Me and Food: Some News

Back in July, I went to see an allergy immunologist because I wanted to arm myself against tree pollen next spring. I was poked with needles for environmental allergens, and the results were far from surprising, at least to me. "You're allergic, no iffy biffy," my doctor remarked, when he looked down upon my welt-filled arms. The only thing I wasn't allergic to was saline, the control substance. He sent me to get some bloodwork done, to see what food allergies I might have. I already knew that soy milk made my throat itch and cherries made my lips swell a little. So I was surprised during my followup visit to learn the following information.  

I am allergic to the following foods, in no particular order: corn, rice, almonds, garlic, onions, peaches, peanuts, paprika, vanilla, soy, cow's milk, egg yolk, barley, rye, oat, apples, bananas and shrimp. There are more but honestly I can't remember them all. These allergies aren't so bad that I will go into anaphylactic shock if I eat, say, pizza (one of my most beloved foods, ever). But apparently, I could develop a more severe reaction to some of these foods with continued exposure. So I was told to avoid these foods.  

After I found out this information, I went into a little bit of shock. Going to the grocery store was depressing, as many products included those foods I was tested to be allergic to. I wandered the aisles looking for an alternative to Hershey's Syrup, because it contained vanilla. Finding a milk alternative was hilarious. If not cow milk, then .... soy milk? Nope, allergic. Rice milk? No. Almond milk? No. I think I came home with the following milk alternatives: coconut milk, goat milk and hemp milk. It was the grossest taste test ever.  

Nothing takes the joy out of cooking than knowing your body is allergic to everything that tastes good. I'm Korean, so garlic and rice are nonnegotiable foods for me. I have uttered and written love letters to the sexiness of an egg yolk. Caprese sandwiches, made with fresh mozzarella cheese, is perhaps one of the most divine foods that exist on earth. Nothing makes me more excited than seeing an aisle full of American craft beers. And apple pie. There is an amazing farm nearby that makes the absolute best pies on earth. Mr. C and I refer to the months of September through November as "pie season" because we usually get a pie once a week from this farm.The kicker of my allergic disposition? I'm allergic to gluten, but not wheat. I don't know how you can reconcile those two things. I don't know how I can reconcile that the foods I love don't necessarily love me back.

So yes, I was food shy. I still am. I lost some weight recently, which was not necessarily an unwelcome change, but it was born out of this paranoia I had about food. Have you ever looked down at your dinner plate and been a little scared of it? I have never had that feeling before in my life. I'm usually game to eat just about anything. To have to back off from that fearless attitude was difficult.  

So I clarified with my doctor on what I should do. I was strictly avoiding all these foods I am allergic to and was driving myself crazy. Now, I'm just eating and observing how my body reacts to it. I found some okay dairy alternatives (flax milk, anyone?) and let myself eat some cheese once in a while. But really, when you put these things in perspective, these are first world problems.

On Salad.

To make a good salad, chop greens into sizeable pieces, for elegant eating.  Get a large bowl, place greens in, drizzle vinaigrette down the sides of the bowl and quickly add freshly grated black pepper and salt.  Toss to coat evenly; select a leaf and nibble to taste the vinaigrette, salt and pepper along with the tender green.  Portion onto plates, and arrange accoutrements on top.  Some suggestions: a poached egg with smoked salmon, capers, green onions and a lemon wedge; curried chicken salad with sliced almonds and granny smith apples; thinly sliced chilled tri-tip steak, roasted peppers and olives.  Best when all ingredients are at room temperature, served immediately and enjoyed in peace.

Momofuku Ramen: Before & After.

Notes.

The last time I sat down to write about food, cooking and all things related was during the height of the summer harvest last year.  During the epic canning weekend, all I could see was the red of tomato skins, tomato pulp, tomato juice, slipping between my fingers and into Mason jars.  Between then and now, I've been tasting.

I traveled to Los Angeles and had, on the recommendation of my host and dear old friend, one of the best Manhattans of my life, an orange wedge rubbed around the rim of the glass and the whiskey hinting of vanilla.  We dined at The Gorbals, which wasn't nearly as good as the lengua tacos I ate later, dripping with hot chili sauce, and washed down with cold, sweet horchata on the street in Downtown L.A.  On Christmas Eve, we made the pilgrimage to Daikokuya Ramen.  The following March, I heroically set forth to make Momofuku ramen, standing for eight hours over a simmering pot of chicken, bacon and pork bones derived from parts I have never had the pleasure of eating before.  In Las Vegas, I bit into one stale pistachio macaron and one fresh, rich chocolate macaron from Bouchon Bakery, and drank blue champagne at a faux Japanese wedding party.

When I got back to Baltimore, I set about on a c-l-e-a-n-s-e (seems like a dirty word - and it was at the time), and ate kale for three meals a day.  I have to say that I came to love, love that leafy green, a cross between swiss chard and collard greens.  I made Mr. C an Irish-themed birthday meal: Guinness lamb shanks, Irish soda bread, and homemade chocolate cake with chocolate frosting (note to self: must develop a master cake recipe).  We went to dinner with my parents at a Chinese restaurant (on the eve of their 2-month sojourn in South Korea), and ordered a whole duck and the aptly named Happy Family.  I poured tea and wine for everyone, and looked at my parents after reading my fortune: "Happiness is in right in front of you."  Someone came by our table later with several bags, offering the carcasses of the not-yet-spent ducks (politely declined, but another note to self: must return, take the offerings).  I experimented with pizza (artichoke-pesto-anchovy sauce, topped with shrimp and spinach, anyone?) and fell in love with lemon curd.  Lemon curd on ice cream, cookies, toast, wonderful.

I feel incredibly lucky to have tasted all of these things, been to all of these places.  Spoiled, in fact.  I had to write these things down; I have a terrible memory.

Tomato City.

The Break.

I started writing this blog this past spring because in between the uncertainty of unemployment, important test results and the impending "doom" of my thirtieth birthday, I needed to cling to something that I could create and something that would, in return, nourish me. A food blog seemed like a good idea at the time. The uniform slice of an onion, the careful eye over a seared side of pork belly, the stir of mashed asparagus in a sieve - all of these movements were meditations in an emergency. I wanted to throw myself into something that I loved, and write about it. It was indeed what I subtitled this blog, "food therapy."

A lot has happened since my first post. I have interviewed for three jobs, accepted two jobs, and quit one job. Mr. C also quit his day job to pursue his career as a full-time artist. Since March, I breathed a huge sigh of relief, started running in the woods and turned thirty in the company of Mr. C, a fried soft shell crab and homemade strawberry hot sauce. I am grateful to be where I am now in my life, even if it is not exactly what I would have ever imagined for myself just a few years ago. I am trying to hit the reset button on my life in earnest, turn the page and start a new chapter with none of the trappings of prologue.

I have also been on hiatus from cooking from scratch. Mr. C has been doing a fantastic job of making dinners with love and tending to our vegetable garden. I haven't been inclined to document and share during this time - I am still settling into new patterns and taking care of myself, and tentatively moving in new directions.

I am not sure if I will still write about food and cooking on this blog. But I know that I will be writing for myself, either here or elsewhere. I'll keep you posted, my one reader (still there?).

The Worst Damn Thing I Ever Ate

I’m sitting here, struggling to remember the best damn thing I ever ate. All my mind can conjure up are freshly picked California plums, or a deep orange egg yolk traveling quickly down a terrain of toast. But I can easily recount the mediocre food I ate during childhood, my teen years and though my twenties: countless cans of Chef Boyardee spaghetti, late night fried food and super value packaged pork chops. It’s surprisingly hard to remember the really good food from all the shit I ate.

But what I can tell you about is the weirdest thing I ever ate. Sea cucumber. One Mother’s Day, my mother decided to go out with our family to a Korean seafood restaurant. We started off with abalone rice porridge. Small savory-sweet bits of abalone suspended in warm soupy rice, with just a hint of salt. What came after was a steady procession of banchan, alarming in number and variety. Boiling hot pots of egg soup and dishes of various cold salads – seaweed, potato, and bean sprout. There were cold prawns, garden-variety kimchi, nondescript blocks of tofu, baked clams, small fried fish, and even better – two of every dish for our party of seven to sample. Bottles of soju were quickly dispensed and replaced. Once we made our way through one wave of dishes, the server would reappear, repopulating the table with a new array of small dishes. This was only the appetizer, the small dishes that were “complimentary” to the actual sashimi boat that my mother ordered.

The ship arrived loaded with salmon, whitefish, tuna, clams, eel, and tons more of fish I cannot even begin to name. Halfway through dining off the boat, and well beyond our appetites, my mother noticed that we left one area of the boat untouched. “These are my favorite,” she said, as she gently lifted a piece of sea cucumber from its gelatinous brethren and popped it into her mouth. Steadily moving her jaw back and forth, her mouth full, she said, “Try.”

I looked at Mr. C. At that point, we were seasoned sushi eaters. We prided ourselves on designating California rolls for amateurs only, and had spent our fair share of paychecks and Friday nights sampling the fare at our favorite sushi spot. Raw quail eggs, rainbow-colored roe, eel: all badges of our pretensions. But neither of us had ever tasted sea cucumber before.

I took my tiny shotglass of soju. filled it up halfway, and dropped a piece of sea cucumber in. Feigning courage can be an absurd affair. Sea cucumber is not the most attractive thing you can eat. At first glance, it is wet. Looking at a presentation of sea cucumber, it would not appear to be possible to actually lift up anything from the soft, shapeless mass that gleams before you. In my soju glass, it appeared to be a strange specimen preserved in formaldehyde. I mustered up my courage and knocked the glass back, drinking the soju first. The soju tasted foul, laced with the bitter juices of the sea cucumber. Then the sea cucumber landed on my tongue.

Imagine in your mind a malleable plastic, perhaps having undergone decomposition at sea long enough to give just a little on the surface while still retaining its shape. There is definitely sea goo that has accumulated on this piece of plastic. A sea goo that you cannot wash off, a goo that is inextricable from said plastic. 

I finally got the cut into my mouth, and bit down. I chewed for a long time, trying to render the cut into pieces small enough to comfortably swallow. My face soured and I tried to understand why this was such a delicacy for my mother, who sat before me, amused. 

It was the worst damn thing I ever ate. 

This is a cautionary tale. When you are trying something new, do not, do not, do not, eat it out of context. I made the mistake here of eating something scary looking in a theatrical manner (like a frat boy swallowing a goldfish), and I did so out of sheer fear of the food itself. It probably took me a good two years to revisit sea cucumbers again. Still weird, still chewy, but far better without ruining a shot of good soju.