Friday, 24 October 2014
I killed my first chicken when I was five. My Aba (grandfather) thrust its knobbly feet at me, and told me hold on tight and with one smooth, practiced motion he twisted its neck off, drained the blood and dunked the whole bird into a vat of boiling water. Fast, clean, precise – and I didn't even blink through the whole process. Plucking the bird afterwards wasn't great, but my little fingers made fast work of those little pin feathers, much faster than Aba's gnarly, work weathered hands. Showing that dexterity may have been a mistake, though, since I was always, thereafter, made to do the feather plucking – easily the most boring job ever, especially for a hyperactive five year old.
After that first time, Aba and I have killed more chickens. I didn't see him all that much, as we lived in town and he lived in the small village he called home. But every summer my sister and I were unceremoniously bundled into a bus, and packed off to my grandparents' place where we ran wild with all the other neighbourhood kids. Our school holidays were during April and May, and May was wedding season. Aba was a wedding chef, and a master butcher, which meant that he was out almost every night, if it wasn't a wedding, it was a christening, a jubilee celebration, a church event.
My grandmother would also be invited, and a lot of the time we tagged along. The wedding feast usually started with a ceremonious parade of all the live animals and birds that would be served at the feast. They would be taken to a nearby farm, or abattoir, where my grandfather, along with other males in the wedding party, would butcher them. Aba would then expertly chop everything up, and start the long cooking process that officially marked the start of the wedding feast. Everyone had a job, and with the precision of a seasoned chef, he made sure everything was being sauteed, simmered and salted to perfection. It was hot, dusty and pots and pans clanged, and fires flickered and spit and sizzled. The air was thick with the smell of cooking, a hundred different aromas, somehow blending harmoniously and wafting into the surrounding homes and villages. Candles dripped wax, and eerie shadows danced on soot stained fire pit walls. In the middle of it all, my Aba, a commanding presence, striding to where ever he was called, never once sitting down, never once consulting a recipe.
The cooking went late into the night. We wandered around, bored, but excited at the same time. Around midnight, we would usually be found curled into a ball in a corner somewhere, fast asleep. We almost always woke up at home, and for the life of me, I don't know who carried us back and tucked us up into our sleeping straw mats. Aba came back the next afternoon, once the wedding was done and all the food was served. We would be up and chirpy, we knew there were leftover wedding food in his bags that we would eagerly dive into. We were then dispatched outside so Aba could sleep in peace, and the process started all over again the next day.
Wednesday, 8 October 2014
Oh this soup! This beautiful, bright, clean, fresh, spicy-hot, sour soup. Tom yum soup, or simply translated, hot and sour soup. When winter arrives - and mark my words, it's coming - this is the soup I turn to all the time. I first tasted this soup when I was living in Delhi, and a date took me to this place called Turquoise Cottage. I was fresh off the first-time-out-of-home boat, and the flavours of Thailand were a revelation to me. I was pretty addicted to Thai food from the get go, and when I had the opportunity to backpack around South East Asia, my first stop was Thailand and it's fabulous street markets.
While this soup might seem pretty ubiquitous, with a version in every Thai place, for me this is the ultimate comfort food. And it's certainly addictive with its clear spicy soup broth and is also a great vehicle for a lot of proteins. The most popular version of this soup is tom yum goong, or with shrimp, but a lot of places serve it with other meats as well. When my brief from the Turkey Farmers of Canada arrived for this month, with it's request for soup, I knew immediately that this was the soup I was going to make, especially with the leaves floating down from the trees, that characteristic nip in the air and the birds flying south (take me with you, birds...)
The recipe for tom yum soup varies from family to family, and this is my version of it. The Thais are all about balancing flavours, and this soup is certainly a prime example. I start with a chicken or turkey stock, preferably unsalted. I then add the classic aromatics of Thai food, lemongrass, hot red bird's eye chillies, galangal, kaffir lime leaves, kaffir lime zest, lime juice and fish sauce. I let the aromatics infuse, after which I poached the turkey straight in the broth, to maximise its flavour. Once the turkey is cooked, and the broth strained, I add freshly shredded lime leaves, lemongrass hearts and shimeji mushrooms (my favourite kind, though you can substitute these with pretty much any other variety of mushrooms) and then it's all about balancing the soup the way you like it. You can stir in the chilli sauce for added heat and spice, and a pinch of palm sugar calms everything down beautifully.
The ingredients may feel like they are difficult to source, but any Asian grocery will have them, and I have also seen them in larger Superstores. A lot of these ingredients can be bought fresh, then frozen. The strained broth can also be frozen, just thaw, season and add your fresh ingredients for the perfect easy supper.
So what are you waiting for? Head on over to the Tasty Turkey website to download your recipe now.
Click for the recipe - Turkey Tom Yum Soup (Thai Hot and Sour Soup)
And as usual, if you have any questions, mosey on back and I'll be more than happy to answer them for you :) Enjoy!
Sunday, 5 October 2014
I hereby decree October as month-of-the-soup. Or at least, tear-my-hair-out-at-all-the -produce-landing-on-my-doorstep-and-winter-is-coming month. Okay, soup month it is. With the leaves turning and falling off, and the first frost already here, I've been airing out my sweaters and winter coat, and trying hard to find a hat to fit my large head. It's sad to see Kay's garden being bedded down for the winter, and to know that soon, the vibrant green lawn is going to covered under a blanket of that fluffy stuff. So in many ways, I've been frantically trying to hold on to the last few days of autumn and the waning daylight hours.
I've found that one of the best ways to preserve our harvest bounty is to soup it up. I've made jars and jars of salsa, tomato sauce, pickles, jams and preserves. So much so, that I've run out of jars and cupboard space, so my eyes fell on the freezer. I freeze a fair bit, mainly beets for soups later on, and butternut squashes, but this time round I decided that soup was where it was at.
So I am all souped up. A delicious leek, fennel and potato soup, sunchoke soup, lots of beet soup, my favourite curried butternut squash soup, and this yummy Moroccan spiced carrot soup - which means that my freezer is pretty full of these warming comfort foods to keep us going through winter. Let's just hope it's not a long one like last year!
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