About this time last year, I met a couple from Persia as they were picking red berries off some trees on our street. They told me the name of the berries in their language, but I forgot the word as soon as I heard it. Tonight, I saw the same couple again. We chatted for a bit, and they told me all the wonders of these berries: about their antioxidant properties and that they were beneficial to people with diabetes, heart conditions, and high cholesterol.
I tasted a berry and found it quite sour, but they said that a little bit of salt makes them delicious. The berries are also suitable for jam, so I might try that this year.
And while they told me the name once again in Farsi, this time they Googled the English translation. Zoghal akhteh, the name I couldn’t remember, translates as Cornelian cherries.
I made huge progress in my Japanese Soul Cooking challenge (see my previous post for context).
My main goal was to make reimen, a summer favourite of mine. To do it right, however, I had to make torigara stock (page 25), which is a very simple and beautifully clear stock made with chicken carcass and water and absolutely nothing else, not even salt. I had a lot of wings in the freezer so I used those and doubled Ono and Salat’s recipe. Now I have a good supply for future meals and sauces.
Once I’d made the stock, I set off to get the other ingredients I needed. Suzuya in Burnaby had the Japanese cucumbers, scallions, fresh-frozen ramen noodles, and karashi mustard, and the local Save-On-Foods had ham. Everything else I had in my fridge or pantry.
This dish was to die for. It was exactly how I remembered it tasting in Osaka. What did surprise me, though, was how filling it was. I did not expect to get four huge servings from the recipe, but it was enough to feed us all. In fact, I was able to get my next day’s lunch out of it.
In preparation for potentially empty bellies, however, I picked up some frozen gyoza (potstickers) at Suzuya and made Soul Cooking’s miso dipping sauce for gyoza (page 34), which is an umami-infused blend of miso, garlic, ginger, and more. The sauce was such a hit that my onion-hating better half used it as a substitute for the onion-based dressing for the following day’s salad.
The other new-to-me recipe I tried was the curry-rice korokke (page 87). According to the neighbours, this dish smelled amazing. We haven’t tasted the finished product, however, because I tossed the entire double batch into the freezer for future meals.
Writing about my adventures had me craving some of my old favourites as well, so I ended up making the potato salada once again, adding green yuzu koshou for extra oomph, and potato korokke, which I had planned to freeze, but we had an unexpected dinner guest so I deep-fried the korokke and served it with a side of tomato salada.
It’s not often a cookbook review is life-altering, but Fine Cooking’s review of Japanese Soul Cooking (by Tadashi Ono and Harris Salat) a while back nudged me toward purchasing what I consider the best cookbook I’ve ever owned—and I’ve owned many.
In Greater Vancouver, we have a lot of Japanese restaurants, so I can get sushi and sashimi pretty much anywhere. I can even get some pretty good pub food. But what I’ve really been missing since returning from seven years in Japan is the street food, home cooking, and the coffee shop/local restaurant “western-style cooking.”
Soul Cooking has put an end to that. The book has all of my favourites and a few new things as well.
Here are some of the recipes I’ve tried from the cookbook (in order of appearance):
Ramen (pages 9–17)
I had no idea that making ramen is such a fairly complicated process, what with the stock and the marinated eggs (which happen to be the best part!). The first time I made ramen, I made the shoyu ramen, and I encountered no glitches. The second time (when I made shio [salt] ramen for my daughter’s birthday dinner), I accidentally drained the stock right into the sink. I tried to recover the meal by creating a less elaborate stock, but got completely distracted with the rest of the recipe and ended up adding way more salt than necessary. I’m going to try this again (mostly because the eggs were so good), but will likely save it for a time when I am alone in the house and can fully concentrate.
Gyoza (pages 28–34)
Making home-made gyoza (potstickers) is a rather time-consuming process, but the resulting product is so worth it. The instructions are very detailed and accurate, and the photos showing how to fold the gyoza help immensely.
Tadashi’s Lamb Curry (page 52)
I really liked this recipe, but apart from the lamb, my husband thought it tasted just like the packaged House Curry I pick up at the local Japanese grocer. I suppose that’s not necessarily a bad thing, but I figure why waste time making something from scratch if the people you are feeding don’t appreciate it. (To me, it was way better than House Curry, however!)
Tomato Salada (page 80)
I just loved the way the other ingredients complemented the tomatoes in this one. I have only made it once, though, because my husband doesn’t like onions and you can’t really hide them in this recipe. Still, if you have garden-fresh tomatoes around, this recipe rocks.
I make the potato korokke (croquettes) quite often and even make extra for the freezer so that I can deep-fry them at a later date for a quick meal. The korokke recipe is one of my favourite recipes in the book. Don’t let the name fool you, these korokke also contain pork. I haven’t tried the curry-rice recipe yet, but that’s on my to-do list. While the kani (crab) cream korokke were good, they’re a bit more complicated to make and my family doesn’t like them as much as the potato ones.
Tatsuta-age (page 95)
Tastuta-age (what I know as chicken kara-age) is the dish I cook the most. It’s the reason I always make sure I have chicken legs and katakuriko (potato starch) on hand. While it sounds like a cumbersome dish to make, it’s really very quick and easy.
Potato Salada (page 210)
My husband hates potato salad but loves this, so it’s pretty much the only potato salad I make now. What’s different about it? Thinly sliced cucumber, carrot, and onion are lightly cured in salt before they get added to the cooked potato. (The onion hater doesn’t even complain about the onions.) When I make this salad, sometimes I go with the original recipe; other times I add a bit of yuzu koshou (a citrusy chili pepper condiment), which really spices it up. Either way, though, this salad is great.
Hamburg (page 220)
The Japanese version of Salisbury steak takes the humble meal to a whole other level. The soya sauce adds that touch of umami, and the milk-soaked panko makes the burger almost melt in your mouth. I’ve even served these with a side of perogies for a Japanese-Polish fusion meal.
Mushroom Wafu Pasta (page 231)
To be honest, I don’t recall what this tasted like, but I remember that we all loved it. (This actually surprised me because I expected a few complaints, for some reason.) You can use any mushrooms for it (except portabella).
Thumbing through this cookbook again, I realize there are so many dishes I haven’t tried. I also realized that they have a recipe for hiyashi chukka (cold Chinese noodles), which we called “reimen” in Osaka. (That’s probably why I didn’t notice.) Reimen is my favourite summer dish and I occasionally do make it here in Canada, so I’m looking forward to trying Ono and Salat’s recipe.
I’m publicly committing to a new goal: to try every single recipe in this book. Wish me luck!
Last week, I took a workshop in Scratch, an MIT programming language that helps young people (and folks like me) create interactive stories, games, and animations.
It was a lot of fun, although I realized early on that command-Z is not the friend that it is in other software programs. I got into all sorts of messes while experimenting, forcing me to start from scratch more than a few times.
Below are a couple of my creations. I did not draw the backgrounds or any of the features. What I did was program (in a WYSISYG sort of way) the actions and sounds.
Check out Scratch, if you can. And if you have kids, definitely sign them up. It’s free and secure and will get them into the mindset of programming, which will help them in their digital futures.
I’ve been experimenting a lot more in the kitchen these days. Yesterday, I combined the following into a sauce for chicken breasts: lemon zest, yuzu koshou, cherry balsamic vinegar, fresh thyme, and sake. I seared the chicken breasts first, then added the sauce ingredients and let everything simmer for a half an hour or so, adding a bit of cornstarch to thicken it a bit. I served it with a side of another random-crap-in-a-pan dish, a fried rice made with veggies, soy sauce, curry, coconut milk, and sesame oil. Yum!
Normally, a day at the office can be pretty humdrum, but today I got to test out a virtual reality program. I visited a shipwreck and hung out with a whale, some stingrays, and some fish. I took a trip to Venice and played fetch with a dog (and gave belly rubs) in the courtyard. I went into the mountains and again played fetch (and gave belly rubs). I poorly defended a castle with my pathetic archery skills. And I made a psychedelic 3D painting while hanging out with a virtual snowman. (Don’t ask, but I do have video to prove that last event.)
The bee scene in Fried Green Tomatoes, in which Mary Stuart Masterson reaches through a swarm of bees to extract honey from a tree trunk, is one of the most memorable movie scenes I’ve ever seen.
I channeled Masterson (who did the scene without a stunt double) less than a decade later when I encouraged a swarm of bees to follow me from a shed to a different part of the yard then back again when I realized I was better off leaving them where they were.
My more recent bee experiences have been with the gentler, solitary kind, the mason bee (from the genus Osmia). Mason bees produce neither honey nor beeswax but play an important role in the pollination of our flowers and fruit trees. In fact, mason bees are such efficient pollinators, it takes just one mason bee to pollinate 12 pounds of cherries, while it takes 60 honey bees to do the same!
Mason bees seem rather unbeelike, actually, especially when you first meet them. For one, they don’t live in hives. Mine nest in a little bee house with a shingled roof. Inside the house are cylinders formed by stacking trays, where the female bees lay their eggs. These cylinders can also be paper straws or tubes. While drilled-out wood is also possible, it’s much easier to use the trays because you can separate them for easy cleaning in the fall. In the natural world, mason bees nest in hollowed-out twigs or the abandoned nests of beetles or other critters.
“Although there is a bit of an industry around mason bee houses, as long as the right kind of plant material is available, the houses aren’t entirely necessary,” says Queensborough resident Douglas Justice, who’s also the associate director of horticulture and collections at the UBC Botanical Garden. He does add, however, that the houses are “great for clean freaks and balcony gardeners.” I personally love using the store-bought house because it lets me become a part of the bees’ short lives and keeps me more attuned to the season, the weather, and what’s happening in my garden.
For those of you who also want to buy into the bee-house craze, setting up your mason bees is a fairly simple task. I started with the bee house, 30-cylinder trays, and some mud that the females use to build walls to separate the cocoons. While you don’t need to buy the mud, I did because it’s the right composition and lasts for several years in a bowl (just make sure it doesn’t dry out during bee season). For the first few years, I bought my bee cocoons as well. Now, however, my bees return to the nest and lay enough eggs so that I don’t need to purchase cocoons. This spring, I was able to set out 56 cocoons! (I think a few of those may have come from my neighbours.)
In the fall, the mason bees are a bit more work. The cocoons need to be cleaned to remove pollen mites. This process involves a series of washes and rinses, some drying, and candling (using a flashlight in a dark room to ensure that tiny wasps haven’t parasitized the cocoons). Cocoons that have been parasitized are empty, so I toss them. After that, I gently agitate the remaining cocoons in a strainer to dislodge any mites that are still sticking to the surface. The entire process takes several hours, but it’s a somewhat fascinating ritual, and I enjoy the thrill of seeing my little bee family increase in size each year. When I’m done, I place the cocoons back in the cardboard boxes that the initial batch came in and store them in a drawer in the refrigerator, where they remain until the following spring. (Tip: when you go pick up your bees, take a cooler with some ice, so they don’t emerge on your way home.)
Most mason bees don’t look like “normal” bees. In fact, they’re actually rather fly-like. The kind I think I have, Osmia lignaria (orchard mason bee), is a sometimes bluish-black creature that is native to the west coast. Why do I just “think” I have Osmia lignaria? Well, while I initially bought Osmia lignaria from West Coast Seeds a few years ago, my bees have likely been joined by different types over the years. This year, the few bees I’ve noticed hanging out around the bee house were much bigger than those of previous years. Two were quite black and the other was a more typical yellow and black stripe.
Honeybees are also an important part of our ecosystem. They differ from mason bees in a number of ways. Honeybees travel farther to visit flowers, while mason bees prefer to visit flowers closer to their nest. Honeybees collect pollen in little baskets on their hind legs, while mason bees collect both pollen and nectar on their hairy bellies. Honeybees will sting more readily than mason bees, who will sting only when when they think they are in serious danger (like when they are caught in a sleeve or something). But because the act of stinging kills a honeybee, it will only sting once. (If you agitate their colony, however, you might get stung multiple times.)
Not into keeping bees of your own? You can still help the bee populations and support their pollination and honey-making efforts by planting some flowers of your own. A number of bee- friendly plants do well in the Lower Mainland, for example, lupine, lavender, fuchsia, and creeping thyme. Bees are attracted to both the colour and the smell of flowers, so a variety of both will keep them busy and happy.
Bees also prefer native plants to exotic imports. In fact, the humble dandelion will attract more bees than a fancy, multi-petalled rose. What’s more, hybrid ornamentals provide less pollen and nectar, largely because they were bred for larger or showier owers and not for pollen or nectar production.
Moody Park resident and xeriscape gardener Véronique Boulanger is learning more and more about bees as she goes. “Bees like blue and violet flowers because they see further into that end of the spectrum than we do (and less into the red end),” she says, so notices bee activity near her penstemon and lupines. She also sees bees frequent the paci c bleeding heart, the pretty shooting star, the double yellow tubular flowers of the black twinberry, and even the tiny flowers of the vine maple. “I didn’t create the garden specifically as a bee garden,” she says, “but since it’s a mostly native plant garden, the plants are those the local fauna evolved with.”
The trick to a successful bee garden, according to Justice, “is to have lots and lots of different kinds [of flowers] and to have at least some of the species that bloom over a long period. That way, if the weather turns particularly hot or wet or whatever, not all of the eggs are in one basket.”
But sometimes even that much effort is not required.
“Encouraging native bees is often as easy as not cleaning up dead stems in the garden, leaving at least a little open soil and providing a water source,” he says. And, of course, “keeping pesticides to a minimum is a good idea.”
If there’s one dish that makes me think of the time I spent in Japan, it’s takoyaki, tiny dumplings with a chunk of octopus and a few other things inside. Takoyaki was invented in Osaka, the food capital of Japan, in the 1930s, by a street vendor named Tomekichi Endo.
In the beginning, takoyaki was street food for me, something I’d find at an Osaka matsuri (festival). It soon became my favourite après-ski food, far better than the pizza pops of my youth. And when I lived a few doors down from a takoyaki shop, it became a staple in my life, so much so that when I moved to a different neighbourhood, I bought myself a takoyaki maker and learned how to make the dish myself. I made a slightly westernized version, using homemade chicken broth instead of dashi, and sometimes veered from the traditional octopus, adding cheese instead (inspired by the shop in my old neighbourhood).
Takoyaki is a social dish, best made by a group of friends huddled around a kotatsu. I lugged the cast-iron moulds home with me when I left Japan, hoping I could recreate that experience in Canada, but I soon realized the impracticalities of hooking up a gas canister to the device in a Canadian apartment. Still, I was reluctant to part with the takoyaki maker, and stored it until my decluttering phase in 2015.
It’s become more common here in recent years. In fact, I can now get great takoyaki at nearby Ikoi. But I still miss being able to make it at home whenever I want. All that’s going to change, though, because the other day, my electric takoyaki maker arrived. Now all I have to do is source me some octopus and a few other ingredients, and get going. It’s a pity I no longer have my kotatsu.