Deep-Fried Bananas: A Dessert from the Mekong

The Setting: An apartment in need of a good cleaning, a bit of last-minute packing, and some mouths to help eat all the ice-cream that remains in our freezer!

The Soundtrack: The Lion King.

Steaming up the Oven: Nothing now, but the promise of chipotle-gazed shrimp is on the horizon.

The Scenario: As Hoosband and I prepare to depart for Dallas and then Fairfax this summer, the journey down the Mekong with Hot Sour Salty Sweet comes to an end, like any good meal, with dessert.

It's been a pretty ridiculous month or two.

Oia turned nine-months old in April (which I'm still trying to wrap my head around), so she is busy discovering her world, increasing her hand-and-knee mph, and becoming increasingly harder to keep up with--I know, it's just the beginning.

Work on the cookbook has been keeping Hoosband and I well-padded, well beyond winter.

Preparing for three moves (and many long car rides) this summer has had us packing, cleaning, organizing, and agonizing.

And Hot Sour Salty Sweet has been indulging our adventurous sides in the kitchen and on the blog.

Like any worthy adventure, the journey down the Mekong with Alford and Duguid has had its ups and its downs: Vietnamese Chicken Salad will be a new staple in our household; homemade rice noodles will not.

However, the very best adventures always end on a high note, or at least a redemptive one, and I'm pleased to report the conclusion to our culinary journey through Southeast Asia is both.

Not only did I manage to actually track down every ingredient in the recipe and successfully execute the instructions--yes mom (and Hoosband, and teachers throughout the years), it's possible--but the resulting crispy puffs of deep-fried deliciousness were, well, delicious.

I am a lifelong connoisseur of both bananas and all-things fried, but these Thai treasures were surprisingly scrumptious, even to me. I think it's the roasted sesame seeds in the batter that send this dessert from "hey, not bad" to "betcha can't eat just three."

Try the recipe for yourself and let me know what you think--I'd love your feedback.

And if you like what you've seen here, remember to check out Hot Sour Salty Sweet for more of Alford and Duguid's mouthwatering memories from the Mekong.

I know I'll be planning my return trip soon!

The following recipes are reprinted with permission from Artisan Books; my notes are in red.

Fried Bananas (gluay khaek--Thailand)
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup rice flour, or more if needed
1/2 tsp baking powder
2 T sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup water or canned or fresh coconut milk I used the kind in the carton from Silk.
1 T Dry-Roasted Sesame Seeds (page 308 see below) (optional)
4 to 5 firm ripe bananas I had just enough batter for 4 large bananas
Peanut oil for deep-frying

In a large bowl, mix together the flours, baking powder, sugar, and salt. Add the water or coconut milk little by little, stirring until a smooth batter forms. The batter should be a smooth paste, not watery; add a little extra rice flour if it seems thin. Stir in the sesame seeds, if using. Let stand for 10 minutes.

Peel the bananas. Cut crosswise in half, then slice each lengthwise into 3 slices.

Place a heavy pot or stable large wok over high heat. Add oil to a depth of about 1 1/2 inches (in the deepest part of the wok) and heat until the oil just starts to smoke. I personally do not recommend letting the oil smoke, but it should start to sort of shimmer and almost ripple. To test for temperature, add a blob of batter to the oil: It should sink and then rise back up immediately, without turning black. If it blackens quickly, the oil is too hot and you should reduce the heat to medium-high. If it doesn't rise back up to the surface, the oil is not yet hot enough; wait another minute or two before testing again. Place a paper towel-lined plate by your cooking surface. I like to place a cooling rack on top of a paper towel-lined baking sheet.

When the oil is at the right temperature, place a banana piece in the batter and turn to coat it, then slip it in the hot oil. Repeat with a second piece of banana. If the banana is very ripe and a little soft, the pieces may break up into two smaller pieces; don't worry, it doesn't matter. Most of mine broke; they were no less delicious. Deep-fry, turning them over halfway through cooking, until golden brown, 1 to 2 minutes, depending on the size of your pot. Remove with a slotted spoon, pausing to allow excess oil to drain off, and place on the paper towel-lined plate. Repeat with the remaining bananas. Transfer the cooked bananas to a plate and cover or place in a 150 degree F oven to keep warm. Serve hot. I couldn't resist sifting a little powdered sugar over the tops of the fried bananas, not that it is at all necessary. Also, while they are best served hot, I found them equally as addictive at room temperature and even straight out of the fridge the next morning with a hot cup of coffee.

Makes 24 to 30 pieces; serves 4 to 8, depending on the size of your bananas.

Note: Vietnamese restaurants often serve a colonial fusion version of this, called bananes flambees. Long slices of banana are pressed flat, dipped in batter, and fried. Just before they go to the table, they're dusted with sugar and then a liqueur or high-alcohol rum is poured over and set alight. The bananas arrive glowing with quiet blue flames.

Excerpted from Hot Sour Salty Sweet by Jeffrey Alford & Naomi Duguid (Artisan Books). Copyright 2000.

Dry-Roasted Sesame Seeds
Like peanuts, these contain a lot of oil, so they can burn very quickly. Place a heavy skillet over medium-high heat and add about 1/2 cup sesame seeds (or whatever quantity you wish to roast). Use a wooden spoon to stir them continuously and keep them from burning. Once they are golden and aromatic, lower the heat slightly and continue to stir and turn until they are a rich golden brown. Transfer to a bowl and stir several times as they cool to help the steam escape. When they are completely cool and dry, store in a sealed glass container in a cool place.

If you want to crush or grind roasted sesame seeds, use a spice grinder or a mortar and pestle. The Japanese mortar known as a suribachi has ridges inside its bowl, ideal for grinding sesame seeds.

Excerpted from Hot Sour Salty Sweet by Jeffrey Alford & Naomi Duguid (Artisan Books). Copyright 2000.

Thanks for reading! Here's to Being the Secret Ingredient in your life.

Vietnamese Chicken Salad

The Setting: A somewhat rainy, somewhat chilly spring day in good ole' South Bend.

The Soundtrack: Cars and buses breezing by; Oia's dreamy breathing.

Steaming up the Oven: Leftover Ham and Kale pizza.

The Scenario: Did the Crispy Rice Chips, Grilled Tomato Salsa, and Spicy Cucumber Salad whet your appetite for more of Alford and Duguid's Southeast-Asian finds?

If so, you're in luck, because today we're headed to Vietnam for ga xe phai, or Vietnamese Chicken Salad, a hot, sour, salty, and sweet entree that'll have you packing your bags and stamping your passport by the time you can ask for seconds.

Vietnamese Chicken Salad may be something you can find at your local Asian-bistro chain in the States, but that doesn't make it any less authentic. Alford and Duguid found this version many years ago at a mom-and-pop establishment in Vietnam, and to this day it's one of their favorite dishes.

One of the things that makes this dish so special to the authors is the inclusion of rau ram, or Vietnamese coriander, a "strong, distinctive-tasting herb" (Hot Sour Salty Sweet, p197) that is not at all reminiscent of the coriander we in the States know as cilantro.

Unfortunately, I have been, as of yet, unable to track down any rau ram in my general vicinity.

Fortunately, the authors suggest a few alternatives. I used a mixture of mint and sweet basil in my salad, and the combo was incredible.

Hoosband and I served the salad atop freshly steamed brown rice, which helped diffuse a bit of the heat from the Serrano peppers and created nice contrasts of hot and cold and soft and crunchy...though honestly, I could easily eat the whole bowl of this stuff by itself if left to my own devices.

With saltiness from the fish sauce and vinegar, sweetness from the sugar, sourness from the lime juice, and heat from the chiles, this dish is a prime example of Southeast-Asian cuisine's mastery of combining opposing-yet-complementary tastes in a single dish.

Easy...tasty...healthy...what more can you ask for?

This recipe is reprinted with permission from Artisan Books; my notes are in red.

Vietnamese Chicken Salad with Rau Ram (ga xe phai --Vietnam)

2 pounds chicken legs and/or breasts, rinsed (see Note below) I used 1 pound boneless, skinless chicken breasts; also I never rinse my chicken--it gets the juces everywhere and creates more opportunities for contamination.
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice
3 tablespoons Thai or Vietnamese fish sauce
2 T rice or cider vinegar
1 tsp sugar, or to taste
2 to 3 bird or Serrano chiles, minced I used 2 Serrano with the seeds and membranes
3 shallots, thinly sliced
1 cup bean sprouts, rinsed I omitted these because my market did not have any at the time
2 cups shredded napa cabbage, or substitute finely shredded Savoy cabbage I used 3 cups of packaged cole slaw shreds with carrot and red cabbage
2/3 cup Vietnamese coriander leaves (rau ram), coarsely torn, or substitute Asian basil or sweet basil leaves, torn, or 1/2 cup finely chopped mint leaves plus extra whole leaves for garnish I used half mint and half sweet basil
freshly ground black or white pepper

Place a heavy pot with about 4 cups water in it on the stove to boil. When simmering, add the chicken and poach until the juices run clear when the flesh id pierced with a skewer, 25 to 30 minutes. Remove the chicken from the cooking liquid and let cool; reserve the broth for another purpose. (The chicken can be cooked ahead, and stored, once cooled to room temperature, in a well-sealed container in the refrigerator, for up to 48 hours. Before proceeding, bring back to room temperature.) My boneless, skinless breasts took about 25 minutes at a very gentle simmer.

Remove and discard the chicken skin, lift the meat off the bones, and pull into shreds. There should be about two cups of meat.

In a small bowl, stir together the lime juice, fish sauce, vinegar, sugar, chiles, and garlic. Separate the shallot slices into rings, then add to the dressing. Let stand for 30 minutes, if you have time. I did this step before I put the chicken on to simmer so the shallots could hang out in the dressing as the chicken poached.

Blanch the bean sprouts in boiling water (or the reserved chicken broth) for about 30 seconds, then refresh with cold water and drain thoroughly. In a large bowl, combine the chicken, bean sprouts, cabbage, and herbs. Pour the dressing over and toss gently to blend well. I mixed up the dressing in a large bowl so I could add everything else straight to the dressing without dirtying extra dishes.

Mound the salad decoratively on a plate. Grind pepper over if you wish, and garnish with herb leaves.

Serves 4 with rice or noodles.

Note: If you already have 2 cups or more of cooked chicken, you can use it. Just shred it into bite-size pieces, then mix up the dressing and assemble the salad as directed. This salad is traditionally served with deep-fried shrimp chips. We like it simply with rice or noodles.

Excerpted from Hot Sour Salty Sweet by Jeffrey Alford & Naomi Duguid (Artisan Books). Copyright 2000.

***

I hope you are enjoying our trip down the Mekong. Stay tuned for more tasty travels and our final entree from Hot Sour Salty Sweet, coming soon!

Thanks for reading! Here's to Being the Secret Ingredient in your life.

Spicy Cucumber Salad

The Setting: Wednesday, already?

The Soundtrack: Just the gentle sleep-sounds of my little Oia-bug.

Steaming up the Oven: Nothing yet, but who knows what the night will bring?

The Scenario: The journey down the Mekong continues!

When the authors of Hot Sour Salty Sweet, Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid, first began exploring Southeast Asia in the 1970s, they were limited to visiting Thailand and Myanmar (Burma) because of wartime restrictions prohibiting outsiders from entering China, Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia.

One of the first formerly restricted areas to loosen its restrictions after the war was the Yunnan Province of China, where Alford and Duguid picked up today's tasty tidbit, layou huanggua, or Spicy Cucumber Salad.

This snappy salad that celebrates the tastes of hot, salty, and sweet is as simple to make as it is to inhale.

I snacked on some of the crisp cukes immediately after dousing them with the hot oil, as the recipe suggests, and Hoosband and I savored the rest, slightly softened, as a side dish with some burgers later that night--I know, probably not what the authors intended, but delicious nonetheless.

The only problem I ran into with this recipe was an inability to source Sichuan peppercorns.

I subbed in black peppercorns (no relation to the Sichuan, but I had them on hand) and used an entire jalapeno (instead of the half called for in the recipe) to make up for some of the lost heat. I considered throwing in a dash of Chinese Five Spice powder, since Sichuan peppercorns are one of its five spices, but I held back. Something to try next time!

This recipe is reprinted with permission from Artisan Books; my notes are in red.

Spicy Cucumber Salad (layou huanggua--Yunnan)
In this salad the cucumbers are first dressed with a little vinegar, then dressed again with hot oil. The contrast of smooth chile-warm oil and crisp fresh cucumber is a knockout. The salad has a mild but not aggressive heat made with the 5 dried chiles. Note that the cucumbers will soften if they're left standing, so don't pour the hot oil over them until just before you with to serve the salad.

1 large or 2 medium European cucumbers (1 to 1 1/4 pounds) I used 4 European cucumbers, as I felt mine were especially small
2 T rice vinegar
1 T sugar
2 T peanut or vegetable oil
5 Thai dried chiles, or 3 for milder heat
1/2 jalapeno, minced I minced and used the whole pepper with all the ribs and seeds
7 Sichuan peppercorns I used black peppercorns, but they are not a legitimate substitution from what I've read
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 cup packed torn coriander leaves (cilantro; I finely minced mine)

Peel the cucumber, leaving some thin strips of peel on if you wish, for a decorative effect.

Cut lengthwise into quarters and discard the seeds. I did not discard the seeds, as that would have left me with very little cucumber.

Use the flat side of a cleaver or large knife to bash the cucumber pieces several times.

Cut the pieces lengthwise into thinner strips, then cut crosswise into 2-inch lengths.

Place in a medium bowl. In a small bowl, mix together the vinegar and sugar. Pour over the cucumber, mix well, and set aside.

Place a wok or skillet over high heat. When it is hot, add the oil and swirl to coat the pan.

Toss in the dried chiles, jalapeno, and peppercorns and stir-fry for 20-30 seconds. Pour this over the cucumbers. Sprinkle on the salt and mix well.

Mound the salad in a shallow bowl. Sprinkle on the coriander leaves and serve immediately.

Serves 4 as a salad or as one of many dishes in a rice meal.

Note: The traditional way to make this uses 3 tablespoons of oil, giving a well-oiled texture that may be undesirable. If you wish, try both and see which you prefer.

Excerpted from Hot Sour Salty Sweet by Jeffrey Alford & Naomi Duguid (Artisan Books). Copyright 2000.

Stay tuned for more tasty travels down the Mekong with Alford and Duguid, coming soon!

Thanks for reading! Here's to Being the Secret Ingredient in your life.

The Journey Down the Mekong River Begins!

The Setting: An apartment in need of a good vacuuming, as grains of white rice and other bits of debris from the weekend's culinary adventures are surely lurking in places where a curious, crawling monster is certain to find them.

The Soundtrack: Winds, raging outside my open window to a tune that the wildly rollicking tree limbs never knew they could play.

Steaming up the (microwave) Oven: Water for tea; It's a Lemon Zinger kind of day.

The Scenario: If you read the reference in my last post to a sheet of rice in my oven, you may have wondered what that was all about. You may have even wondered why the heck it was taking me so long to post about it as promised.

Well, today I am pleased to answer those questions, and in doing so, to invite you on a tasty trip down the Mekong River, as we dive into Hot Sour Salty Sweet (a Culinary Journey through Southeast Asia) by Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid.

When I began to peruse this enormous culinary tome that reads half like a cookbook and half like an anthropological travel guide through Southeast Asia, I could tell it would take a while to select the five or so recipes I'd post on the blog.

Where to begin?!

Should I approach the recipe selection geographically, beginning with a dish from China or Myanmar and working my way down through Laos, Thailand, Cambodia, and Vietnam?

Should I stick with one region and explore it in depth?

I decided, at last, to approach the task as the book does, organizing recipes into standard categories of appetizers, salads, main courses, and desserts, and celebrating the ties the unique regional cuisines share with each other through the artful mingling of tastes: hot, sour, salty, and sweet.

Today I offer you a delicious appetizer of nam mi he man, or Grilled Tomato Salsa, from the Dai area of Southern Yunnan, China; and khao tang, or Crispy Rice Crackers, from Laos and Thailand.

These dishes, as you would expect, primarily play up the tastes of salty and hot, but charring the garlic and tomatoes before making the incredibly simple salsa helps to slightly concentrate and highlight their inherent sweetness as well.

With a flavor somewhat reminiscent of homemade popcorn, the Thai-Lao Crispy Rice Crackers are a delightful alternative to tortilla chips...if, that is, you can manage to make them.

It took me three tries (and most of the weekend), but my final batch was a big success. Check out the end of the post for my blooper reel and tips to help you avoid my blunders.

The following recipes are reprinted with permission from Artisan Books; I have added my notes in red.

Grilled Tomato Salsa (nam mi he man--Dai area of Southern Yunnan)

4 cloves garlic
3 medium juicy tomatoes
1 to 2 Serrano or bird chiles, minced (optional) I used 1 Serrano with the seeds and membranes
1/2 tsp salt, or to taste
1/2 cup chopped coriander (cilantro)

Heat a charcoal or gas grill. Place the garlic and tomatoes on a fine-mesh rack on the grill and grill until well blackened in spots on one side, then use tongs to turn them. Continue to cook, turning the tomatoes as necessary to expose all sides to the heat, until the garlic and tomatoes are well scorched and softened, 8-10 minutes. Alternatively (I used this method), heat a heavy skillet over high heat. Place the garlic and tomatoes in the skillet and lower the heat to medium-high.

As soon as the garlic and tomatoes blacken on one side, use tongs to turn them and cook, until well scorched and softened, 8 to 10 minutes.

Peel the garlic, chop or mash, and place in a food processor. Coarsely chop the tomatoes, saving the juice, and add the tomatoes and juice to the processor. Add the chiles, if using, and pulse several times to blend; do not process to a puree. Transfer to a bowl and stir in the salt. Store refrigerated no more than 2 days.

Stir in the coriander just before serving.

Makes 1 1/2 cups salsa.

Excerpted from Hot Sour Salty Sweet by Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid (Artisan Books). Copyright 2000.

Thai-Lao Crispy Rice Crackers (khao tang--Laos, Thailand)

2 cups or more just-cooked jasmine rice I used 2 cups "enriched white long grain rice"
Peanut or other oil for deep-frying I used peanut oil

Use warm to hot rice. With a rice paddle or wooden spoon, spread rice onto a lightly oiled baking sheet to make a layer about 1/2 inch thick. Press down with your paddle to compact the rice so that it sticks together. Don't worry about ragged edges, as you will be breaking up the rice into large crackers after it dries. My rice was very sticky and hard to spread out; with my final batch I lined the baking sheet with parchment paper, and I found that if I wetted my hands and used them to gently pat out the rice, re-wetting as necessary, the rice was easier to work with--just be careful, as the rice is hot. Also, press the grains so that they stick together, but avoid compacting the grains too much, as this results in tougher crackers.

Place the baking sheet in a preheated 350-degree F oven and immediately lower the temperature to 250 degrees F. Let dry for 3 to 4 hours. The bottom will be lightly browned. I left my final batch in for 2 1/2 hours. The top was drier and more off-white in color, while the bottom was stickier and whiter.

When the rice is dry, lift it off the baking sheet in pieces.

Break it into smaller pieces (about 2 inches across, or as you please), then store well sealed in a plastic bag until ready to use. I waited a day before frying my successful batch.

To fry the crackers, heat 2 to 3 inches of peanut oil in a large well-balanced wok, deep fryer, or large heavy pot to 325 to 350 degrees F.

To test the temperature, drop a small piece of fried (dried) rice cake into the oil: It should sink to the bottom and immediately float back to the surface without burning or crisping. Adjust the heat as necessary.

Add several pieces of dried rice cracker to the hot oil and watch as the rice grains swell up. When the first sides stop swelling, turn them over and cook on the other side until well puffed and just starting to brown (about 30 seconds in all). Use a slotted spoon to remove them immediately to a paper towel-lined platter or rack to drain.

Gather up any small broken pieces; these make delicious croutons. Fry the remaining pieces of rice cracker the same way, making sure that the oil is hot enough each time. Serve hot and fresh, to accompany soup or salsa. Store in a cool place for no more than a week.

Excerpted from Hot Sour Salty Sweet by Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid (Artisan Books). Copyright 2000.

Bloopers

I admit I've been on Hoosband-enforced rice-cooking probation for most of my marriage due to my lack of finesse with the finicky grain. So if someone was going to mess this recipe up, it's no surprise that it would be me.

Mistake number 1: I disregarded the recipe's call for jasmine rice and used the generic white rice I had on hand. I got the recipe to work in the end, but had I followed instructions from the beginning, perhaps it wouldn't have taken all weekend.

Mistake number 2: Speaking of following directions, if I'd only followed those printed on the bag my generic white rice came in, I might have avoided the gluey mess that was batch one.

You want to start with rice, not rice pudding. I boiled too much rice in too much water for too much time, spread the starchy mess in a well-greased jellyroll pan, and found THIS 3 hours later:

You are looking at one of TWO midnight-blue alien rice circles that materialized while this bad boy was in the oven. Someone call Mulder and Scully.

Freakish occurrences aside, it's likely sheet one would have been scrapped anyway, as the top and edges were a shatterable sheath atop a gross, goopy interior.

Once I made my peace with the instructions on the side of the bag and produced something recognizable as rice, I thought I had the recipe tied up with a bow. I used less rice and spread it out on an un-rimmed baking sheet to facilitate the drying.

I popped this sheet in the oven and came back 3 1/2 hours later to a dry and spot-free sheet of rice. Woohoo!

Mistake number 3: Despite promising appearances, it soon became clear the rice had over-dried. The crackers sank to the bottom of the frying oil like anchors and never rose back up. Eventually I fished them out to give one a taste.

Not something I recommend; my teeth still feel violated.

However, biting into savory success in round three made up for all the failures.

My suggestions: Follow directions when making your rice, use wetted hands to gently pat out the rice on a parchment-paper-lined unrimmed baking sheet, and check the rice after 2 1/2 hours--it should be just dry enough that you are able to lift up and break off large pieces as directed.

May your first batch be as tasty as my third!



Stay tuned for more exciting exerpts from this delightful cookbook as the journey down the Mekong continues.

Thanks for reading! Here's to Being the Secret Ingredient in your life.