Me Go Run for Mee Goreng

Oh, man. I had the craziest dream last night: I was running through a jungle, all vines and humidity, following a familiar, yet unrecognizable scent. I ran and ran, searching in vain for the source of this smell that drew me nearer and nearer, yet seemed to evade me at every turn. The heat built all around me--and suddenly, I could taste it. A little salty, a little sweet, a lot spicy.

I woke up in a cold sweat, craving mee goreng.

The Dark Knight, my ever-indulgent boyfriend, bowed to the pressure of my nocturnal visions, allowing me to steer him through the zoo that is the Farmer's Market on Third and Fairfax. Parents with children, children with children, couples about have children...do you get the impression that I'm not too keen on large crowds of kids? That's a whole other blog, my darlings.

Anyway, we wound our way to Singapore's Banana Leaf. I seated the Dark Knight at a table and placed my order just as the clock struck 9. One plate of mee goreng, please. With one limeade and one mango juice.

Six minutes later. Six minutes of watching the guy across from me wolf down his rendang beef. Six minutes of listening to the couple next to me chatting intermittently in Indonesian as they shared a plate of nasi (Indo style, yes please!) and a plate of chicken curry. Six minutes of watching other almost-customers come strolling (or in one case, running) up to the counter, only to turn away, sad-faced and disappointed, when the guy who just took my order tells them they're closed for the night.

And then my number was called, the lady from the kitchen handed me my plate, and I felt a little faint as the aroma coming from the plate mingled with the aroma from my dream and I realized I was home. Home isn't just where you're from, or where you lay your hat, or where your heart is. Home is everything that makes you feel safe, comfortable, happy, and (at least in my world) well-fed. And I was home. Or close to it, anyway.

A steaming pile of noodles, co-mingling with bits of scrambled egg and soft-cooked onions and crunchy bean sprouts, sat on a sheet of banana leaf. A handful of chicken, quick sauteed in chile oil, topped the noodles. A sprinkling of just-snipped scallions.



We dug in enthusiastically, our mouths too full to speak. Finally, a little breathless from eating so rapidly, the Dark Knight spoke, "Those are some good noodles."

I could only nod, my mouth full of spicy chicken, my eyes a little watery from the heat.

"I really like the egg. And the onion. And this chicken is great!" said the Dark Knight, beginning to eat again, lest I clean the plate alone.

Silence for a few more minutes as we finished the food. And then, exhaling a great big breath, I said, "That was so good. We need to order separately next time."

Woohoo!

After years and years of eating and writing, I am psyched to announce that I have finally been published as a food writer! Check out my article (edited by someone other than me, so there's a missing space between two words) in 13 Minutes Magazine, available at your local Barnes & Noble. My mom found it at the one in Santana Row (Silicon Valley), but I've been told the ones on the East Coast are carrying it, too.

I have another article coming out in their next issue, as well as the following one. The magazine is published quarterly, and it has an Asian focus. They'll be broadening their scope as time goes on...

Happy dining!

Adventures in Craftyland

Last week, I tried my hand at a whole new game: Craft Services. Sure, I’ve done crafty before, but only on the smallest scale imaginable. And, yes, I have a strong repertoire of dishes that are suitable for large-scale production. And yeah, I’m pretty quick in the kitchen. But I am not meant for crafty.

My little bitty car was not built to carry four coolers, six flats of bottled water, five flats of soda, nine 20lb. bags of ice, a coffee maker, a coffee grinder, two blenders, and two 20-gallon jugs of water every single day, roundtrip. And I was not built to carry this stuff all over the set. I understand that crafty is meant to be mobile. But crafty is mobile when crafty is more than just one person.

So, there it is. I am not meant to be the next Craft Services Star. I am, however, incredibly proud of the original dishes I put out:



Polenta Caprese
Crisped polenta coins topped with basil and tomato, garnished with mozzarella ribbons

Crostini Tapenade
Kalamata tapenade and crème fraiche on top of toasted baguette slices rubbed with garlic

Smoked Salmon Toast
Toasted baguette topped with smoked salmon, crème fraiche, green onion, and lemon zest

Tea Sandwiches
Tiny sandwiches filled with smoked turkey, roast beef, or cucumber and cream cheese, shaved zucchini, and tomato strips

Vegan dip
Spicy, garlic, and tomato-basil hummus mixed with minced roasted bell peppers, zucchini, and carrots served with pita chips and toasted tortilla strips

Despite the disturbingly hungry extras and crew who seemed not to care what they were eating, so long as it was food, this job was fun. And I actually enjoyed cooking for some of the people. But, truly, I learned that without a kitchen, or at least some semblance of organization on the part of the production staff, this cook is not cut out for crafty.