A few books from my collection.

Starting this week, we'll be mounting my Food for Thought column on this blog on Tuesday, a day ahead of its publication in print. Today: A tribute to writers of Chinese cookbooks.

Gung hay fat choy! Happy lunar new year, Chinese-style. (Other cultures, including the Vietnamese, also are celebrating the lunar new year.)
The Year of the Tiger on the Chinese astrological calendar officially will begin Sunday, but family banquets, festivals, lion dances and shopping for delicacies began weeks ago.
Based on the number of Chinese-themed cookbooks in my considerable collection of older recipe books, Chinese here have been among the most prolific writers about cooking in the Islands.
Through the years, many Chinese women (and a few men, most famously chef Titus Chan) have become well-known writers and teachers, sharing, in writing and in demonstrations, recipes and techniques ranging from the simple (lo mein, fried noodles) to the impossibly eclectic (how to clean a pig’s stomach).
Among them: Daisy Wong (“Chinese Aromas from Aunty Daisy’s Kitchen,” 1978); June Kam Tong (“Popo’s Kitchen,” 1988; 45,000 copies and still in print); Gail K.T. Wong (“Gail Wong’s Authentic Chinese Recipes” 1954); Clara Tom (“Clara Tom’s Old Fashioned Method of Cantonese Cooking,” 1965); Mary Sia (“Mary Sia’s Chinese Cookbook,” 1980 ). Not to mention the young women of the now-defunct Te Chih Sheh Chinese sorority at UH, who wrote “Practical Recipes in Chinese Cooking”  (1932) and all the teachers who worked with the Hawaiian Electric Co. (such as my  friend Elsie Ching of Niu Valley, who last year at this time gave us a tutorial in gau) and the Narcissus Festival (such as Linda Chang Wyrgatsch of 'Aiea, who a few years ago gave me a Szechuan-style wok-fried eggplant recipe that’s still a favorite).
It remains a part of the Narcissus Queen tradition for contestants to be taught a few basic dishes as one way (and a very pleasant one) to get in touch with their roots.
Over the years, I’ve met some of these authors and teachers and learned a few dishes: traditional gau and a Shanghai-style microwave gau that’s so easy it would make a great activity to do with children, fried noodles, basic stir-frying (if I only had a really hot stove), the making of the stuffed buns called bao, how to steam a whole fish and serve it in sizzling sauce, watercress soup.
I’ve learned about “secret” ingredients — not  just hoisin sauce or dark sweet soy but shaoching, the sweetish Chinese cooking wine; the strange, oversize sugary “dates” that are one key to good Chinese-style soup, and chung choy (preserved salted turnip tops), a pungent ingredient that, in small quantities, gives dishes a characteristic “Chinese” flavor
I learned the technique for chopping pork (two very sharp cleavers, wielded very rapidly, then throw handfuls of the minced pork against the bowl to create a smooth, almost creamy texture for meatballs and stuffed won tons).
This is as far as I, who did not grow up in a Chinese kitchen, generally go. If I want great Chinese food, like most of us, I go out!
But these cookbooks and teachers have helped to give me, as a food editor, insight into how my favorite restaurant dishes are made and also how first- and second-generation Chinese home cooks replicated the dishes of their parents and grandparents.
One of my favorite books on Chinese cooking is not a local one. It’s the late Barbara Tropp’s classic “The Modern Art of Chinese Cooking” (William Morrow, 1982) in which she reveals such techniques as “velveting,”: poaching meats in oil before stir-frying them. (No wonder Chinese food tastes so good.) She also shared building-block sauces and ingredient mixtures to use in a variety of recipes. Tropp died an untimely death of ovarian cancer at age 53 in 2001.
So, as we enter the season of strings of firecrackers, lion dances, red-and-gold paper mottos and box upon box of manapua and dried fruit and bakery goodies, I send my best New Year’s wishes to all the Chinese of Hawai'i, past, present, future. You have added so much to our multicultural “soup.”

E-mail me here or at wadams@honoluluadvertiser.com.

Split pea soup you can chew.

My mother loves split pea soup but I've never been a big fan. Found the texture unpleasing. But a while back, in some restaurant, I had a split pea soup in which the peas were cooked just al dente suspended in a broth only slightly thickened by some pureed peas. I really liked it.

After several cold mornings in a row, I was in the mood for soup and, cleaning out the pantry (which badly needed it), I found a bag of split peas and, knowing I had some stock and ham hocks and bacon ends in the freezer, decided to try to replicate the soup.

Here's how:

In a soup pot over medium-high heat, simmer together 4-5 cups chicken or vegetable stock, 1 ham hock, 1 bay leaf and 2 whole cloves peeled garlic. Simmer for an hour.

Remove ham hock and add 2 cups dried split peas and 1/2 cup finely chopped raw bacon. Simmer over medium heat for 1-2 hours. Use a slotted spoon or a Chinese wire basket scoop to pull out 3/4 of the peas. Set aside. Continue to simmer until peas are soft, adding water as needed (I had to add several cups to keep it from sticking) for an hour or so. Puree peas and bacon and return to pot with a splash of vinegar or lemon juice. Add 1 peeled carrot, chopped into bits, return partly cooked peas to pot and simmer 30-45 minutes. Remove bay leaves and garlic (if it hasn't melted totally into the soup). Taste and add salt and pepper as desired. Continue cooking, if needed, or hold on warm until serving time.

With some fresh-baked homemade rolls, this made a wonderfully filling supper.

STILL LOOKING FOR YOUR STORIES OF THE OLD RANCH HOUSE RESTAURANT: Thank you to so many who have already written in. I'll let you know when this story is going to run.

NOBU'S BACK: I'll be going on a farm tour at MA'O farm in Wai'anae with famed Japanese fusion chef Nobu Matsuhisa this week. Should be fun and a learning experience. They're going to have us working on the farm for a while, then we'll eat lunch featuring their fresh, organic produce. I'll let you know when that report will appear.

THIS WEEK IN TASTE: The Great Almond Cookie Quest.

NEXT WEEK IN WEDNESDAY'S TASTE SECTION: Lions and tigers and teddy bears, oh my! The strange world of obento fanatics. AND COMING UP: Easy, streamlined bread-baking.

CATCH ME ON TWITTER: @wandaadams

Chicken curry from the freezer, fridge and pantry.

I used to waste a lot of food. This was in part an occupational hazard: Often, I'd test several recipes in a day or in a weekend and it was impossible for just we two to eat it all before it went bad. I'd take the food to the office or to friends when I could but we couldn't always keep up.

But in these very tight economic times, I'm working hard not to do that anymore. I'm learning to cook smaller portions. And I'm cooking carefully out of the pantry and the fridge.

Two days ago, for example, I baked opah in an Asian marinade (shoyu, sesame oil, ginger, honey, cider vinegar and sesame seeds). But I'd bought too much fish and there was a hunk left over. So the next night, noticing a can of mushrooom soup in the pantry, I made an opah noodle casserole. It worked. I've been doing a lot more of this recycling and have found that if the first preparation has a rather mild flavor, it can readily be paired with a different seasoning for a second go-round.

Today, I noticed a basket full of potatoes growing "eyes," a lone yam and a lot of onions and, in the fridge, a rather tired red bell pepper and a small container of tomato paste.  What could I do? Decided to make a vegetable and chicken curry (had chicken thighs in the freezer). Sauteed everything separately with a mixture of hot Madras curry and — thinking about my friend spice maker Kai Cowell, whose house burned to the ground on Round Top earlier this week — a goodly amount of Kaiulani Spices Exotic Curry Rub and Seasoning. Dumped it all in a casserole and baked it. Very nice.

The point is, if you've tended to err on the side of extravagance and waste, as I have done, commit your inner cook to "making do" — your own personal "Top Chef"-style challenge. My goal: Nothing goes down the garbage disposal but cores and peels.

NOTE: Still seeking stories about the old Ranch House restaurant. Message me here or at wadams@honoluluadvertiser.com.

NEXT WEEK IN TASTE: The Best Almond Cookies Ever.

AND COMING UP A LITTLE LATER: Those wacky bento box fanatics. Why do they get up at the crack of dawn to make a bento in the shape of a teddy bear?

STARTING NEXT WEEK: My Food for Thought column will appear on this blog site on Tuesday afternoon, a little makana for My Island Plate fans — you'll get the column ahead of print readers. The blog will be refreshed every Monday and Friday with Food for Thought appearing every Tuesday.

Web foodie Grace Sunu.

I'm all over the place this week, writing about the local meat industry (2/3/10 Advertiser print edition and online), the cute bento craze (to come in future Taste section), quick and easy breadbaking from scratch (also to come), readying for a farm tour with chef Nobu Matsuhisa (next week), looking forward to an informal Chinese cooking class with friends.  So this blog is a miscellany, too.

A good Web-friend

Had lunch last weekend with a Web-friend — Grace Sunu, someone I previously met only on the phone. She has a site  about Asian food, mostly Korean food (NotJustRice.com). I wrote about her some months ago. A Manoa girl, she left the Islands with her husband 30 years ago and now lives in Raleigh, N.C., where she manages to continue to cook her Asian favorites despite the lack of readily available ingredients.

We had a good foodie fanatic chat. She shared an idea I liked and plan to use. She noted that, in many restaurant dishes containing tofu, the tofu has been deep-fried to give it a pleasing caramelized crust.

But since she tries to avoid fatty preparations, she uses this technique: Press water from firm tofu (place the block of tofu under a weight and allow it to sit for an hour or so to drain). Cut tofu into bite-size pieces. Dress with olive oil, salt and pepper and arrange in a single layer on a nonstick baking sheet (or one lined with Reynolds Release foil). (Or spray the tofu with olive oil spray for even fewer oil calories.) Bake in a preheated 425-degree oven for 15-20 minutes, until golden. Tofu prepared this way can be used in stir-fries, salads, braises, stews — anywhere you use bite-size tofu. Store in airtight container in refrigerator.

Grace's latest video blog is on bi bim bap, that bowl-of-rice-with-everything-on-top Korean dish. (It is, she says, how Koreans use up leftovers.) Her video outlines a  number of toppings but not one of her favorites: sesame sauteed cucumber. Japanese or English cucumbers are preferred for this or you can use standard cucumbers (if using standard ones, they must be peeled and seeded, the others can be used as is). The idea of cooking cucumber seems to have been lost in the U.S., though some other cultures do it all the time.

Here's how: Using a mandoline or Japanese slicer, slice 1 pound cucumber paper-thin, place in colandar, sprinkle with 1 teaspoon salt and allow to weep and drain. After a half hour or so, squeeze the liquid from the cucumber slices (no need to rinse). Then, over medium high  heat, saute cucumber slices in a little sesame oil and season with black pepper and sesame seeds.

Doesn't that sound good? Grace is just full of good ideas and solid technique like that. Check out her blog and videos.

Remember the Ranch House?

News that a new Ranch House restaurant has opened (at 449 Kapahulu Ave., above Hee Hing) prompts us to ask:
• Do you remember Spencecliffe’s old Ranch House, in Aina Haina, which operated from the 1950s to 1987? Did you go there often? Did you find hidden treasures? What are your memories? We plan a little tribute to the original Ranch House and would appreciate hearing from you. E-mail us: taste@honoluluadvertiser.com. Weigh in at myislandplate.honadvblogs.com. Or write Island Life/Ranch House Memories, 605 Kapiolani Blvd., Honolulu, HI 96813.

Marylene's latest baking creation. Brownies were frozen before use.

One  of closest friends is a baker who counts among her closest friends another baker. From these associations, I get some of my best tips.

My pal Marylene Chun (her blog is anythingtoeat.blogspot.com) told me this one: One of the hardest things for home bakers is to tell when something is done. She has  learned  to wait until you can smell the scent of the baking item. Five minutes later, it will be done. I tried it and it's pretty reliable. I tend to make  mistakes in baking because I'm impatient; the scent test taught me to wait.

(Other markers: springs back from a gentle touch, skewer or toothpick in center emerges clean, internal temperature, which is the best way to tell that yeast breads are done.)

Marylene's good friend, Tina Ho Wing, a Los Angeles culinary instructor and professionally trained pastry chef, shared a tip for freezing baked goods. Tina and Marylene both like to bake cookies or cakes en masse to give during the holidays or for other occasions, but you've got to spread out the work or you'll exhaust yourself.  The usual answer is to bake ahead and freeze.

The problem: Often, the baked goods "taste frozen."

Tina's solution is to wrap each item individually with plastic wrap, rather than just throwing a mess of cookies into a Ziplock. Wrap each cookie, then place in a zippered plastic bag.

Tips:

The item must be COMPLETELY cool before wrapping. With most baked goods, it's best to let the item cool just a few minutes  in the pan, then turn it out on a rack, unless the recipe specifically suggests otherwise.

Use the "cater wrap": Wrap around in one direction, then turn the product and overwrap in the opposite direction to be sure it's completely sealed.

Express as much air as possible from the plastic bag before freezing. Some people not only press on the bag but zip it almost closed, then use a straw to suck out remaining air. Or you can use one of those commercial sealing systems.

If you're going on a baking binge, be sure there's room in your freezer. The faster the food is frozen, the better the quality. Food will freeze fastest if there's room for the chill air to circulate around it. Crowding doesn't matter with a bag of peas but it's important with delicate baked goods.

Freeze food in the smallest possible pieces. For example, when Marylene makes a pound cake, she cuts  it into thirds, wraps each, then freezes.

Don't hold baked goods longer than a month.

Defrost the items slowly, first in the refrigerator, then on the counter.

YET ANOTHER tip from Marylene: In baking the brownies for the picture above, she used the "cradle" technique: Line the pan with a strip of foil with two ends lapping over either side. Pour in the batter. Bake. When you're ready, you can use the ends as "handles" to  lift the item out of the pan.

For brownies and bars, Marylene likes to use a pizza cutter rather than a knife. "It's the only thing that will make precise cuts," she said. But it only works for shallow bars or brownies.

What's your best baking tip?

How the sink should look after washing up: pristine.

What's the dishwashing rule in your house? If somebody cooks, and everybody eats (and I understand this is already a rare scenario), who cleans up?

In the house where I grew up, Mom or I cooked and us kids did the cleanup. We even dried everything and put it away (it was actually great bonding time with lots of joking and laughter). Of course, Mom usually had to ride herd on us. Dad, of course, never set foot in the kitchen.

I still try to convince my husband that the one who cooks doesn't have to clean. Why do you think I cook so often?

Many families have gone the take-out, paper plate, throw-it-all-away route. But this blog is aimed at people who, at least occasionally, still cook from scratch for the family. So I'm wondering how people handle this issue today.

Problem B, it seems to me is how the non-cooks define "doing the dishes" (or the "washing up," as the English like to say).

I define it as doing ALL the dishes (including pots and pans and anything else even if they may not be sitting directly to the right of the sink), putting away the leftovers (perhaps even thoughtfully apportioning out some for lunch-takers the next day), rinsing any detritus out of the sink, wiping down the counters, maybe even sweeping the kitchen floor.

I believe in washing as you go, taking care of any prep tools while the food cooks. But others who shall remain nameless, when they have cooked in my kitchen, leave the place looking as though the cupboards must be empty, since they've seemingly used every pot, pan, bowl and utensil and left them lying about.

Almost no one I've ever lived with takes my view: not my college roommates, not my best friends, not my husband, not my step-children.

They tend to wash only what's right in front of their eyes and not "see" things like smeared or crumby counters, pots still sitting on the stove or a dusty floor. So I, like my Mom before me, have to ride herd or "go behind" whoever has the duty.

Do I sound like an old curmudgeon? Don't mean to. Just reflecting on differences in the way people approach their daily cooking routine.

What's it like in your world?

Actually made soup today which what's left in an increasingly bare cupboard. Sauteed bits of scrap bacon (I buy  ity in bulk), added small squares  of potato, poured in some chicken brother and called it soup. I did add pepper and a few herbs but I'm steering clear of anything spicy. Very comforting.

As Ahnold would say: "I'll be back."

While I'm at it, got a request for an old Maui recipe: tamarind simmered in shoyu-sugar (and maybe ginger, too), then allowed to dry. It's a  kind of sour seed but made with tamarind, not plums. Anyone know of it?

Chefs talk a lot about layering flavors. Sometimes this means adding an ingredient at the beginning of the cooking and then again, perhaps in a different form, at the end. So you might add garlic to a saute to begin the process, then scatter some minced raw garlic in toward the end. Or start with sweating onions and end by adding a sprinkling of onion powder or minced onions at the end.

The other night, I was in the midst of holiday preparations, not to mention beginning to obsess over shooting the art for my next cookbook, which we'll be doing later this week, and I couldn't think of a thing to do for dinner. I poked my nose in the fridge and saw some flour tortillas, remembered that I always keep a can or two of vegetarian refried beans on hand, knew we had cherry tomatoes but didn't want to make just another bean tortilla.

So I layered. I sauteed some garlic and onions and combined them with the beans; cut up the cherry tomatoes and gave them a splash of two different hot saucse (Hula Girl Chipotl

The burrito under construction.

e Habanero, which is fiery hot, and Tapatio, which isn't) plus salt and pepper; noticed some cream cheese and thought a tender, creamy note would be good so added a few chunks; pulled out the cheddar (I buy  it in large packages, already shredded and if that makes me lazy, then so be it); threw on some Grandma's brand chili powder (I really should have sauteed it in a little oil to cut the sharp bitterness but I was being lazy) and wished we had some decent lettuce but what we had was looking kind of sad so I decided against it. Besides, I needed to bake them and lettuce would have been a bad idea. If we'd had any bell pepper, I might have have added that. But I found some olives instead.

This all took minutes and was the kind of cooking I most enjoy: from the na'au (the Hawaiian term for the center of the being) — try this, throw in that, discover something else you can put in, just do what feels right.

Oh, goodie. The husband made the happy noise.

So, as you consider how to feed the household with what's left from holiday spending (almost nothing around here, I can tell you), cook not from the head but from the inner place. Layer. Be carefree. And even if it's something as simple as a burrito, be proud of yourself.

I'll be on vacation (vacation being another word for working on another project) this week so no more blogs unless I get moved in the middle of the night (which happens).

Meanwhile, cook. Feed. Feel good about it.

Surfing Goat kid, only two days old.

My husband and I hardly see each other. He leaves at 5:30 a.m. When he gets home, I'm cooking or writing or off doing a restaurant review and then I'm dead. On weekends, he often works. And if he isn't, I am.

This past Christmas weekend, then, was a real treat. We went to Maui to see my Mom and we went driving and driving. Saw the huge waves at Hookipa and Jaws. Visited with the best cookie baker I ever met,  who lives on a hillside in Kula that just put you on a dreamy plane and robs you of speech. Took a million flower photographs (something we both love doing). Recalled our childhoods on the island.

And met a kid. Or a bunch of kids. Not the human kind. We took Omaopio Road back down from Kula and stopped at Surfing Goat Dairy where we got to see baby goats. And I mean babies. Some were literally hours old. White and fluffy and prancing about like they'd been walking forever. I bought an aged goat milk cheese in red wax and we had no knife so I just gnawed off parts and fed them to him while he drove. Of this, are memories made. Our fridge is full of different kinds of goat cheese plus a Tahitian lime relish I can't wait to try in some sexy way plus also some marinated goat cheese.

What was that I was saying about bah hubug?

The best part — and this was a surprise on the order of a James Cameron film actually failing — was cooking with my mom's boyfriend. (Wish we could come up with a word other than boyfriend for the constant companion of a woman who is on the far side of 80; sounds kinda silly...but, again, as usual, I digress). Her friend, Bob, and mine, too, is a good, plain cook, born and raised in the South and so a great fan of fat, salt and sugar. (And, as Paul Prudhomme once said to me, "Cher! That's where the flavor is!").

Bob and I haven't always gotten along like rice and gravy. But this Christmas, it was all sweetness and light. And calories.

With me at his side, handing over spoons, helping read the meat thermometer, holding this and whisking that, he roasted a bone-in standing rib that would have fed twice our number with leftovers. He made the best gravy I've tasted in years (and, as the little girl in the ancient TV add for Shake and Bake said, "I helped!"). We skipped salad. We skipped bread. We had roasted yams. I insisted on making my grandmother's stuffing (bread chunks, onions, celery, butter, chicken brother and about a thousand pounds of minced parsley; it's the parsley that makes it). Bob made cornbread stuffing from a mix; good texture, but too much salt (not his fault, that's the way they make Stove Top). And Bob did an interesting thing with Brussels sprouts: cut them in half, sauteed them in bacon grease, splashed them with two kinds of vinegar, added some salt and pepper. Yummmm.

I ate as much as I could, feeling like a hippo afterward even after using some much-needed portion control. The trouble with eating too little at one sitting is that then you can eat too little again an hour or two later.

But I held true to my promise to make midnight raids on the fridge when everyone else was asleep. The next morning I got teased unmercifully when they found little saucers stained with the remains of stuffing and gravy. That dinner was so good that, when we returned from Maui, I went to the store, got some beef, made gravy with onions and we had dinner again. (But no stuffing...I do have a ton of it in the freezer but forgot to take it out).

Can we talk Brussels sprouts for a minute? A Brussels sprout is just a miniature cabbage. Would you take a whole cabbage, immerse it in boiling water and cook it until it was soggy? No, you wouldn't; it'd smell like fed laundry and have the texture of marsh slime. Why do we do it with Brussels sprouts?

Here's how you do Brussels sprouts. At the very minimum, split hem in half. At best, core them with a short, sharp paring knife and pull them apart so you have a bunch of leaves (takes time, worth it). Then quickly, quickly, I mean quickly as toasting an oily nut, stir-fry the leaves in olive oil and a lot of salt and pepper, maybe some butter. Add any herbs you like and some grated Parmesan. The leaves turn this lovely green. Serve immediately. Meet Brussels sprouts. They're actually good.

But back to Bob. I have a confession to make. He converted me to something I NEVER  would have entertained. Gravy mix. The envelope kind. Just add water. (But we added water, cream, pepper and herbs and, of course, the drippings from the carving.) I've made gravy a million ways. Many would say packaged gravy mix has got to be dreck, too salty, with a gelatinous texture. Fine. Let' em go work for Cook's Illustrated. Meanwhile, we had gravy in 10 minutes.And because you can use as many packets as you like, you can make ENOUGH gravy. Which otherwise, there never is.

Life is just a booowl of gravy....

Now it's time to think about the New Year's Eve spread.