly add one Tablespoon of ice water at a time until dough just sticks together. Don’t over process or dough becomes tough.

Split into two balls. (Makes 2 pie crusts.)

Chill in refrigerator 45 minutes.

Heat oven to 350 degrees.

Mix together filling ingredients (except butter) and let sit in juices while you roll out the pie dough into a 12-inch round. Line 9-inch pie dish with the dough. Fill with rhubarb filling and place pad of butter in center. Cover with top crust. Cut a vent in the top. Brush with egg. Bake in preheated oven for 30-45 minutes or until filling is thick and bubbling.