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I guess just because I am Asian I can’t assume I know rice. A few days ago, while cruising down the rice aisle in the supermarket, a small canister with the words kao hung (ข้าวฮาง) caught my eyes. I have heard and seen many varieties but kao hung? Huh? I am seeing this for the first time. I put one in my shopping cart and one compulsive shopper is made happy.
When I got home I did some more research and found out it’s an indigenous Phu Tai way of “transforming” rice. Like kao maow, Toasted Rice Flakes, making it requires an elaborate process. To make kao hung, rice is harvested when it is 85%-90% ripe — when rice is too old to make kao maow (rice for kao maow is harvested when it’s 60%-70% ripe.) It is then dried in the sun for three days. After that, it is wrapped in straw mats for two days to sort of ferment/cure it. Then it is soaked in water, steamed, sun-dried again, and finally, threshed. The end result is grains smaller than Jasmine Rice with a wonderful bran + wheat germ + toasted rice smell. The rice grains are also known as kao hom thong (ข้าวหอมทอง) or Fragrant Golden Rice — an allusion to its lovely golden hued transparency.
For lunch yesterday, I cooked a cup with a small piece of lemongrass to lightly perfume it. When I took a bite I was surprised by the thin paper-like veil of fibrous bran surrounding it. It provided a sort of shield that pops when bitten into to allow an explosion of the soft sticky flesh inside. Already, I am a fan.
I am told that kao hung was created out of necessity. Farmers who can’t make ends meet until the next harvest often have to reap rice before it is fully ripe. Because the rice is cooked (steamed) before it is threshed, many of its fibers remain intact. Thus, when rice is cooked again, farmers get more “volume” — more to feed families.
I have since stopped complaining about the difficulty of getting decent macarons, baguettes, espresso, bellota, confiture…….you name it. I have also come to realize Bangkok is NOT Thailand. The majority of the country, sadly, still struggles with poverty. What good is it to have good artisan cheese at the local supermarket when hunger stares at me so intently from afar?
I will never take rice for granted again. Ever.
Or Thai Rice Crispies. Honestly, I don’t know of a better way to translate these crunchy rice flakes called kao maow (ข้าวเม่า) in Thai. They can be made from Jasmine or glutinous rice but most people prefer the later for the texture.
Kao maow may look like simple rice flakes but its making is elaborate and tied to an old tradition steeped deeply in history — the cultivation of rice. Not just simply sowing and reaping it but Thais in Isan (Northeastern part of Thailand) are known for the many customs (religious and ceremonial) revolved around growing rice. According to this site (in Thai) there are nine “processes”. These nine processes are essentially the “processing or transforming” of rice in its different maturity stages.
The two main reasons for processing rice in its various stages are often medicinal and religious. Take for example Young Rice Milk or kao yaku or kao krayaku (ข้าวยาคู ข้าวกระยาคู) in Thai. It’s considered to be the first product from rice and said to be a good remedy for stomach troubles. To make this drink, rice is harvested in its milky grain stage, pounded, strained, boiled thick (pandan or rice leaves may be added), and sweetened. There is a story that says kao yaku was offered to Lord Buddha in one of his previous lives. The person who offered it later became Lord Buddha’s first disciple to attain enlightenment.
Back to Kao Maow.
Traditionally the season for kao maow is end of the rainy season and when the cold wind starts to sweep in. Basically, in October. It’s when rice has been harvested, and another crop has begun to grow. Here, rice is left to ripen past its milky grain stage and the soft watery grains become tough dough. The rice grains range from light to dark green. It’s often described as when the rice is “not young and not old”. Riper rice grains, whose husks starts to show streaks of gold or brown, may also be gathered for kao maow. They produce creamy hued rice flakes.
The process for making kao maow is labor intensive. Rice stalks are gathered individually by hand to ensure that the younger or older ones do not get mixed in. A piece of cut bamboo or spoon is then used to scrape out the grains from the stalks. The grains are then pan roasted over a low wood flame. Next, they are pounded in a large wooden motar-and-pestle-like contraption. When done, the rice is threshed to remove the tough outer shells. What is left behind are beautiful light lime-green grains of fragrant flattened rice flakes or kao maow.
There are many recipes using kao maow — fried with bananas, toasted and mixed with young coconut and sugar, fried with sesame…. The most ceremonial is probably in the making of krayasat (กระยาสารท), a sort of cereal bar made to celebrate Sart (สารท, Pali for autumn). Krayasart is offered to monks to gain merits as well as to make merits for deceased loved ones. But my all-time favorite is toasted kao maow drizzled with palm sugar and coconut milk syrup over crushed ice.
Today, with the aid of technology, farmers often harvest three or more crops. More and more are also employing the help of machines for making kao maow. Still, finding kao maow is not easy in Bangkok even if it is promoted as a health food. It used to be common street food when I was growing up. It does, however, make phantom appearances in my local supermarkets — it’s there when I don’t need it but disappears when I want it.
The only restaurant I know that offers it year-round is Lai Rod (หลายรส) on Sukhumvit Soi 49. The last time I was there, I ordered three to go. As always, with my crazy schedule, I promptly forgot about it. But believe it or not, even after days of neglect, those toasted rice flakes are still so crispy. Maybe that is why rice flour is so commonly used in frying Thai desserts — the “short crisp” as mentioned by David Thompson in his book, Thai Food.
This is my take on tom kha gai or Chicken in Galanga and Coconut Soup. Over the past ten years salmon has somehow became a prominent, if not overused, ingredient in Thai cuisine. It’s salmon this, salmon that. Today, foie gras may be the new salmon but that is another story.
I like salmon when it’s cooked just right. Not raw. Not over cooked. When salmon comes in many of the curry dishes, it is often dry from over cooking. Or if cooked just right, the soup just isn’t that salmon-y.
I got the idea for this dish because of my craving for bouillabaisse. I figure I could try making galangal stock with salmon carcass. Add in the mashed bits and pieces of meat from the bones for a salmon-y soup. It also thickens the soup without having to add more coconut milk. Then pour the hot soup over fresh salmon. Result? Not tooting my own horn but, damn, it was good!
I omitted mushrooms for this recipe because I never like them in galangal soup. You can, of course, add them.
Ingredients:
1 kilogram salmon carcass (head, bones, tail)
8 cups water
1 large galangal
4 stalks of lemongrass mashed lightly
2 coriander roots with skin scraped off
10 small shallots
10 kaffir lime or bergamot leaves
3 prik chee fah deseeded (These are bigger but less spicy than bird’s eye chili. You can substitute with bird’s eye chilies but will need to adjust the quantity.)
Fish sauce
Palm sugar
1 cup coconut milk
240 gram fresh salmon cut into 1 cm cubes (40 grams per person)
3-4 tablespoons lime juice
Coriander and kaffir lime leaves and fried dried chilis (for sprinkling on top of the salmon)
1. Bring the water to a boil. Add in the galangal, lemongrass, coriander roots and shallots. Don’t add the lime juice, lime leaves and chilies now. Lime loses much of its taste when it is heated. I prefer to squeeze it in just before serving. The later two tends to become bitter when cooked for a long time. Coconut milk is also added before serving. Cooking it for a long time will cause the coconut oil to separate and soup will become a nasty grease meal.
Wait for the above to come to a boil again before adding the salmon carcass. And do not stir until the water comes to a boil again.
I don’t know the scientific explanation behind it, but this is a common Thai tip for cooking fish. You only add or stir when the water is boiling hot. Doing this will ensure that the soup won’t smell fishy in a bad way.
2. When the water is boiling again, turn down the heat to low. Let simmer for an hour or until there are about 2 cups of stock left.
3. Strain the soup and throw away the galangal, shallots, coriander roots and lemongrass. Set aside. Pick out the salmon meat from the carcass. You should get about 3/4 cup. Mash finely, pick out any stray bones and add back to stock. This will give you a flavorful and thick soup without being heavy. At this point, you can also freeze the stock for later use.
4. Just before serving, put the salmon cubes into individual bowls. Top with fried chilies and coriander leaves. Set aside.
5. Bring the stock to a boil. Add the coconut milk and chilies. And if you want mushrooms in the galangal soup, this is the time to add them. Crush the lime leaves with your hands to release the aromatic oil and tear them into tiny pieces. Add into soup. When it comes to a boil again, season with fish sauce and palm sugar. Use the palm sugar sparingly. It’s just to round off the taste not make the soup sweet.
Bring it off the heat. Add the lime juice. Give it a quick stir. Taste again. The soup should be a harmonious blend of sour, salty, and spicy. If not, add more of the seasoning as needed.
Pour the hot soup over the fresh salmon cubes, and serve.
There you have it. Thick salmon galangal soup with salmon that is cooked just right.
Lady’s Fingernail Bananas or Leb Meu Nang in Thai (เล็บมือนาง). They are different from Lady’s Finger Bananas in that these have tapered ends that curve upwards. Much like a true lady’s fingernails. Of course.
They are grown in the south of Thailand and are about 3-4 inches long without the fingernails. I also find them starchier and sweeter than most bananas which makes them perfect for cooking. Especially fried.
Personally, I prefer them about 80% ripe for frying so they won’t turn soft and mushy. They can be drizzle lightly with honey but are best with a chocolate-coconut-milk sauce. Or Nutella-coconut-milk sauce, more specifically. You can make your own chocolate sauce from scratch but who can resist Nutella with bananas? Especially, with hazel nuts and coconut milk thrown in?
Ingredients:
10 Lady’s Fingernails Bananas about 80%-90% ripe (or any other banana of your choice. Just make sure they are not overripe. Unless you like fried soft bananas)
Coarsely chopped hazel nuts for sprinkling
Enough oil for deep frying
The batter:
1 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup coconut milk
2 tablespoons coarsely chopped hazel nuts
A pinch of salt
The sauce:
5 tablespoons Nutella
3 tablespoons coconut milk
1. Start by making the Nutella sauce first. Put the Nutella and coconut milk in a bowl and put it in the microwave for 10-15 seconds. Mix well. Add more Nutella or coconut milk as needed. Set aside.
2. Peel the bananas and brush lightly with lemon water to prevent oxidation. Cut them into bite-size chunks if you are using the larger variety of bananas.
3. In a large bowl, mix the flour, coconut milk, hazelnuts, and salt until lumpy. The lumps will give a crispier crust. Mix only when you are ready to fry so the flour won’t become doughy and heavy.
4. Heat a pan of oil on medium. Dip the bananas in the flour and try to scoop as many hazelnuts as you can. Put into pan of oil. When one side starts to turn golden brown, flip over. Fry the other side golden brown. Remove and drain well.
5. Arrange on plate. Drizzle with Nutella sauce and sprinkle with hazelnuts.
Torch ginger or etlingera elatior is a flower from the ginger family (zingiberaceae). In Thailand it is known as daalaah or kaalaa (ดาหลา or กาหลา) among other monikers. The young tender buds are a common ingredient in Southeast Asian cuisine. It looks similar to the Japanese myoga (both are the same species). It is commonly included in Southern Thai Rice Salad (ข้าวยำปักษ์ใต้). But since it’s a seasonal flower, you will find it omitted most of the time.
I bought a lovely bunch for 20 Baht per flower. That is about 40 cents each. Quite a steal. The vendor assured me that they last a long long long time. Mine started wilting the day after. Either she lied or I just can’t seem to keep any plant cut or not for long.
I didn’t buy them with the intention of eating them but I figure why not. Better than watch them wilt away uselessly.
Torch ginger has a particular smell that some people do not like. I, personally, love it. It adds a ginger-glangal-ly zing to any dish. On first bite it is astringent and sharp but also tart and sour. Then an explosion of that particular smell — a mixture of pickled ginger with flowers that I just can’t quite put my fingers on.
I wanted to add blanched julienned Jerusalem artichokes, lemongrass, bergamot peel, and leaf but I didn’t have the last three ingredients at hand. I used lime peel instead. And it was only after eating that I realize I forgot to add the Jerusalem artichokes. Oh, well!
Ingredients:
6 large prawns, peeled, deveined and blanched
1 cup blanched minced pork
3 tablespoons tender petals of torch ginger, julienned
2 tablespoons cashew nuts, soaked in salt water and drained
1 tablespoon bergamot peel, julienned
1 tablespoon tender white part of lemongrass, julienned
1 tablespoon bergamot leaf, julienned
1 tablespoon fried shallot flakes
1 tablespoon fried garlic flakes
Enough oil for deep-frying
For the dressing:
8 cloves small garlic
12 small shallots
2 tablespoon palm sugar
2 chili (I use prik chee fah – พริกชี้ฟ้า – They are about three times bigger than bird’s eye chili – พริกขี้หนู – but less pungent and spicy)
2 tablespoon lime juice
2 tablespoon tamarind paste
Pinch of salt
1. In a mortar and pestle, add in the garlic and pinch of salt. The salt will act as a sort of grinder. Pound the mixture into a paste. Add the shallots. Pound again into a paste. Then add the chili and pound everything together. Next, add in the palm sugar. Give it another round of good pounding. When done, add the fish sauce, lime juice, and tamarind paste. Mix well, taste and see if you need to add more of something. Actually, the amount given for the dressing is only a guideline. As I was making it, I added a little of this and that until I was happy with how it tasted.
The reason the ingredients are pounded individually is because it is easier to get them into a fine paste, esp. if you are working with large quantities. Always start with the ingredient that is the hardest to pound into a paste. Then add in the liquids last.
3. Heat up a pan of oil on medium heat and deep-fry the cashew nuts until crispy. Alternatively, you can also roast them. The pre-soaked in brine is a technique my Mom got from a restaurant. It makes the cashew nuts crispier and won’t dry out when roasted or fried.
4. In a plate, put in the pork. Place the shrimp on top. Sprinkle with cashew nuts, garlic & shallot flakes, bergamot leaf & peel, lemongrass, and torch ginger.
5. Pour in the dressing just before serving. Mix well and enjoy.
Note: This post has been updated on Dec. 3, 2008. A few details have been changed.
Or Inside-Out Puff Pastry. I have never made puff pastry before but I decided to go ahead and make this anyway. It’s just butter dough encasing more-or-less a water dough. Plus, the instructions didn’t seem that hard. Ha. Ha. Ha. Was I wrong. I made a few boo-boo’s because I thought I had the instructions memorized. But as they say, to cook a dish, you have to make it at least three times.
My first attempt failed simply because I over mixed the butter dough or first détrempe. The butter and flour should only be mixed until they are lumpy. If mixed finely, it will result in a mealy dough that tastes like shortbread. Worse, it will not rise. Well, I tried. I gave it a few extra turns and it turned into a fine mashed potato of a dough. I went ahead and spend one whole day making it, anyway. The puff didn’t rise. Keeping the rest for nephew’s goldfish.
My second attempt also failed because the butter dough got over mixed again. I was extra careful this time, but butter melts at the speed of lightning in the tropics. Before I knew it, butter and flour became one happy cream-like meal. And, again, I spend one whole day making it. Couldn’t bare to throw it away. Needless to say, the puff didn’t rise. Keeping this for nephew’s goldfish, too.
As they say, third time is the charm. Not for me. I didn’t over mix the dough. But I guess I didn’t mix the second dough well enough. Not only did the puff not rise, it was a crumbly mess. Just like the topping for apple crumble. More food for the goldfish.
By now I was making one inside-out-puff pastry per day. I wish I were at a professional cooking school. Then I can ask Monsieur Le Chef:
“Why is this thing acting weird?”
“Madame, it breathes. It has a mind of its own. It’s the weather.”
Yea. The weather. I seriously believe all pastry chefs should apprentice in the tropics. I tried everything to keep the butter dough from melting so fast — working on a frozen baking pan, in a very cold air-conditioned room, rolling dough on cold marble….. It’s Thailand. I’m lucky the marble didn’t melt.
I gave it another try yesterday. If it still doesn’t rise, well, I’ll just have to rent a cold room. Or my nephew will have very fat goldfish.
I made sure the first dough is not over mixed, and the second is just soft and elastic. Then I got down on my knees in front of the altar. Light three incense sticks. Pray and beg the Buddha. May the puff rise.
After giving it the last fold, I couldn’t help myself but cut the dough. Youpi. Yay. Yay. Layers. But did it rise?
Did it rise!
I did my victory dance. Thank the Buddha. The goldfish are relieved.
It’s possible to make inside-out puff pastry in Thailand. Just heed a few precautions:
For a recipe refer to one of these three books and a website: Dorie Greenspan’s Paris Sweets, Pierre Hermé’s Plaisirs Sucré’s, and Wayne Gisslen’s Professional Baking Fifth Edition, and iVillage. They all differ slightly in quantity and type of flour used. But the method is the same. Basically.
1. Work in small quantities. When I first started making it I was using the amount specified in Dorie Greenspan’s book. It’s more than double in Pierre Hermé’s book. I find that a smaller dough allows you to work faster and the butter won’t melt that much. That and using lots and lots of saran wrap.
2. Don’t over mix the first dough. Don’t over mix the first dough. Don’t over mix the first dough. Seriously, DON’T OVER MIX THE FIRST DOUGH. It should be lumpy. Not pea-size lumpy. You can’t get that in this weather. Walnut-size lumps are ok.
3. No matter how fast, you work, the butter will melt (more or less) and ooze to the sides. Just cut and scoop it back to the center. I used a cake spatula to smear it back onto the second dough. Oh, yes, I did.
4. As you roll the dough to get three times its length as it is wide, the weird thing will want to spread wider and wider instead of longer and longer. It’s the butter having a mind of its own. I solved this by placing the dough between two sheets of saran wrap. Start pressing down on the dough to make parallel indentations. Stop when the dough has the desired width. About 5-6 inches. Fold the sides of the wrap before rolling again. This will prevent the dough from expanding width-wise.
5. Flour lightly in-between each folding. I didn’t do so in my previous attempts. I was following PH’s instructions. He suggests flouring only before baking the dough. I don’t know if this helps the butter from melting and becoming one with the second dough. But the puff rose. Just don’t over flour it. I did and the puff is a little flour-y. But it rose.
6. If you’ve done all of the above and it still doesn’t work, rent a cold room. Or get on your knees and pray.
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