Sick Wife Noodle Soup... or my adventures as an Asian grandma

The first couple weeks of 2014 have been, shall we say, eventful.  In addition to my self inflicted injury, I managed to contract a nasty flu bug just after New Year's, rendering me as sick as I've been in 10 years.  My girls did a nice job of taking care of me and nursing me back to health - plying me with tea, medication, water, vitamins, and a wicked batch of papardelle Bolognese (including homemade pasta) which I will be covering in a subsequent blog post. Here's a picture of it in the meantime:

Warm, delicious, rich, perfect texture on the noodles, silky sauce... the meatiness and creaminess and punch from the parmesan all working in perfect concert.  Absolutely exactly what my fever-addled body was wanting on a cold night.

And how did I repay this debt of gratitude?  Well, I went ahead and gave E my flu, didn't I?  Yep.  I watched her travel the exact same timeline that I had been on - sore throat, chills, sneezing giving way to coughing, watery eyes and runny nose, aches and fever.  Lovely.

Well, when someone I love gets sick, I for some reason find my inner Asian grandma - I want to make soup... with lots of ginger and vegetables and warming broth.  Knowing I had a duck defrosting in the fridge helped me down this path too... and so Tuesday evening, I hit the grocery store for the last couple of ingredients I would need to make my Sick Wife Noodle Soup.  That almost sounds like a description you'd see on a Chinese menu, doesn't it?  Sure it does. Work with me here.

It's funny - when I cook Western cuisine, I tend to stick pretty closely to one or another.  If the dish is Italian, I'm not putting a bunch of butter and tarragon in the mix.  If it's Spanish, you can bet that I'm using smoked paprika and orange and garlic more than I'm using, say, oregano and hot chilies.  For whatever reason though, when I'm riffing on Asian stuff I borrow from lots of places.  Unless I'm very specifically making something like a Thai curry or Korean Bo Ssam, I tend to take a little from Japan, a little from Vietnam, a little from China.  Take this soup, for instance.  Duck-based (Chinese), with ginger and lemongrass (Vietnamese/Thai), star anise and Szechuan peppercorn (Chinese), and buckwheat noodles (Japanese).  Convoluted?  Perhaps.  Delicious?  Absofuckinlutely.

Anywho, back to the soup.  Like I said - this was a Tuesday evening.  I got home around 5:15 with nothing prepared ahead of time, including a whole duck. How to get soup on the table for a sick, bleary-eyed wife and a prattling, wound-up 4 year old before it was time to put said 4 year old to bed? Surely I must be crazy - more of a hindrance than a help, trying to make a fancy meal when all E wanted to do was eat and go to bed... how, indeed, would I get it done in time??  Well, dear reader, several years ago, in the first iteration of this blog, I sang the praises of a Christmas present E had gotten me... a magical item that allowed for sumptuous braised dishes on a weeknight... stock from scratch in an hour... stewed beans from dry in 20 minutes.  What is this magical cauldron of which I speak? 

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the pressure cooker.  I don't own a microwave, or a fancy toaster, or really anything else that cuts corners time-wise in the kitchen.  I tend to eschew modern technology for the tried and true.  Well, pressure cookers have been around a long time... and, actually, have been improved by modern technology so that they are safer and easier to use than the ones our grandmas had way back when.   At any rate, I knew I had this on my side going in... which made my task a good deal less daunting.  Onward and upward... and let these healing hands do their work!

So - I had a whole duck, some vegetables, some noodles, and some duck stock.  Time to get to work. I set about defrosting the 2 quarts of duck stock I had in the freezer, and cut it with one quart of water. I busted down the duck to legs, breasts, and carcass, reserving the wing tips and the neck.  I then seared the legs hard in the base of the pressure cooker, getting the skin nice and crispy and well browned.  In the resultant rendered fat, I sweated thinly sliced ginger (a knob about 4 inches long - I wanted lots of ginger in the broth), 2 stalks of lemon grass, a couple pods of star anise, some pickled thai chili, and some Szechuan peppercorn.  Then I added back the legs, neck, and wing tips, and covered with the aforementioned stock, a splash of fish sauce and a squirt of hoisin.  Lock the lid, turn up the heat, set a timer for 15 minutes, and when that timer went off, I was left with beautiful, fork-tender braised duck legs:

as well as some heady, fat-and-collagen-enriched, dare I say Asian-esque broth - redolent of the anise and ginger, a touch of acid from the lemongrass, some heat from chilies and some sweetness and funk from hoisin and fish sauce.  E perked up from the couch and said "it smells *really* good in here."  Even in her stuffed-up state, she was right:

So, in case you can't tell, I removed the legs after letting them rest a bit, and then strained off all the aromatics and duck parts from the broth, leaving behind the aforementioned nectar.  

In it, I simmered more paper thin slices of ginger as well as the stalks from some gai lan, or chinese broccoli, as well as the shredded meat from the braised duck legs.  Once that was bubbling lazily away, I put a pot of water onto boil, as well as got a pan going to sear the duck breasts.  Now we were at 45 minutes or so from scratch and raw ingredients... still making pretty good time.  Seared the breasts so they were a juicy medium rare with crackling crisp skin, and set them aside to rest.  Fired the noodles, which took exactly four minutes to cook.  Drained the noodles, and in the bowl, set a pile of noodles, the leaves from the gai lan, some shredded napa cabbage, and some chopped scallion.  Ladled the broth with some duck meat and gai lan stalks and ginger over that loveliness, and arranged sliced crispy breast over that.  Top with a sprinkle of bean sprouts, a splash of fish sauce, and because all lilies need gilding, a couple spoonfuls of rendered duck fat from cooking the breasts.  Actually, if  if I had wanted to go full bore, I'd have put a soft-cooked egg in there like Sapporo-style ramen, but E doesn't like eggs that much and this was for her... so I'll have to let my vivid imagination go to work on that one...  but at any rate, the finished product looked like this:

Asian grandma, y'all.  Like I said.  This was freakin gorgeous.  Crispy salty duck skin playing off the soft fork tender leg meat... umami from fish sauce, salt, sweet, just enough tooth to the veggies.  Ginger to clear the sinuses, but not so hot that it burned your throat.  Noodles holding up beautifully in the broth. Meaty, rich, and warm... yet fresh and light and crispy from the veg.  Really, really damn good.  

So, did it ward off the onset of the flu for poor E?  Well, no, sadly.  But she polished off her whole bowl, and the bleary watery eyes got a little brighter, and there was even a trace of a smile as she wiped her mouth when she was done.  I say mission accomplished.  Oh, and dinner time?  6:35.  Under 2 hours start to finish, including braising duck legs... not bad, y'all.  Here's where you can find that pressure cooker if you, too, want to leap weeknight braised meals in a single bound...

WHAT I DRANK:

I was torn between German Riesling and Pinot Noir, and went with the latter because it was cold outside and I wanted red.  I chose the Debiase Russian River Pinot 2010.  I've met Thomas, the owner and winemaker, through work and I was really impressed with his commitment to making wines with balance and elegance as the chief priority.  This has a lovely core of bright red fruit wrapped in a warm box of lifted spicebox, mineral and floral character.  The acid played off the richness of the soup, and the fruit paired well with all the umami goodness going on.  Really pretty.

IF YOU WANT THE RECIPE:

email me at winegeek819@gmail.com.  When it's all written out, it's long, so I don't want to put it on here now.  But happy to share!  (or, you can sorta follow my process and do quantities by feel based on what I wrote above)

New Year's Day Rack of Pork

Yesterday, I needed something to take my mind off the fact that I was starting the new year with an injury (aside from composing the previous post, of course).  What is my panacea for all ills, whether they be physical, mental, or emotional?  Food.  Not in the "eating my feelings kind of way," either, lest we forget about the Blerch.

No, I needed a pièce de résistance to celebrate this new year, bum wheel or no.  I needed to take a large cut of protein, and make it really fuckin delicious.  Preferably over live fire.  Plus, I got this effin SUPER soignée cleaver from my dad for christmas...

Beautiful, right?  That thing needed some meat to destroy, STAT.  So, after much hemming and hawing, I decided that the rack of pork I had taken out of the freezer three days earlier specifically to cook for some friends on New Year's Day was the perfect choice.  (See what I did there...)

Allow me to rhapsodize on the beauty of a rack of pork for a moment.  Pork loin, in and of itself, is kinda boring.  But you get a bunch of rib bones (and by extension, rib meat) hanging out next to the loin, and you've got my attention.  Let's see - cooler presentation, harder to overcook, and more flavorful?  To quote the inimitable Ice Cube, it's on like Donkey Kong.  

That said... I was gonna need to church this thing up a bit.  I mean, roast pork is delicious all by itself. Grilled pork is even better. But my foot was hurting, really badly... and I was pretty grumpy about it... and it WAS New Year's day, after all.  I needed some real medicine. Not to mention, when a beautiful lily is just sitting there like that waiting to be gilt... I'm damn well gonna gild it.  

Enter the stuffed rack of pork.  See, earlier this year I taught a cooking clinic for the good folks at my box, in preparation for Thanksgiving.  [Mostly] Paleo cooking for the holiday.  Trouble is, I wasn't about to try to demonstrate cooking a whole bird in the time that I had allotted for the clinic.  But it isn't much of a Thanksgiving clinic without putting some turkey in people's bellies.  Am I wrong?  So I came up with the idea of a turkey breast roulade.  Pound turkey flat, stuff with yummy things, wrap in bacon, glaze, roast, glaze again, and voilà, you have something like this: 

Yep.  That looks terrible, right?  Btw, if you want to know how to make it, the recipe is here.  You'll discover that it's not terribly different from what I'm about to describe.  How original, right?  See, the thing is, the whole time I was concocting that turkey dish, I was saying to myself "Man, this would be SMOKIN with pork."  I actually say that about food fairly often.  Most things would indeed taste better if they were made from pork instead of whatever they're made from.  But that's a topic for another time.  

Anywho, it was that set of flavors that inspired me (that and I had all the ingredients I needed on hand).  Apples, bacon (yep. Bacon stuffed pork.  Do I stutter?), caramelized onions, sage, rosemary, some duck fat, garlic... you get the idea.  It was all gonna be ok.  I felt the pain in my foot receding as I thought of a glistening, lightly charred rack of pork, redolent of winter smells like apples and maple (more on that in a moment), sage, a little woodsmoke from the grill...  Hungry yet?

So, I butterflied the pork roast (more on that later as well), salted it with some green salt - recipe here, and set about gilding that lily.  With some help from my little girl (who, while I was cutting onions to caramelize them, remarked "you're french cutting those" - up there with my proudest moments as a dad), the butterflied roast eventually looked like this:

 and then like this:

and, finally, when all was said and done, like this:

Insert witticism about "How I roll" here... (actually, I did when I posted the above shot to Instagram - I kill me).

At this point, our friends were showing up, and there was much merry to be made in addition to the cooking (not to mention that I was moving a little more slowly than usual), so there aren't a whole lot of pictures in the interim.   Lots of hugs, some Champagne, a couple tantrums by various children, recounts of driving from Chicago with said children, setting out of beautiful charcuterie from Rose's Meats and Sweets (if you live in the Triangle, go check these guys out), more Champagne, and my buddy Charlie's "pork butter."  Yes, you heard that right.  Whipped lard, butter, coarse Maldon sea salt, and honey.  Which is EXACTLY as delicious as it sounds.  Like "oh my god, why on Earth haven't I thought of that before" delicious.  What, you don't think I'm the only one who can cook in my circle, do you?   Speaking of which, I would be remiss not to mention my buddy Andrew's homemade Tasso ham in the collard greens he made... that boy has a way with cured and smoked meats.   No joke, ya'll.  I'm a lucky dude to have friends who can cook like these guys can.

At any rate, what was going on was mostly cooking over fire and glazing that beautiful rack with a mixture of maple syrup, apple cider, apple cider vinegar, good French mustard, rosemary and black pepper.  (there's a test at the end to see if you were paying attention...)  About 45 minutes in, I realized that the charcoal was running out faster than that meat was cooking, so instead of letting foolish pride set in about cooking over fire (not that I'd ever be prideful to a fault about cooking... me?), I took it off the grill to finish in the oven. 15 more minutes at 400 to get to the meat's pull temp of 140... rest for 20 minutes or so... and she was, in a word, glorious.

Can a cut of meat be sexy?  Umm... you be the judge.  I know what *I* think.  And that knife in that shot... salivating.

As it turns out, that little rolodex of flavors I keep in my head was right.  This WAS better with pork, and not just because the laws of the culinary universe decree that pork>turkey.  Although it is (see above).  Sweet tang of apples and onions, salty fatty crunch of bacon, herby lift and cut from sage and rosemary, the rich meatiness of the pork... all overlaid with the funky sweetness of the maple and the faint smoke from the grill.  Oh, and that cleaver?  Whew. I could shave with that thing, it's so sharp... and just beautifully balanced.  Thanks for a sweet present, Dad.  

What to drink with this?  We did Burgundy (Nuits St George), Brunello, Northern Rhone-style Syrah from Washington... all delicious, But the Syrah was probably the best pair.  It was the Rotie Cellars Northern Blend from Walla Walla - easily the best domestic Rhone I've ever had.  Sean Boyd, the winemaker, was a geologist by trade, and sorta fell into winemaking as a passion project... but this guy has a gift.  Tasted blind, this stuff is straight up Cote Rotie - high-toned and pretty as any old world Syrah.  Really remarkable stuff. The bacon-fatty smokiness and violet notes both played off the grilled herby flavors of the meat, and there was enough rich red fruit to stand up to the fruitiness of the apples and the glaze.   Burgundy did beautifully with that pork butter and the lovely smoked mortadella from Rose's, though it was a little overmatched with the big flavors in the pork.  Brunello was quite lovely, and had the Syrah not been there, likely would've been the wine of the night - the acid was a perfect foil and the leathery earthy tones of the Sangiovese played off the grill as well as the Syrah's savoriness did.  If it sounds delicious, I think Drew at Hope Valley Bottle Shop has a couple more hangin around...

It was so delicious, I even managed to forget about my stupid foot for a minute... mission accomplished!  So, hypothesis proven... when in doubt - cook large cuts of meat.  Preferably with bones.  Over fire.  You'll feel better, guaranteed.

IF YOU WANT THE RECIPE:

email me at winegeek819@gmail.com.  When it's all written out, it's long, so I don't want to put it on here now.  But happy to share!  (or, you can sorta follow my process and do quantities by feel based on what I wrote above)

Flowers for Algernon, the Blerch and New Year's Resolutions

When I was a kid, 7th grade or so, we read a short story called Flowers for Algernon, by Daniel Keyes.  It's a powerful story from the standpoint of "he who giveth also taketh away," that sort of thing.  Ultimately, the cliff's notes version kinda reads like this - mentally retarded patient receives experimental surgery which not only cures his mental retardation but turns him into a genius, effectively tripling his IQ.  Along with his newfound ability to appreciate the world around him, he falls in love, changes careers, etc etc.  Trouble is, the effect of the surgery is temporary.  Eventually it recedes, and he falls back into darkness irrevocably, even as he is able to recognize the symptoms of his decline.  Sad, right?

There's another piece written by the guy who does the internet cartoon site The Oatmeal called "The Blerch." If you're not familiar, the link is on the title here, but it can also be summed up in the cartoon below:

There's something of both of these in my internal dialogue with myself about my training.  I could be accused of overtraining (and I often am).  Since re-establishing a fitness routine, I have only taken rest days when absolutely necessary, and certainly not on a regular basis.  They can usually be summed up as "wow, everything hurts, from walking to lying in bed to sitting in my car."  Looks at training log "Ummm yeah.  I haven't had a rest day in 12 days."

Intellectually, I understand the physiological need for rest days.  I know from a cerebral standpoint that resting will ultimately help to progress my training.  Problem is, every time I think about taking a rest day, a few voices speak up inside my head.  One is the Flowers for Algernon voice: "You rest, you take time off, and all this hard work you've put in is going to go away.  I can hear you getting fatter.  You're not going to get stronger by sitting there on your ass - you're going to get stronger by getting your ass to the gym and doing work."

The other is that Blerch voice. It's the voice I heard during swim practice every day growing up... and is ultimately what kept me from being as fast as I probably could have been.  My coaches would always say "you've got tons of talent, but you rely too heavily on it."  And they were right.  I could slack in training and still race fast. I was willing to kill myself to beat you in a race, and I had big-ass feet and hands and pretty good technique, and when I really put my mind to swimming fast, good things happened.  Until I got to college, and realized that EVERYONE had big hands and feet, and everyone liked to win.  I was lucky enough to have a coach in college who knew how to get me to train hard and get faster, and the results came along with it.

And then after I quit swimming, I basically let myself go.  That was the Blerch talking too.  "You were a swimmer... you're always gonna look like this.  No need to exercise, you're naturally an ectomorph.  Have another..." Until I looked at that picture of myself from the previous post and said "holy shit, dude.  What the hell happened to you?"

And then I started to do the work. Hard.  I started doing three CF classes a week, then 4, then 5.  I lost that belly and grew muscles.  People noticed me and said "you look great."  I looked at myself in the mirror and saw muscles I'd never had.  I got strong.  Like for real strong.  Deadlift 455 for 5 reps strong.  I got addicted to having muscles and a flat belly.  I fiended for faster erg times, faster benchmark workout times, bigger numbers on my squat. more ripples on my abs.  Remember what I said about being willing to kill myself to beat you in a race?  CrossFit takes that and turns it up to 11.  I didn't want to just beat myself, I wanted to pick the youngest, fittest, fastest dudes in the gym and beat them too.  I told myself it was in the name of excellence.  I have always had a drive to be very good at the things I love.  Wine?  Made a career out of it.  Food?  I count myself among the best cooks in my group of friends, which includes some folks who do it for a living.  And now CrossFit.  For four years I have pored over articles, books, videos on strength training theory, olympic weightlifting technique, nutrition, exercise physiology.  I am a geek through and through.

Ultimately, some time ago, I convinced myself that I couldn't ever stop.  Not that I wasn't having fun - I was!  I love the huge bang when a heavy barbell hits the floor.  I love the involuntary yell I give at the top of a heavy lift. I love looking at the clock and realizing I PR'd a benchmark workout or beat one of my buddies' times. I get off on feeling like a beast unleashed. But I have become terrified of the Flowers for Algernon phenomenon, as well as the irresistible pull of the Blerch.  I viscerally believe that if I stop even for a moment, the muscles, the 6pack, the speed... all of it will go away.

And so on Monday, the second to last day of the year, even though I had already lifted for 2 hours in the morning, I came back to coach a class at the box where I train, and decided to hop in and do the metcon that was programmed for that day.  No matter that I had already trained hard that day.  Two things were at play - first, it was a workout in my wheelhouse that I knew I could crush:
3 RFT:
10 deadlift @275
20 pullups
40 double-unders

Second, another Mike in the gym with the last initial "S" had put up a time that friends of mine had thought was mine... and I took offense, thinking "Don't those fools know I could smoke that time?" (Yes, I'm aware of how ridiculous that sounds).  And so after some quick warmup, I hopped in and got after that workout with a vengeance.

Some background - I had been suffering from some plantar fasciitis for a bit - moderate heel pain that tended to go away after warming up without too much trouble.  Easy to train through, easy enough to ignore.  Or so I thought.  On the last 10 double unders, my heel started to hurt pretty badly... and I figured "Hey, I'm only 10 reps away from the finish, HTFU and crush that time."  So I did.  5...4...3...2...1... Boom.  I put up a time that was more than a minute faster than anyone else that day.

Unfortunately, "BOOM" was also the sound of the massive POP in my heel, coupled with a sensation like a rubber band had snapped and was rolling up under my foot.  THAT was coupled with excruciating pain - tear-inducing, mindbending pain.  I was rolling around on the floor, grabbing my heel, saying "Oh FUCK" over and over and over again.  Lovely, right?

Long story short - after some examination, it turned out I had torn the plantar fascia in my right foot.  Meaning at least 3 weeks of complete rest and immobility for my foot, and that was best case.  I'm not allowed to walk barefoot for a month.  No running, jumping, squatting... heck, I can't bear any weight at all on it right now without pain.  Not exactly Beastmode to be limping around like a gimp.   PR my squat on New Year's Day?Shot.  Run the 10 mile Little River Trail Run on the 18th?  Nope.  Compete in the my box's CrossFit Total Challenge in January?  Not holding my breath.

Literally my worst nightmare.  Algernon and Blerch waiting in the wings, licking their chops.  After getting confirmation of the injury on  New Year's Eve, I came home and cried, thinking "all that hard work... down the drain."

And then, after that bout of self pity and some conversations with some good friends close to the situation, I have come to a realization.  It didn't take 3 weeks to build this strength or this engine.  It took years.  It isn't going away in 3 weeks either.  And there are plenty of things I can do to keep the ball rolling.  Accessory work for my core and posterior chain strength.  Swimming (my old nemesis) for conditioning.  And seated press work for my upper body, which I could use to concentrate on anyway.  It's going to be ok.

And so... my New Year's resolution is a little different.  It's to train smarter, not harder.  Listen to my body.  Take rest days and flip the bird to Algernon and Blerch when I do.  Recognize the injury for what it is: my body saying "Dial it back, dude!  I can only take so much abuse!"  And realize that when I recover from my injury, I'm going to come back stronger than I was before.  I'm going to strap that weight on the bar, put it on my shoulders, and squat the everloving shit out of it. And when I'm done - I'm gonna ring the PR bell and say "That's enough for today."  Because it is.  Happy New Year, y'all.

As trite as a New Year's resurrection may be... here we go.

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more"
- W. Shakespeare, Henry V, 3.1.1

"Don't call it a comeback - I've been here for years"
-L.L. Cool J, Mama Said Knock You Out

It would be difficult to restart a blog that I've been away from for almost 4 years without doing a little reflection on change... reflection which would hopefully lead to some illumination of how I am different from the last post of 2009, wherein after a flurry of food photography and florid prose, I said "I'm not dead, I promise..." and proceeded to let this part of myself, well, die.

Time doth march on, even as things like blogs fossilize

...  And I sit here a very different man.

So maybe I should just talk about how the blog is going to be different than it was ...

It's gonna be a food blog.  I mean, no way around it.  I like making food. A lot.  I like eating it even more, whether I made it or not.  I like talking about food, I like taking pictures of food, and I like putting all that shit on the internet.  In fact, while we're at it, here's some shit I've made in the past several months to look at.

Foil Roasted Eggplant with Olives and Mint

Momofuku Roast Pork with Kim Chee, House Pickles and Ginger/Scallion Sauce

Ribs.  And collards.  And Burgundy.

Strawberry Paloma... except with gin.

OK.  Back to business.  So, like I said, I'm still cooking.  And eating.  And taking pictures of it.  Thing is, that's all I was doing for awhile... and that made me fat.  Those of you who remember the original blog may remember the original background photo... I didn't want to admit it at the time, but your boy was a touch on the rotund side.  For reference, here's a smaller version of the photo:

Something had to change.  And about 4 years ago, it did.  I started CrossFit in February of 2010 as a guy who had come to a sudden realization about the reality of my health.  And through a lot of hard work, I managed to regain all the fitness I had lost from my youth, and then some.  Cool thing is, I also was able to, for the most part, still eat and drink like I did before.  The key is "most part."  I've made some changes in how I eat, and as a result I can enjoy myself and still kick ass in the gym and life.  And now, instead of looking like that portly gentleman above, I look more like this...

So, here we are!  It's still a food blog, like I said.  But sometimes it's gonna be a fitness blog, or a wine blog, or some mix thereof.  Sometimes I'm going to rant on my frustrations totally apart from any epicurean pursuits.  Hopefully you'll come along for the ride!  

Today is 1/1/14... so I guess one of my resolutions is to resurrect this thing and make it real.  Keep it rolling!  Work at it like I've worked on my body and mind.  In fact, there's a bit of a celebration about to roll through here later today... some roasted rack of pork, collards, hoppin' john, maybe some duck... I'll be sure to have it up by the end of the day tomorrow.  See you then...