(What’s on the list, you ask? Homemade pho and Taiwanese beef noodle soup, among other things. But those are other recipes for other entries!)

Magic mushrooms have been on the list since before the list existed, however, and I’m glad I was finally able to deliver with a version all my own.

Magic mushrooms are our favorite appetizer from Hapa Sushi, which is a fusion/nouveau-type sushi restaurant in the Metro Denver area. Whenever we visit Denver, we go to Hapa and order this appetizer without fail. However, it’s been well over half a year since the last time we’ve managed to patronize this sushi joint–so I only had my memories as reference. If you’re a Denver native or you’ve eaten at Hapa before, you’ll have to tell me whether I’ve managed to create a worthy copycat recipe, okay?

I would advise you to make sure you have a nice, sharp knife before attempting to make these; a dull knife won’t be able to create the thin slice necessary for the rolling of the salmon around the avocado. Additionally, this recipe requires vigilance: you can’t really walk away from any of it while it’s cooking. There’s not really much I can offer in the way of a shortcut other than buying the sweet soy sauce (or unagi sauce) at the store instead of making it yourself–but the consistency will be thinner.

Even if these mushrooms taste nothing like the ones at Hapa, I still think they’re pretty damn tasty. You’ll be dismayed at how quickly they disappear relative to the amount of work it takes to make them–but hey, you’ll get credit for being an awesome cook, so all’s well that ends well!

Where was this mystery cake? It has a similar consistency to bibingka (a famous Filipino baked dessert) but was baked in a pan, not in banana leaves. It had condensed milk instead of salted cheese and eggs at the top. It contained dried coconut in the batter, but not young macapuno (young coconut) like most of the other recipes called for. I kept hitting dead ends, and ended up resigning myself to waiting until I visited Colorado so I could have the mastermind herself–my grandmother–show me how to make it.

The recipe itself is very easy–but the taste takes me back to my childhood, when my family and I would fight over the chewy corner pieces and pick the condensed milk off our front teeth (then lick our fingers). I always knew that mochiko cake was on the way when I saw the trademark white box and condensed milk sitting on the counter. I remember my grandmother making it for special occasions, for our giant holiday potlucks, or sometimes just because my brother and I begged her to make more (usually because my dad had eaten all of the edges already).

As I grow older and look to start a family of my own*, I find myself awash in the nostalgia of my childhood–and as a Filipino woman, the food I grew up with is an instant connection with my past. I’m so grateful that I was able to watch and learn from my grandmother today; I can’t wait to share this recipe with my kids when they’re old enough to bite through this chewy, sticky cake! (And probably fight with them over the best pieces. You know, because… tradition?)

* Note: It’s been nine freaking years since I wrote this blurb, and it’s all come full circle I’m happy to report—my kids love this cake as much as I do, and we’re so fortunate to still have my grandmother (their G.G.!) make this delicious treasure for them whenever she visits.

1. Kris used to think ________ was icky! What a travesty.
2. (soul-searching paragraph)
3. And now she doesn’t. Yay ________!

Today, we are tackling pickles–which I also disliked for a long time. But since I seem to have disliked everything when I was growing up (ha), I’m going to skip over that fact and talk about how amazing Korean food is instead!

My first and dearest experience with Korean food was at a little joint called San Chang in Colorado Springs when I moved there in 1999. I had tried “Korean” food before at Pan-Asian restaurants around Delaware as a child, but not like San Chang. What were these funny grills doing in the middle of the table? Why were there so many vents? And why were there so many versions of pickled vegetables in tiny plates?

It wasn’t until I befriended Korean-American classmates at college that I learned the magical name of these vegetable dishes–banchan. But I loved banchan from the start, and often stuffed myself on it before the main course arrived at the table. My favorite banchan involved radishes in various forms: julienned, cubed, sliced, and so on, pickled in so many delicious ways. I loved the cool, crisp crunch of the radish and the subsequent explosion of pickling juice that would follow with each bite. They were a sharp, effective palate cleanser to the salty savoriness of galbi or the sweetness of bulgogi. Ever since that first magical visit, I’ve been a fan of Korean food and flavors… and most importantly, pickles!

James linked this pickled radish & jalapeño recipe to me while I was in the Philippines, so I gave it a go when I came back to LA and was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to make. I tweaked the ratio of sugar and jalapeños because we prefer our pickles a little spicier and less sweet, but feel free to play with the ratio according to your preferences. I also chopped the radish rather coarsely because we are radish fiends–but you can make smaller slices if you wish, especially if you’re using the pickling juice as a sauce for meat. Either way, I hope you give this very simple recipe a try–whether you’re a banchan fan like me or looking to spice up the condiments at your dinner table. You won’t be disappointed!

I always managed to scrape respectable cookies out of my parents’ oven despite the charred entrées, though. Maybe I was just lucky? Honestly, I think it’s because baking requires almost no multitasking–once it’s in the oven, it’s time to play the waiting game. Either way, my family always knows that they can trust my baking and therefore I’m always tasked with cookie-baking whenever I come home to visit again.

So what’s different about these “high-altitude” cookies? Is it just a cute turn of phrase? Actually, it’s the standard alteration I make to all of the cookies I bake in Colorado but added to my favorite oatmeal raisin recipe (via Simply Recipes). Click on the link for a sea level recipe!

Thanks to King Arthur Flour‘s altitude baking chart, I came up with a uniform adjustment to generic cookie recipes that works very well for the Mile-High altitude. I subtract a Tbsp. of sugar, add 2 Tbsp. of AP flour and 2 Tbsp. of water, as well as increase the temperature by 15ºF and reduce the baking time by 2-5 minutes. I won’t lie–baking at higher altitude is definitely trickier than sea level, and getting a soft, chewy cookie usually involves some oven window watching. But if you continue to do these alterations over time, they’ll become second nature! Toward the end of my time in Denver [before I moved to LA], it was a customary adjustment that I had memorized and used without much thought.

So to my friends, family, and anyone else that happens to live where the oxygen percentage is lower–this recipe is for you. I wish you chewy, moist, and delicious oatmeal cookies packed with raisins and crunchy edges! My heart will always be evenly split between these mountains and the Pacific Ocean. 

Hummus is an amazing dip–it’s already packed with its own distinct flavor, but still functions as a blank canvas for all kinds of flavor combinations. Like I said earlier, you’ll probably see a lot of different types of hummus flavors pop up on here from time to time. Forgive me in advance, okay? 

The real love affair (sorry, James) started when I finally got a clue and figured out how to really enjoy Sichuan peppercorns:

1. Dry-roast the peppercorns until they are pungent in a wok
2. Grind the peppercorns in a spice grinder at the “fine” setting
3. Pour through a sieve into an airtight container (to filter out the stems and husks)
4. Sprinkle that sh–um, I mean stuff –on everything!

The ground, roasted Sichuan peppercorns stay crisp and fresh in flavor and scent for a month; I dry-roasted ½ cup a few weeks ago and I’ve still got a few tablespoons left over, so I would suggest roasting much less if you don’t favor Chinese or Sichuan food as much as I do (2-3x a week). But I can assure you it’s totally worth it; you won’t experience the richness of flavor that Sichuan peppercorn/prickly ash is famous for unless you roast it first. At first, I thought it was the inferiority of the brand I was using… turns out that most any brand regardless of price will taste heavenly if you roast it first. (But I still believe spending a little extra on higher-quality peppercorns will only help!)

With that said, I’ve been trying different recipes of Kung Pao chicken for a while now–always looking for something a little more authentic, a little more spicy. I finally found a few Sichuan-based recipes recently, and have created something based on my preferences that I wanted to share! It’s definitely on the spicier side, so feel free to use fewer chili peppers than the recipe calls for. The bell pepper and diced onions are definitely more American-style Kung Pao than the traditional recipe (which simply calls for diced chicken and scallions), but I liked the sweetness that the vegetables lent to the savory spiciness of the dish.

As I mentioned earlier, I literally do sprinkle the ground Sichuan peppercorn on anything that may conceivably taste good with it, and this recipe is no exception. The numbing spice of Sichuan peppercorn and the heated spice of chili peppers have always paired well together, but they are especially delicious with the kung pao sauce here. The aroma of freshly stir-fried kung pao chicken, dotted with the ground peppercorn, is both exotic and mouth-watering. Much, much more appetizing than the standard kung pao you’ll find at American Chinese restaurants, I guarantee it.

My favorite part of this dish has always been the roasted peanuts; I love the mix of both flavor and consistency that peanuts bring when added. I cheated and used dry-roasted, non-salted peanuts for this recipe… but if you have the time and the energy, shelling and frying raw peanuts gives a stronger, smokier flavor to the overall dish that ready-made peanuts can’t quite accomplish. Just be sure to be vigilant and stay at the stove when frying them, as they will burn very quickly if not under constant watch!

If you prefer using chicken thighs over chicken breast (and I almost always do), you can skip the marinating if you’d like. But I would do it anyway, as I think the small amount of xiaoxing or cooking wine used gives the chicken complexity. I know most people prefer how much easier breast is to cut through than thigh… no fat to trim or uneven pieces to measure. In this case, the marinade “velvets” the drier chicken breast meat and makes it more appetizing to eat.

This main dish is on heavy rotation in our kitchen, and I hope it finds its way to yours as well.

Sichuan mapo tofu has a heartier taste, with an emphasis on both the spiciness of the chili flakes and the numbing spiciness of the prickly ash. I might be biased, since I’m in the throes of passion for all things Sichuan right now, but I’m inclined to like this version of mapo tofu better… to each his own, though!

I’ve definitely been influenced by my first recipe, though–a lot of the Sichuan recipes I found online omit the garlic, ginger, or both. I am disinclined to leave out what I view as staple aromatics for Chinese cooking, so I decided to keep them as ingredients and use them in the same way I did for the Japanese recipe. And while recipes varied widely on the amount of ground meat used, I decided to stick to my guns and continue to use 5 oz. It’s just what we prefer at home–if you want to put more emphasis on the tofu, feel free to add less.

The most important part about cooking Sichuan food is making sure your ingredients are specifically from Sichuan or are Sichuan-style. Japanese and Korean stores both carry versions of doubanjiang and dou chi (spicy fermented bean paste and fermented black beans, respectively) but neither will have the same intense flavors that are so characteristic of Sichuan cooking. If you can, drop by your local Chinese market and look for these two ingredients. They are literally two of the cornerstones of Sichuan cooking, and are completely worth the search. (And while you’re at it, make sure you have Sichuan red peppercorns, okay? Remember how I mentioned that roasting and grinding them makes crack powder? Go get ’em!)

If you’re worried about the spice level, you can always dial back the amount of chili flakes you add in the recipe; the amount I’ve listed is moderately mild. If you’re crazy like me and James, you can always add more chili flakes and experience that numbing heat that makes Sichuan so addictive for us!

But first, some back story…

I have this awful habit of buying a ton of vegetables all at once with nothing but good intentions… anyone who has opened our fridge to see a vegetable garden staring back at them can attest to that. I rationalize these purchases with ambitious recipes: “I’m going to use this gigantic surplus of green beans and make three separate dishes with them!” “I’ve always wanted to make a recipe involving Chinese eggplant.” And so, I return from the market with armfuls of vegetables and a list of future dishes in my head.

The inherent flaw in all of this, of course, is that James and I are only two people and two people cannot possibly eat a fridge full of vegetables in the time it takes for these vegetables to go past their fresh date. And if that weren’t bad enough, I’ll routinely forget about vegetables I’ve bought if they’re obscured from sight by other vegetables. It’s a terrible cycle of waste… and it can get pretty gross, too. A few days ago, I threw away a red onion that was as soft as an over-ripe peach…

I’ve gotten much, much better about this over the past few months (yes, only a few months–imagine all of the food I’ve wasted!) but sometimes it’ll come back to haunt me. Today, I was re-arranging the fridge to fit a few more things in it and I found a cauliflower head that I had “bought and forgot” last week. Aiya. Thankfully, I happened to have the ingredients for a pineapple fried rice just lying around… so I whipped up a version with cauliflower rice instead. And it was delicious!

Curry and cauliflower are already great friends, but throw fresh pineapple and raisins into the mix, with some cashew crunchiness… and it’s low-carb heaven. And because it’s rather healthy, I don’t feel any shame in admitting that I ate this entire thing myself! (Not in one sitting though… pretty sure I would explode if I tried to eat that much all at once.)

I love shrimp in fried rice/fried cauliflower rice, but you can easily substitute it with the protein of your choice. I forgot to add the green onions on top–but I think it’s worth adding them because I love the fresh crunch they add to the dish! And lastly, while canned pineapple is a great substitute, nothing beats the taste and mouthfeel of a fresh pineapple–so if you can, use fresh instead!

And if you like what you see, you may like my other cauliflower rice recipes:

• Kimchi Cauliflower Fried Rice
• Shrimp Fried Cauliflower Rice

Happy (healthy) eating!

I started making Three Cup Chicken a few years ago, but every recipe I found was just a wee bit off from that first magical bite I had some years ago… too sweet, too bland, too salty! Pretty silly for a recipe that is quite literally named Three Cup for a reason: one teacup of soy sauce, one teacup of rice wine, one teacup of sesame oil. But after tinkering around recently, I’ve settled on this recipe that I’ve been able to consistently reproduce. Yay!

Velvet-ing the chicken, or breaking down the muscle fibers in the chicken to create a more “velvet” texture, isn’t usually necessary for thighs since they’re more tender than breasts. However, I really loved the softness of the chicken and the flavor that the marinade imparts, so I incorporated that into my version. Other than the “cups” for the sauce and the aromatics, the spice and sweetness of the dish can be easily adjusted to your taste preferences.

The only ingredient I have to insist you do not substitute is Thai basil. Italian basil won’t create the sharp, aromatic flavor that contrasts so well with the sweetness of the sauce. Use it if you must, but know that the chicken will taste far from authentic if you substitute the basil.

Being able to recreate a popular dish from James’ ethnic homeland makes my heart happy! I hope this easy recipe encourages you to not only try making it, but to try other Taiwanese food as well.