Comfort Food

It's been a pretty stressful month for me, and this week is proving to be especially bad. Now, this stress has started to manifest in my food cravings and the meals I have planned for this week. This is the very definition of comfort food: what I want to eat/cook when I'm feeling down.

When I go to the Whole Foods pre-cooked food bar, and they have out "Comfort Food," it's typical American/Southern foods: meatloaf, mac & cheese, casseroles. That's all too heavy to me, and doesn't jive with my palate.

Ideally, I'd have some of my mom's Haitian cooking as my comfort food. I could eat the pants off some braised chicken and rice with red beans, or white rice and black bean sauce, or some bouillon (pronounced boo-yohn). But I'm still working on getting up to my mom's level of Haitian cooking.

Until I get to that level, it seems my tastes tend toward Asian flavors: light, savory, salty, and a little bit sweet. My planned dinners for this week are a couple of good old standbys.

Mapo Tofu

I absolutely love mapo tofu; I sometimes use it as a benchmark for a new Chinese restaurant. It's bold, spicy, and just warms you up inside. The slight numbing sensation and increased salivation caused by the Sichuan peppercorns is just an added bonus :)

Yaki-Udon with Chicken & Veggies

It's super simple, just stir fry the cooked noodles, some broccoli, carrots, baby bok choy, and ginger in the right sauce. It's savory, but has that sweetness from the yaki-soba/yaki-udon sauce, and the bit of spice from the ginger.

Photo from lovehwaseong.kr

Soon Dubu Chigae (Korean soft tofu soup)

This isn't one that I can make myself yet, but sooner or later I will buy a Korean stew pot and try my hand at this. Soon dubu chigae is a hearty, spicy stew made from hot peppers, fish stock, silken tofu, prawns, clams, and a raw egg on top that cooks in the hot broth. Whenever I have a cold that just won't go away, I go to Korea House and order one of these.


I think I've associated Korean food with comfort ever since grad school, when I was commuting from Long Island to UWS Manhattan. My first semester final exams happened to fall on the first day of the NYC transit workers' strike, so none of the subways or city buses were running... and my exam started at 9am. Anticipating the delays on the LIRR, I took the 5am train into the city, and the ride that was typically 1 hour long took at least 2. Then I joined a group of people trying to grab a taxi uptown; easier said than done, when all the cabbies were gouging us.

Luckily we found a really nice van driver who could take us up to around 90th, and I'd have to walk the rest of the way. But I completely forgot to go a few avenues west before getting around 110th, because I ended up on the wrong side of Morningside Park. I backtracked and got to my first exam 35 minutes late. Oh, and the exam was difficult as sh!t.

So I handed in my exam, heart still pounding, feeling like crap, and not looking forward to my next exam in 5 hours. The first thing I wanted to do? Treat myself to a nicer lunch than usual. And so I went to Mill Korean Restaurant on 113th and B'way, and had a pot of soon dubu chigae, and then went to the EE student lounge for a nap.

For a moment, while I was face-deep into that hot stone pot, I didn't hate the world.

What's your go-to comfort food?

Banane Pézé (Fried Plantains)

Haiti calls it Banane Pézé (pronounced bahn-ahn pay-zay). Spanish-speaking countries around the Caribbean call it Tostones. But for English-speakers, it's just fried plantains.

For those of you who aren't so familiar with Afro-Caribbean or Latin American foods, plantains are a relative of the bananas we eat as fruit, or Cavendish bananas. But plantains have a lot more starch than Cavendish bananas and are not eaten raw. In Haitian cuisine, it's as popular of a side dish as potatoes are to Americans.

In stores, you might see them looking deep green, or yellow, or yellowish with black splotches. This correlates with the plantains' ripeness and sweetness. When they're unripe and green, they're super starchy and not very flavorful. When they start going black, they're overripe and get too sweet for me to handle. A good yellow is my ideal.

Growing up, I'd have boiled plantains with almost every dinner. But once in a while, at some Thanksgivings, my aunt would make banane pézé. So making this as a side dish for some friends' Thanksgiving dinner party definitely brought back some memories.

It's a really simple recipe. First, wash and peel the plantain. The easiest way to peel it is to chop off the stem and end, cut a shallow slit from end to end, and pull off the peel and any lingering strands. Chop the plantain into 1-inch rounds.

In some good frying oil (grapeseed, sunflower, peanut, etc), fry each piece of plantain until it's just barely golden brown on each side. When they're golden, remove them from the skillet and let them cool for a minute. Keep the oil hot, you're not done yet.

When they're cool enough to handle, flatten them. A lot of Haitian families have a complicated piece of hardware for the sole purpose of making banane pézé. It's basically 2 pieces of wood connected by a hinge. I just used some wax paper and 2 cheap wooden coasters.

Return the flatten plantain pieces to the oil and fry on each side until they've turned golden-brown. When they're done, remove them from the pan, dry them on some paper towels, and season with salt and pepper.

Serve fresh and hot.

Haitian Braised Beef & Vegetables (Boeuf et Legumes)

Recipe Source: My Mom

Here's another dish my mom would make all the time when I was little, and I think I've finally mastered it. Nowadays, whenever I go home, I look forward to her making it. But when I was little, I thought it was gross as hell.

The texture of the eggplant or the cabbage. The big, wilted slices of onion... Yuck. By high school, I was indifferent toward the dish, but I focused more on the beef. But then Mom started using another cut of beef that had a big line of connective tissue down the center, which turned slimy when cooked. Again, yuck. But from time to time, she would use sirloin, and it was damn good.

I've tried to make this dish a few times. But each time, the meat came out too chewy and the sauce had no flavor. A few weeks ago, I found a recipe for chicken braised with apples and cider vinegar, and I tried a couple of things: (1) I gave the chicken plenty of time to brown really well, (2) I let it simmer in the liquid for over an hour. The result: the chicken didn't just melt in your mouth, it fell off the bone effortlessly.

So with those lessons learned, I tried again. I picked up some flat iron steak; it's light on connective tissue, but cheap and has a little bit of fat left for flavor. After marinating it overnight, I browned it well in a Dutch oven (even got a good, light char on some pieces), and let it braise with the eggplant and carrots for 90 minutes. In the end, the meat was relatively tender, the sauce was nice and savory, and this iteration was a success.

Haitian Codfish

Recipe Source: Mom

Recipe Result: Still trying to get it just like I remember from childhood, but it gets a very good reaction from friends.

In Haiti, they call it morue. In Jamaica, it's saltfish. They use it a lot in Portugal and call it bacalhau. But whatever you call it, it's cod fillet dried and preserved in salt, and it's damn tasty when done right.

This is one of those dishes that my mom would make once in a while, maybe every 2 months. But every time she made it, I'd devour it like there was no tomorrow. I remember it being even better as cold leftovers on crackers. Then again, I remember the smell that it would leave around the house while it was being prepared, and realize that there must have been a reason why Mom would make it so infrequently. But then I also think of the slightly chewy and flaky texture of the cod, the mild residual salt, and the mix of leeks, tomatoes, and herbs that Mom cooks it with, and I remember how I could just munch on it straight out of the fridge.

But when I was back home in NY a couple years ago, I asked Mom to make it for me, so I can understand the process. At first, it seems a little involved, but all it really takes is just an extra 24 hrs of passive prep time. I've tried it a couple times on my own, plus a variation on it from my Spanish/tapas cookbook, and it's rather simple. A few months ago, I made it for a pot-luck with some friends and it got rave reviews.

Let's meet the star of the show: Señor Bacalao

"Hola"

You'll almost always find it in a small wooden box within some plastic wrap. Inside the box, the fillets are hard and dry as a bone, caked in salt, and smell really fishy. Don't let that deter you, the process is worth it.

Step 1: Soak the fillets in cold water in the refrigerator for 24 hours. Change the water 2 or 3 times.

Before

After

This is in order to remove a lot of the salt, and to reconstitute the fish. You didn't think that you were going to be chewing on some messed-up version of fish jerky, did you?

Step 2: Submerge the fillets in water in a large pot and put it over high heat. As soon as the water comes to a rolling boil, turn off the heat and take the pot off the burner. Drain out the fish, and set it aside. This is to remove most of the remaining salt, and to actually cook the fish. When it's done, the fillets will be nice and flakey.

From here, you can get creative with your recipe. Growing up, Mom always made morue with fresh leeks, tomatoes, garlic, and some other herbs.

Step 3: Prepare your veggies.

- Blanch, peel, seed, and chop 2 large vine-ripe or Roma tomatoes.

- Finely chop the white part of one leek. And make sure you clean it off well, they tend to have residual dirt between the top layers them when you just get them from the store.

- Mince 2 large cloves of garlic.

Leeks, gotta use them more often

Step 3: In a large saucepan, saute the leeks in 1 Tbsp of olive oil for 1 or 2 minutes on medium heat. As they go soft, add the garlic, and let it saute and become fragrant. Then add the tomatoes, give it a stir, and let it heat up until the tomatoes start to soften and break down.

Step 4: Before you add the cod to the pan, flake it up with your hands, and then chop it coarsely. Add it to the pan, stir it into the veggies, and season with salt and pepper to taste. You probably on't need a lot of salt because of the residual salt from the preservation. I also like to add 1 or 2 tsp of red wine vinegar, or some dashes of Frank's hot sauce for acidity and spice.

Step 5: Stir it all together, allowing the chunks of cod to break up even more. Let it continue to cook for another 5 minutes on medium heat, so the fish absorbs the flavors from the vegetables.

Rice-Cookers Are for the Weak

I grew up on diri (rice). The vast majority of the Haitian meals my mother and my grandmother would make would be served with rice. The same goes for my aunts, family-friends, etc. All of this has spoiled me on rice side dishes at American restaurants.

I remember once, when I was a kid, trying rice at a Red Lobster or Sizzler or some other fantastic establishment. I knew something was off when it looked like a little fallen mound of individual grains, no cohesion at all. And it tasted like nothing but chicken broth. Literally, it was as if they just poured the dry rice out of a bag and into boiling chicken broth, and drained it out before it was cooked through. God awful.

East and South Asian cuisines definitely understand rice better. It's given great body and texture to serve as a vehicle for the main dish. They do so with pressure cookers and rice steamers. In Haiti, rice cookers and pressure cookers are a real luxury; as far back as I can remember, every Haitian relative or family-friend I know has cooked rice with nothing more than a cast aluminum or stainless steel pot.

Anyone who's accustomed to a rice cooker will immediately say "but you have to watch it so much more closely," or "but don't you get burnt stuff on the bottom of the pot?" I say "not necessarily," but it does take a fair amount of practice. But once you get it down, and learn how to give rice real flavor, you'll realize it was worth the work. Below is a recipe for basic, plain Haitian-style rice.

Ingredients:

- 1/2 cup of diced yellow onions

- 1 Tbsp olive oil

- 1 cup white long-grain rice

- 2 cups water

- heaping 1/4 tsp garlic powder

- salt and pepper, to taste

- 2 cloves

- pinch of dried thyme

Procedure:

1. Bring the olive oil to medium-low heat in a small saucepan, and sauté the diced onions until they are translucent (but not browned).

2. Add the dry rice to the pan, still on medium to medium-low heat, and stir until all the grains are exposed to the oil. In the oil, the grains will get a little translucent. Heat the rice until you see some of the grains start to become opaque, about 1 or 2 minutes.

3. Once the grains start going opaque, add the 2 cups of water (and enjoy that sound of the water sizzling on the bottom of the pan for a second). Turn the heat to high and bring the water to a boil. Add the garlic powder, salt, pepper, cloves and thyme to the water, give it a good stir and let it boil for another minute. It's a very good idea to taste the liquid to make sure the seasoning is right. That's how your finished rice will taste.

4. Turn the heat to the lowest possible setting, cover the pan, and let it sit for about 10 minutes. By then, the water will have been absorbed into the rice and the grains will be cooked through but give the rice a stir down to the bottom of the pan just to make sure.

Yields about 3 servings.

Like I said, this is the stripped down, plain recipe; my mom would only prep it this way if she was planning to serve it with black bean sauce. Once you master the plain recipe, you can move on to more common Haitian rice recipes, like rice with red beans, or with sweet peas, or (one of my favorites) with Haitian mushrooms and shrimp.

Haitian Braised Chicken

Recipe Source: Mom

Recipe Result: finally mastered

Every Haitian mom has some variation on a dish of marinated meat braised with tomato and onion. I remember growing up and having this for dinner every Sunday, like clockwork. Back then, my friends would ask me what Haitian food is like, but I had no idea how to describe it. Now that I've been cooking for a few years and learned some techniques, I can say that the bulk of Haitian cooking is all about braising.

I've watched my mom make this several times, even had her walk me through the steps as she was making it. But there were a lot of subtleties that I had to figure out through practice. In a way, this dish is what really made me consider writing a recipe journal. I must have tried cooking Haitian braised chicken a couple dozen times before I felt like I mastered the recipe. Here's what I learned in the process.

1) Most of the flavor comes from the meat getting sufficiently browned, and the cookware you use for braising makes a pretty big difference in how well it browns. When I first tried braising chicken, I had been using my usual stainless steel sauce pan, but the browning would happen too fast and I couldn't get the meat to release its juices the way I wanted. Then my mom bought me a cast aluminum pot (technically, a caldero). Cast aluminum is used all throughout the Caribbean and Latin America because it's cheap and lightweight. It heats up a little slower than your average stainless steel pan, so it gives the meat a good gradual brown. A dutch oven would also be great to use.

2) The other primary source of flavor is tomato paste, and when it's added to the pot. When I started trying to recreate this dish, I would dissolve the tomato paste in the water that I would add as the braising liquid. But I was impatient with letting the liquid reduce and letting the tomato paste impart its flavor. I learned that adding the tomato paste while the chicken was still browning gave better color and more intense flavor. Before I understood that step, I would cheat and use some gochujang (Korean soybean/chili paste) for extra flavor. A little MSG makes everything better... right?

3) Patience is the key. When you add the water after the chicken browns, you really need to be patient and let it reduce on medium-high heat. If you have time, let the water reduce to almost half so you're left with a good, concentrated sauce. Then add more water and let it reduce some more. Though, I am still working out the optimal time to let the chicken brown before adding chicken and the optimal time to let the sauce form and develop flavor so that the chicken doesn't get overdone. The dark meat always comes out great, but breast meat gets slightly dried out.

Ingredients:

- 4 chicken thighs

- 1 half of a split breast (I pick up a pre-packaged split breast and then ask the butcher to cut it into 3 pieces for me)

- 1 lime, cut into thick wedges

- 2 cloves garlic, crushed/minced

- 2 Tbsp red wine vinegar

- 2 tsp olive oil (for marinade)

- an additional 1 Tbsp olive oil for braising

- 1 Tbsp tomato paste

- 1 small yellow onion (3" diameter") or 1/2 of a large yellow onion (4" diameter), sliced into rings

- salt and pepper to taste

- a pinch (~1/8 tsp) dried thyme, or about 1/4 tsp of fresh thyme leaves

Procedure:

1) Rub each piece of chicken with the lime wedges. Then season liberally with salt and pepper on all sides. Arrange the chicken flat in container you can fit in the refrigerator. Add the 2 tsp of olive oil, the vinegar, and the garlic. Mix it all together, so all the pieces of chicken are marinating. Cover the dish and refrigerate, letting it marinate overnight.

2) Wash your hands. Seriously.

3) In your dutch oven, caldero, or whatever you have, heat the 1 Tbsp of olive oil over medium heat. When it's hot, put in the chicken so that the sides with the flattest surface area are face down. Let it cook for 10 minutes or so without moving the chicken. Keep it still so it browns nicely. When it does start to brown, throw in the 1 Tbsp of tomato paste and flip each piece of chicken. Toss all the chicken around so that the tomato paste gets spread around the pan, then let it sit over the heat and brown some more.

4) Both sides of each piece should be nice and browned. Don't worry if you get some slightly burnt spots too, it adds to the flavor. Add 1 cup of water, or however much you need to nearly cover the chicken, like in the photo below. Dial up the heat to medium-high and bring the pot to a boil. Let the pot simmer on medium heat, and add the sliced onion, the thyme, and salt and pepper to taste. I also recommend a couple of dashes of hot sauce at this point, for the spiciness and the acidity from the vinegar. Simmer until the liquid is reduced by half. You can add more water if you want more sauce in the end.

Yields about 4 servings. Enjoy!