A Fish out of Water

We're all creatures of habit for the most part, aren't we?

I know I am. When I get in the kitchen, I expect things to be in a certain location and when they are not, it throws my game off.

Off my game is how I felt the first time trying to cook in our new kitchen, a fish out of water.

A simple case in point: in our last two kitchens, the knives lived in a knife block on the counter next to the cutting board, easily within reach when needed. Trying to declutter our new island, I purchased an in-drawer knife block that lives in the righthand island drawer. After years of reaching for knives on top of the counter, now they're hidden away in a drawer, neither good nor bad, just different, a confounding of muscle memory.

And so it went while cooking in the new kitchen for the first time last week. Things were not where my body thought they ought to be based on muscle memory, despite when designing the kitchen, my visualizing the new location of the items that we most often use. Visualization is part and parcel of my being: every night at the restaurant, when I was actively cooking as opposed to expediting, I would cook (my part of) each dish in my head while standing at my station, ensuring that each tool and ingredient was exactly where I expected it. Efficiency is, after all, born of familiarity and organization.

Despite all the time that I spent visualizing where things would go in the new kitchen, that did not mean that I had considered everything, or that everything would fit where I thought it should go, or even that my body would automatically reach for something where it was hiding. Cooking the first meal in this kitchen reminded me of cooking as a guest chef in somebody else's restaurant. I would always feel a bit helpless in not knowing where anything was. I'm sure if you've ever cooked at somebody else's house, you can relate.

Though it was awkward reaching for the salt, a tasting spoon, or a towel and not finding it right away, it was still a blast to finally cook a meal after a month and a half with no kitchen, even if I had no clue how to work the stove controls. It won't take long to build new habits and muscle memory in our new kitchen and I am looking forward to no longer feeling like a fish on dry land.

Arugula, Tomatoes, Goat Cheese, and Marcona Almonds
with Tomato-Hazelnut Vinaigrette

Pasta with Chicken Confit and Sugar Snaps in Garlic-Thyme Cream;
Crispy Chicken Skin

Brebirousse d'Argental Cheese with Persimmons,
Chipotle-Tangerine Marmalade, and Rosemary Caramel

Fish Caramel Wings

I have this thing for fish sauce caramel, ever since I first tasted it 30-35 years ago. It's glorious on catfish, pork, and even chicken wings. We are currently serving it on scallops at the restaurant. Even Carter, who is fairly teenager picky about things, has really enjoyed the pork tenderloin that I have done in fish caramel.

When Ann told me on Sunday that we had some chicken wings in the freezer that she wanted for dinner, my mind immediately went to fish caramel wings, a dish that I first had at a Cambodian restaurant maybe 30 years ago. We have also fish caramel wings more recently, at Pok Pok in Portland, where I was impressed by the size of the wings, but not the caramel.

Fish Caramel Wings

I marinated the chicken for a couple of hours in a little oil, sriracha, fish sauce, garlic, salt, and black pepper. Then I tossed them in a bit more oil with a bit more salt and a lot more black pepper and put them on a sheet tray in a very hot convection oven with the fan on and turned them three times over the course of a half an hour until they were very crisp.

Meanwhile I made a caramel by slicing a couple of shallots and cooking them in a bit of oil, then adding sugar and caramelizing it. At this point, I added a lot of fish sauce and a lot more black pepper and let the sauce cook for a couple of minutes, thinning with water as necessary.

Out of the oven, the wings went into a big bowl and I tossed them in the sauce. A delicious sticky mess by all accounts!

Vietnamese Caramel Red Drum on Cellophane Noodle Salad

I think with all the heavy comfort food we've been eating recently, we both wanted to go lighter for dinner. Ann had suggested a cellophane noodle salad on the weekend but we never got around to making it. Cross that with some fresh red drum that just came in and you've got a tasty light meal.

Somewhere along the line, I got it in my mind to braise the drum in caramel just like the catfish in a clay pot that you see in every Vietnamese restaurant of substance.

The salad is cellophane noodles with julienne of carrot, daikon, and cucumber, sliced green onions, and shredded Thai basil and cilantro leaves, dressed with lime juice, sugar, fish sauce, and a touch of sambal oelek (crushed chile paste).

To braise the red drum, I first made a caramel of white sugar to which I added fish sauce, a lot of black pepper, and water. Then I added sliced shallots, sliced garlic, and the bulb ends of the green onion along with a little chiffonade of Thai basil. This I let cook down for about 10 minutes and then I added the red drum and slowly braised it, turning it once, for about 10 minutes. I removed the fish to the top of the salad, reduced the braising liquid to a syrupy sauce and poured it over.

Easy and tasty.